His brow furrows deeper as he considers my words. It hits me that this is the first time we’re really talking to each other. This is the first real conversation we’ve had that’s not combative or manipulative.
“Beauty can exist,” he says at last.
“Didn’t you say you loved your brother?” he asks.
“I still do,” I tell him. “Love doesn’t stop when you lose the person.”
I see sadness flood across his eyes. I wonder who he has lost. It’s clear there’s a void inside him, a pain he’s trying to cover.
But I can see it now. Clear as day.
There’s a broken heart inside this beast.
“That love you feel for your brother,” he says softly. “That’s the beauty that exists in our world.”
“It’s not my world,” I correct quickly. “I want no part of it.”
“I used to feel that way, too.”
“You look surpris
