#5

She was the watch on his wrist, the roast beef when he was starving, and the pitcher of lemonade when he was thirsty. She was his chapel and his choir, the mountain range to his wanderlust, the library of his curiosity, and every sunrise or sunset that ever was or would ever be. […] She was all the power in the universe coalesced into a living, breathing thing, the miracle that he had been granted in spite of the fact that he had long been undeserving of anything but his curse. 

La Confraternita del Pugnale Nero, vol. XIV - The Beast 

(J. R. Ward)