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Posted 23 hours ago - 124,900 notes
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3,409 notes Reblog Atop the wings was a folded piece of paper, addressed to the New York Institute. After splashing water on her face, Maryse had taken the letter and read it. It was short - one sentence - and was signed with a name in a handwriting oddly familiar to her, for in it there was an echo of Valentine’s cursive, the flourishes of his letters, the strong, steady hand. But it was not Valentine’s name. It was his son’s.Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern.She held it out to Brother Zachariah. He took it from her fingers and opened it, reading, as she had, the single word of Ancient Greek scrawled in elaborate script across the top of the page.Erchomai, it said.I am coming.
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Posted 2 days ago - 12,041 notes
Posted 2 days ago - 1,895 notes
what doesn’t kill you
leaves scars
ruins your lungs
dries out all your tears
leaves you lying awake at 4 in the morning
wishing you weren’t alive
- c.c.  (via embry-o)

(via get-caked)

Posted 2 days ago - 49,121 notes


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