"Little," Ignis assured her, "could never even come close to entering into the vocabulary of what I think of you, Liliana."

And he had to kiss her again, because sometimes, there were no words that seemed good enough to encompass that estimation, but the feelings of passion and hunger and awe were so much easier expressed that way, as verbose and eloquent as he prided himself to be. And a kiss was also the only way he could think of, for now, in that moment, to make some sort of attempt to soothe even the smallest fraction of that hurt and pain from her.