They know that tragedy is not glamorous. They know it doesn't play out in life as it does on a stage or between the pages of a book. It is neither a punishment meted out nor a lesson conferred. Its horrors are not attributable to one single person. Tragedy is ugly and tangled, stupid and confusing.

Touching him is familiar and unfamiliar. We have been here before. Also we have never been here before.

In fact, the mark of tragedy became, with time, a mark of glamour.

Our kiss was electric and soft,and tentative and certain,terrifying and exactly right.I felt the love rush from me to Gat and from Gat to me.We were warm and shivering,and young and ancient,and alive.I was thinking, It's true. We already love each other.We already do.