Molten Lava Quotes

His chest, heaving harder this time. His words, almost gasping this time. “You destroy me.” I am falling to pieces in his arms. My fists are full of unlucky pennies and my heart is a jukebox demanding a few nickels and my head is flipping quarters heads or tails heads or tails heads or tails heads or tails “Juliette,” he says, and he mouths the name, barely speaking at all, and he’s pouring molten lava into my limbs and I never even knew I could melt straight to death. “I want you,” he says. He says “I want all of you. I want you inside and out and catching your breath and aching for me like I ache for you.” He says it like it’s a lit cigarette lodged in his throat, like he wants to dip me in warm honey and he says “It’s never been a secret. I’ve never tried to hide that from you. I’ve never pretended I wanted anything less.

More like a chocolate molten lava cake. A dessert so sinful, so luscious, so filled with inner heat it made a girl want to lick each and every crumb right off the plate. That was Jack Pallas.

Juliette," he says, and he mouths the name, barely speaking at all, and he's pouring molten lava into my limbs and I never even knew I could melt straight to death.

You destroy me." "Juliette," he says and he mouths the name, barely speaking at all, and he's pouring molten lava into my limbs and I never even knew I could melt straight to death. "I want you," he says. He says "I want all of you. I want you inside and out and catching your breath and aching for me like I ache for you." He says it like it's a lit cigarette lodged in his throat, like he wants to dip me in warm honey and he says "It's never been a secret. I've never tried to hide that from you. I've never pretended I wanted anything less." "You-you said you wanted f-friendship-" "Yes," he says, he swallows, "I did. I do. I do want to be your friend. He nods and I register the slight movement in the air between us. "I want to be the friend you fall hopelessly in love with. The one you take into your arms and into your bed and into the private world you keep trapped in your head. I want to be that kind of friend," he says. "The one who will memorize the things you say as well as the shape of your lips when you say them. I want to know every curve, every freckle, every shiver of your body, Juliette-" "No," I gasp. "Don't-don't s-say that-" "I want to know where to touch you," he says. "I want to know how to touch you. I want to know how to convince you to design a smile just for me." I feel his chest rising, falling, up and down and up and down and "Yes," he says. "I do want to be your friend." He says "I want to be your best friend in the entire world." "I want so many things," he whispers. "I want your mind. Your strength. I want to be worth your time." His fingers graze the hem of my top and he says "I want this up." He tugs on the waist of my pants and says "I want these down." He touches the tips of his fingers to the sides of my body and says, "I want to feel your skin on fire. I want to feel your heart racing next to mine and I want to know it's racing because of me, because you want me. Because you never," he says, he breathes, "never want me to stop. I want every second. Every inch of you. I want all of it." And I drop dead, all over the floor. "Juliette." I can't understand why I can still hear him speaking because I'm dead, I'm already dead, I've died over and over and over again. He swallows, hard, his chest heaving, his words a breathless, shaky whisper when he says "I'm so-I'm so desperately in love with you-

O Dionysus, we feel you near, stirring like molten lava under the ravaged earth, flowing from the wounds of your trees in tears of sap, screaming with the rage of your hunted beasts.

Basically, dating is like climbing a volcano and you never know when it’s going to erupt, dumping molten lava and burning you

I’d rather fall in molten lava than fall in love. But I suppose that’s just the romantic me.

If you ever drop your keys into a river of molten lava, let'em go...because man, they're gone!

Grief never goes away. It just changes. At first it's like molten-hot lava dripping from your heart and hollowing you from the inside. Over time, it settles into your bones, your skin, so that you live with it, walk with it every day. Grief isn't the footprints in the snow. It's the empty spaces between.

It is the speed, the hot, molten effect, the lava flow of sentence into sentence that I need.

I can see the exact moment he realizes what I've been doing. His torso stiffens as his hands, pressed against the mattress, curl into big fists. He makes a low, approving sound and speaks in a voice that sounds like molten lava. "That’s so sexy.

The sky was molten lava of pinks, oranges, and blues, a dance of delight to the eye.

Basically, dating is like climbing a volcano and you never know when it's going to erupt, dumping molten lava and burning you

You erased my famine, unpicked my anger Your energy charges my voice, it radiates my heart; Now I am alive with the ore of words pouring From my lips like molten lava glittering with joy.

Icy people often freeze themselves in order to hold in check a volcanic stew of disturbing and conflictual feelings. Emotional hibernation, if you will. Crack the ice and the stuff inside comes pouring out with all the discipline of molten lava.

Something between them—chemical, emotional, psychological, she didn’t know—came together like molten lava and hot ash, caused by an eruption unpredictable to them both.

Little symbols of love are like molten lava, there's something even hotter below the surface.

We are all standing on the vagina of our planet, as it births fresh new land right before our very eyes in the form of this beautiful molten lava flowing below us. This island is literally growing in size every day, like a teenager in puberty watching her titties swell…

Living like this means you don't have a container anymore for the different days, can't hold in a little twenty-four-hour-sized box set of events that constitute a unit, something you can compartmentalize, something with a beginning and an end, something to fill with a to-do list. Living like this means that it all runs together, a cold and bright December morning with your father or a lazy evening in late August, one of those sunsets that seem to take longer than is possible, where the sun just refuses to go down, where the hour seems to elongate to the point that it doesn't seem like it can stretch any farther without detaching completely from the hour before it, like a piece of taffy, like under sea molten lava forming a new island, a piece of time detaching from the seafloor and floating up to the surface.

She wiggled beneath Sam but his hard, heavy body was impossible to move, and the more she squirmed, the harder a certain part of it seemed to get. "I thought you said no missionary," he whispered. "Oh my God," she raged, keeping her voice low. "Are you getting off on this?" "I'm a man. You're rubbing yourself all over me. What did you think was going to happen?" "I thought you were all about self-control." Something she seemed to be lacking at the moment. Fire licked between her thighs. And the heat... She felt like molten lava was running through her veins. "Not around you.

I heard a few men in a restaurant talking about a bayou legend," Savannah said suddenly.She leaned ont he side of the boat,presenting him with an intriguing view of her tight jeans. They clung lovingly to every curve. Gregori moved, a flowing of his body, gliding silently, and his large frame was blanketing Savannah's, blocking out the captain's enticing view.Gregori leaned into her,his arms coming down on either side of the railing to imprison her against him. You are doing it again. His words brushed softly in her mind even as his warm breath teased the tendrils of hair at her neck. Savannah leaned back into him, fitting her bottom into the cradle of his hips. She was happy, free of the oppressive weight of the hunt,of death and violence. THere were only the two of them. Three, he reminded her,his teeth scraping her sensitive pulse.He could feel the answering surge of her blood, the molten lava spreading in his. My mother thinks my father is a cave man.I'm beginning to think you could give him a run for his money. Disrespectful little thing. "Which legend?There are so many," Beau said. "About an old alligator that lies in wait to eat hunting dogs and little children," Savannah said. Gregori tugged at her long braid so that she tilted her head back.His mouth brushed the line of her throat. I could be a hungry alligator, he offered softly.

How did he know my dad helped get me this job? Did someone in the office tell him? I mean, it’s not like I’m some spoiled, incompetent rich kid with zero work experience and mega connections. My dad’s just aCPA! But I’m not going to bother explaining that or anything else. Because right now, I’m halfway convinced a hole in my skull has blown right off and my brains are flowing out like molten lava. I think I might well and truly hate Porter Roth. “You know nothing about me or my family. And you’re a goddamn dickbag, you know that?” I say, so enraged that I don’t even care that a family of four is walking up to my window. I should have. And I should have noticed that I left the green switch turned on from the last pair of tickets I sold. But the family’s wide-eyed faces clue me in now. They’ve heard every nasty word. For one terrible moment, the booth spins around me. I apologize profusely, but the parents aren’t happy. At all. Why should they be? Oh God, is the wife wearing a crucifix pendant? What if these people are fundamentalists? Are these kids homeschooled? Did I just ruin them for life? Jesus fu—I mean, fiddlesticks. Are they going to ask to speak to Mr. Cavadini? Am I going to be fired? On my first day? What is my dad going to say?

means you don’t have a container anymore for the different days, can’t hold in a little twenty-four-hour-sized box a set of events that constitute a unit, something you can compartmentalize, something with a beginning and an end, something to fill with a to-do list. Living like this means that it all runs together, a cold and bright December morning with your father or a lazy evening in late August, one of those sunsets that seem to take longer than is possible, where the sun just refuses to go down, where the hour seems to elongate to the point that it doesn’t seem like it can stretch any farther without detaching completely from the hour before it, like a piece of taffy, like undersea molten lava forming a new island, a piece of time detaching from the seafloor and floating up to the surface. It’s not comfortable in here.

Excitement surged through her, anticipation. His eyes drifted over her with so much hunger, so much possession. With so much tenderness. That melted her heart, made her want to cry that he could have so much feeling for her. Everywhere his gaze traveled, her skin burned for him, her body ached for his touch. She reached up to loosen his hair, to fill her hands with it, to revel in her ability to smooth her fingertips over his heavy muscles. She could feel him tremble under her caressing hands, feel the wildness in him striving to break free. It touched something wild in her. She wanted to feel him in her arms, trembling for her, his hard muscles against her soft skin, his body surging into hers. She sent him the erotic pictures dancing in her head as she tasted his skin with her soft mouth. His hands were everywhere, and so were hers. His mouth blazed fire, and so did hers. His heart pounded, and hers matched it. Their blood surged like molten lava.

On that fateful morning in April 1986, the explosion that blew off the reactor lid also dislodged special serpentine sand and concrete from within the thick walls surrounding the RBMK. In that same moment, a powerful shock wave forced the entire bottom half of the core assembly - including the lower biological shield - downward by several meters, into the space below. Over the following week, intense heat from the fire and radioactive decay increased until it reached temperatures sufficient to melt the fuel assembly, which poured out and bonded with the sand/concrete mix to form a kind of radioactive lava called corium. This lava then oozed through pipes, ducts and cracks in the damaged structure to the rooms beneath. The Elephant’s Foot was one offshoot of this lava, which had cooled into a glassy form. Melted fuel vacating the exposed reactor like this is probably what caused the sudden drop in temperature and emission levels in early May, 1986. A molten core is capable of burning through 30cm of concrete within hours, hence the scramble to prevent this from happening.246

there’s nothing like having to claw and scrape your way through a sea of molten lava to remind one to keep an eye on the details.

My volcano of compress anger was about to erupt in school, and it would take more than five years for my molten lava to be brought under control, which was through the loss of my sight. However, shouldn’t there be a way of detecting and reaching out to kids like me before there is a massive problem? Why wait until there is a devastating eruption before we intervene?

Just deciding where to go on vacation can often test the marriage’s flexibility. One partner wants to do something physical and adventurous, like trying to outrun molten lava down a volcano; the other prefers something more restful, even spiritual, like raking gravel in a Buddhist monastery.

Sorry I missed that last inch.” “An inch is very important.” “Oh, I completely agree. One inch might mean the difference between a disappointing night and one spent screaming for all the right reasons.” The words are out of my mouth before I can overthink them, and I wait for them to settle. Rosie’s mouth pops open, the heat in her cheeks returning like molten lava, and I wink.

But what I will tell you is that some of the most extraordinary creations are born in terror. Wielded from molten black . . . if only the wielder is wise enough to see the lava for what it truly is.

The sun’s a ball of fire sitting on the edge of the world, ready to slip into the night. Though its brightness can never really be contained, only hidden from view, the last rays of the day reflect off the water in shades of orange, purple and pink. Sparks of yellow skip along the wave’s crests like dancing fireflies. And in the deeper waters, fiery red-orange veins the dark, rolling waves in thick ribbons of molten lava.

You’re coming home with me. We’re going to fight about whatever you want to fight about today, and then I’m going to fuck you and fill you with my come until you forget why you’re mad at me.” He practically growls the words right in front of everyone. What’s even more fucked up, is that his tone turns my insides to molten lava.

I don’t just fall over the peak. I explode out of it, like molten lava expelling from the mouth of a volcano.

O pious of the heart, I am lost in a love, so great O pain the hidden secrets will become open debate. Shipwrecked we just float, O favorable wind arise, May we one more time gaze upon that familiar trait. Passage of time and the stars, are but what we fantasize For compassion and kindness, it is never too late. In the circle of wine and roses, nightingale’s song is prize With the aroma and the wine your senses satiate. O Thou compassionate one, life giver and the wise One day bestow thy grace upon this mendicant’s state. For peace of this world and the next, understand what I advise Magnanimity the lot of friends, and with foes try to relate. In the land of repute, our passage they will dispute If this will not suit, don’t stay mute, and transmute dictates of fate. When destitute and in need, let your love and passion breed Life’s alchemy, essence and seed, unimagined wealth shall create. If unruly with pride, with a candle’s zeal your flame will rise Beloved turns stone to lava, and molten wax manipulate. The Grail contains but wine, if only you realize Then the Kingdom of the world, at your feet prostrate. The good and wise Magi, forgivers of lives and lies Bearer bring good news, drunkards’ wine consecrate. With this wine stained robe, Hafiz would never disguise O untainted pure Master, exempt us from this fate

The water was supposed to look like molten lava, although it actually looked far more like blood (for which reason every kid in town called the volcano Mount Hemorrhoid).

escaped captivity in pursuit of revenge, only to be supernaturally redeemed by the god he had hated. And all of it was so that Yahweh could use him in a single important event to capture an enemy of God. Of all the glory and fame that Eleazar had sought for in his life, it was all a pile of steaming excrement compared to the surpassing value of meeting Jesus and being used for this single event of spiritual significance. He considered it an honor to sacrifice himself on behalf of such a worthy cause. Mikael maneuvered to gain advantage over the god as they fell. The last time the angels had taken down the deity, was in his Mount Sapan palace. In that case, the other angels had tackled Ba’al in a similar way, by knocking him off a cliff into a river of fiery magma in the earth. This time he would land in the waters of the Abyss as opposed to the molten flames of lava. But this time, it would be permanent, because the waters of the Abyss led to Hades and Tartarus, where Mikael would leave the Watcher god bound until judgment. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of falling through the darkness, the three warriors hit the black waters of the Abyss, killing the giant. Mikael already had Ba’al bound with the Cherubim hair as they sank into the depths.

The worst thing that happens is there’s an earthquake and we all get sucked into a river of molten lava.” “Well …” Ruth said. “That won’t hurt much.

The exhausted earth groaned and quivered under the monotonous glare of the sun. Spirals of heat rose from the ground as if from molten lava. A panting lizard crawled painfully over the fevered rock in search of a shady crevice. Cattle and dogs cringed under the scanty shade of the trees and waited for the rain to deliver them from the heat and thirst. Instead the heat grew more intense and oppressive each day, singeing and stifling all living things with an invisible sheet of fire, which only the rain could put out. The drought had persisted for over a month.

Marcus gave her a slow, wicked smile, feeling the smoldering heat rise to the surface like molten lava, irresistible as a force of nature. "If you insist," he whispered, and bent his head to capture her lips with his own. He put all his yearning, all his gratitude for the gifts she'd given him, all that heat bubbling up within him into the kiss, feeling her lips yield beneath his. She returned his fire with fire, kissing him back with a wild abandon that left them both trembling and enraptured, wrapped around each other in the midst of a crowd, focused only on each other. Overhead, fireworks lit the sky, but neither of them noticed.

mountain. “He’s toast!” said Zeus. “Typhon will never trouble us again!” But personally, I had my doubts. After what I’d just seen, I thought Typhon might find a way to escape. But to this day, he hasn’t. Nope, Typhon is still trapped under that mountain, raging and roaring. If you don’t believe me, go to Sicily yourself. Go to Mount Etna. You’ll see an enormous mountain belching smoke, fire, and molten lava. Who else could it be under there but Typhon?

(...)Through the ship's telescopes, he had watched the death of the solar system. With his own eyes, he had seen the volcanoes of Mars erupt for the first time in a billion years; Venus briefly naked as her atmosphere was blasted into space before she herself was consumed; the gas giants exploding into incandescent fireballs. But these were empty, meaningless spectacles compared with the tragedy of Earth. That, too, he had watched through the lenses of cameras that had survived a few minutes longer than the devoted men who had sacrificed the last moments of their lives to set them up. He had seen ... ... the Great Pyramid, glowing dully red before it slumped into a puddle of molten stone ... ... the floor of the Atlantic, baked rock-hard in seconds, before it was submerged again, by the lava gushing from the volcanoes of the Mid-ocean Rift... ... the Moon rising above the flaming forests of Brazil and now itself shining almost as brilliantly as had the Sun, on its last setting, only minutes before ... ... the continent of Antarctica emerging briefly after its long burial, as the kilometres of ancient ice were burned away ... ... the mighty central span of the Gibraltar Bridge, melting even as it slumped downward through the burning air ... In that last century the Earth was haunted with ghosts - not of the dead, but of those who now could never be born. For five hundred years the birthrate had been held at a level that would reduce the human population to a few millions when the end finally came. Whole cities - even countries - had been deserted as mankind huddled together for History's closing act.

To understand how the first tree appeared on Earth, we must look back more than 3 billion years to Earth’s cooling off and changing from a molten sphere to one that had a solid crust. As it cooled, a thin layer of granite formed over the fiery interior; the hot inner mass contracted; ridges were thrust upward to form mountains; molten lava surged up through cracks, and boiling water rose to the surface. As hot springs that even now gush up out of the Earth show, this process is still going on; geysers and active volcanoes testify to the searing heat that prevails far inside the earth. Scientists believe the water in our oceans today was first released by volcanic action as a gas, which formed the primeval atmosphere. When this vapor reached extremely high altitudes, it condensed into water and fell Earthward. For a long time, however, because the atmospheric temperature was so hot, it resumed its gaseous form before reaching the planet, but eventually, the surface cooled enough so that water began accumulating in liquid form. And then, for literally millions and millions of years, it must have rained continuously, the water sweeping minerals down from the rocks and filling the depressions in the Earth’s face. For

At 10 a.m. on 28 August, the rock roof of the chamber, insufficiently supported by lava beneath, could bear the weight of the ocean and its floor no longer. It collapsed. Millions of tons of water fell on to the molten lava in the chamber and two-thirds of the island tumbled on top of it. The result was an explosion of such magnitude that it produced perhaps the loudest noise ever to echo round the world in recorded history.

Pyroclasm (Level 25): subject can channel the power of a volcanic eruption, sending molten lava cascading down upon enemies, dealing massive damage over time.

Just look at him. That’s nothing but a billion-dollar, hot as molten lava god.

Life is not a bed of roses. When things move in the way one wishes, one becomes overconfident that fate will always be with us. Rarely do we realize that it is only like a dormant volcano, ready to erupt any time. The volcano which would totally devastate was also waiting to make its nasty appearance. It did send its tremors, but we could not decipher it in time. The result was that we spread out like molten lava in various directions.

Tears, glistening like crystals under the dazzle of bright lights, appeared on her almost lifeless eyes – eyes that have not yet dried up, despite the copious amount that had flowed through them over the years. When life gives you certain experiences, it creates in you a volcano of unending grief. All that you wish is for this volcano to erupt once, so violently and uncontrollably that it would eventually turn into an island of tranquillity amidst the unhappy seas of your heart. But in a world that loves to shackle even your tears, these dormant volcanoes erupt only in spurts, forcing from their depths an uncontrollable flow of molten lava, or at times milder geyser springs, in the rare silences of your private space.

In the caverns deep inside me, something is struggling like molten lava trying to find a way out.

My chin kept dropping to my chest, my hair in my face, my veins an alcoholic vapor ready to burn. Nothing but tequila, wine, and rum feeding me into a lava river, a huge molten mother rolling over me, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,

SPARKLING ALONG IN the valley bellow is a car unaware it is driving directly into the path of the lava flow. M'hek stands transfixed watching a black cloudform advance from the horizon toward the cars its molten edge snarling its fiery paws eating steadily at the world ahead. Moving about 40 mph. The herd now breathing like a bellows has formed into a circle facing outward. Io stands apart. She dips her head to her knee momentarily. Blood still buzzing with gorse she does not hesitate to believe that a masterpiece like herself can fly. Should fly. Does fly. Without a sound and by the time M'hek turns around she is aloft.

SPARKLING ALONG IN the valley bellow is a car unaware it is driving directly into the path of the lava flow. M'hek stands transfixed watching a black cloudform advance from the horizon toward the cars its molten edge snarling its fiery paws eating steadily at the world ahead. Moving about 40 mph. The herd now breathing like a bellows has formed into a circle facing outward. Io stands apart. She dips her head to her knee momentarily. Blood still buzzing with gorse she does not hesitate to believe that a masterpiece like herself can fly. Should fly. Does fly. Without a sound and by the time M'hek turns around she is aloft.

When I was young, the preacher would give sermons about hell. He made it sound like the inside of an erupting volcano with its burning lakes, molten lava, and painful depths. But I don’t think hell is fire and brimstone. I think hell is a hospital waiting room.

But there was something about my dual proximity to my mother and to this other, much larger body that reminded me of something: that it was not I who threw myself into time and not I who would accept myself when I ended. After the sunrise was “done” and everyone drove off the mountain, the earth would keep moving, Haleakalā eroding, Kama‘ehuakanaloa rising. Of all the senses of time I will describe in this book, this is the one I most want to “save”: that restlessness and change that runs through all things, making them anew, rending the crust of the present like the molten edges of a lava flow.

The pagan eyes seemed suddenly to be like molten lava, and as destructive. "If ever you should try to break the bond that holds us, then beware. You're mine, and you remain mine! -Nick Vakotis

Seth followed the phantom through the labyrinthine cave. After a number of turns, Seth wasn’t sure if he could find his way back. The air started to get hotter. In one room, steam wafted up from little fissures in the floor. In another, a bubbling pool of hot water in one corner saturated the room with a steamy, eggy odor. Some passages narrowed so much, Seth had to turn sideways. Some wider chambers had room to spare, with stalagmites four or five times his height. The light from his wand did not always reach the ceiling, and it was hard to tell if some of the shadowy side passages went a long distance or ended after a few feet. “Be extra quiet here,” the phantom whispered. Noticing a red glow up ahead, Seth shielded the light of his wand with his hand and stepped carefully. In a neighboring chamber of the cave, Seth saw a blob of dark lava with molten redness glowing through the cracks. Fiery millipedes as long as Seth’s arm skittered around the surface of the lava blob, some of them crawling into or out of the gaps to the red interior. He knew of no living creature that could handle such extreme temperature. The air in the cave became increasingly hot and dry as Seth progressed. The stone around him smelled like it was baking. Seth crossed through one room where more than half the floor was a glowing pool of smoldering scarlet lava. He felt certain that without the ointment, his hair and clothes would burst into flame by proximity to such heat, but instead Seth discovered

Grief never goes away. It just changes. At first it’s like molten-hot lava dripping from your heart and hollowing you from the inside. Over time, it settles into your bones, your skin, so that you live with it, walk with it every day. Grief isn’t the footprints in the snow. It’s the empty space between.

Our next stop was Terceira’s surest shot for a tourist attraction: Algar do Carvão, probably the only known place in the world where you can walk inside the cone of a volcano. There was an initial explosion some three thousand two hundred years ago, and then two thousand years ago another eruption at the same site spewed molten lava inside the mountain. When the lava drained, it left chambers whose rock walls were as varied in colors of bronzes and golds as the cloak of the lover in the Gustav Klimt painting The Kiss.

His body moved in hers. Long and deep, he filled every part of her, building the friction, then deliberately easing the rhythm. She was making little keening noises, her body begging for release, velvet muscles gripping him hotly. Frustrated, Raven moved frantically against him, urging him closer, deeper, faster, harder. Her blood was like molten lava, and she needed more of him. All of him. She hungered for a deeper mating, hungered for his mouth feeding at her, burning her, branding her, welding them together for all eternity. “Mikhail,” she was pleading. He lifted his head, dark eyes burning with hunger. “I belong to you, Raven. Take what you need from me, as I will take it from you.” He pressed her head to his chest, his gut clenching hotly as her tongue slid over his muscles. There was a moment, heart-stopping, intimate, as he felt the tentative scrape of her teeth and then the bite. Deep. White-hot pain, blue-lightning erotic pleasure. The ground shook. He swelled even more, huge and hard and inflamed as her teeth sank deep.

The chart above tells us that a 900°C lava pool will radiate roughly 100 kilowatts of heat per square meter. If electricity costs around $0.10 per kilowatt–hour, then each square meter of a 900°C lava moat will cost at least $10 per hour if heated electrically. If your moat is a meter wide and encloses an area of one acre, it will cost roughly $60,000 per day to keep it molten.

Shea lifted her emerald gaze to the disturbing intensity of Jacques’ black eyes. He was so close that she could feel the heat of his skin reaching out to her. His fingertips brushed the curve of her cheek, her mouth. His need of her was as elemental as the storm itself. It burned in him like the hot sizzle of electricity, like the slowly spreading heat of molten lava. “Need me, Shea.” His voice ached with it. “Need me the same way I need you. I would give my life for you. Live for me. Find a way to live for me. Love me that much.

Is that... diamond?” he said, his eyes widening in excitement. He couldn’t quite be sure of it from where he stood, so he got dangerously close to the molten lava to get a better look.