The most dangerous emotion a person could experience was love.

Love was far more potent than anyone would ever come to understand or express. It provided you so much while simultaneously taking everything from you. When you loved someone, you were no longer a single person—you were embracing tiny fragments of your other half, forming you into a completely different individual.

At least, that was Molly's perspective—it was what had happened after all. Hadn't she altered herself a few times for Dutch? Just so he could provide her the time of day? Of course she had. Perhaps a pretty dress he adored on her. Or a perfume that he was addicted to. All things he liked—and Molly...somewhat appreciated.

Molly never had much luck with romance. Not ever in her life. Not even with the man she apparently loved.

"I really do love him..." Molly would adamantly tell you—despite how she was beginning to doubt her own words.

"I just wish sometimes he'd...y'know, see me."