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Peter, she whispered and reached out, touching his cheek. My little Peterbird? You flew back to me.

Brom

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Brom
Cheeks
Touching
Peter
Reached
Littles
Back
Cheek
Little
Whispered
Flew

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Your dreams are your spirit, your soul, and without them you are dead.
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Everything comes with a price. Everything. Some things just cost more than others.
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My name's Peter. Can I play too?
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And Peter laughed, and when he did, all the Devils grinned, because Peter's laugh was a most contagious thing.
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Children like yourselves are full of magic, but the men have turned, they've lost their magic to the fear and hatred they harbor for all that they can't explain, control, or understand.
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That's the spirit, one part brave, three parts fool.
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Did he dare trust this insane boy?
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Burn? Smite? Punish? Why is your god so intolerant? So jealous? Why must there be only one god? Why is there not room for many?
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Almost lost you, he thought, surprised to find himself blinking back tears. Been through too much, me and you. We're going to finish this thing together.
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And may God be merciful, because these twisted men will not.
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Enough talk, Peter said, and his eyes flashed. It's time to turn you three into killers.
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But he was sick of this charade. Sick of watching people lose a little more of their humanity each day, and sick to death of seeing people tortured in the name of God. What had happened to these people?
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For Peter's smile is a most contagious thing.
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There's a reason why we're born with brains in our heads, not rocks.
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Had not enough gone wrong?
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Don't let them win. Don't let them beat you. Don't let them steal your magic.
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