He knew that lies hurt. Perhaps that why he could never bring himself to lie to her.

He'd twist the truth – wrap up the little compliments into insults (you look beautiful – considering you're human) – and sometimes he wouldn't – couldn't – say anything.

For a long time he didn't know why he couldn't lie to her and by the time he'd worked it out it was too late, far too late. He knew then that the lies that hurt the most weren't the ones made out of either malice or goodwill; but the ones you didn't know you were making.

"How long are you going to stay with me?"

"Forever."