Handful of Words by Orin Drake
He had doll hands. Perfect and delicate and pale and beautiful... but strong, too. Holding immense power. He had perfectly sculpted, perfectly formed, elegant, beautiful hands. That's why I had to break them all to pieces.
Words are weapons. I learned that long ago. Words can empower or they can completely destroy--and a handful of well-placed words can shift the whole tide of All That Is. ...Or All That Isn't.
He had soul. Argue if you must--but the fucker had heart, too. He was perfect. He was fucking perfect... and I could never touch that. Never be that. To touch would have been to soil; to lay my filthy, massive, disgusting hands on butterfly wings.
A handful of words. Can change everything.
"I don't love you."