When one consorts with assassins, one must expect to dance along the edge of a knife once or twice.
I have found it is surprisingly difficult to remain sad when a cat is doing its level best to sandpaper one's cheeks.
People hear and see what they expect to hear and see.
This is what I want to be. An instrument of mercy, not vengeance.
I cannot tell her I have been moping over a broken heart when I have worked so hard to convince her I have no heart at all.
Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours, until Death do us part. Whatever that may mean when consorting with one of Death’s handmaidens.
Every time he glances at me I feel it just as surely as if he has reached out and run his finger along my soul. It is all I can do not to smile at the sheer wonder of it.
You would throw away all that we have given you for a man’s love?” “Not a man’s love,” I say softly. “But Duval’s. And I would find a way to serve both my god and my heart. Surely He does not give us hearts so we may spend our lives ignoring them.
Perhaps that is because you mistake death for justice, and they are not the same thing at all.
He does not start guiltily, as he should, but frowns in annoyance. "Who are you?" I slip my hand through the slit of my overskirt, and my fingers close around the hard wood of the crossbow tiller. "Vengeance," I say softly.
Do you need anything before I go? I want you to return my wits, I long to say.
... then he offers me his arm. As I take it, I wonder what folly decreed that women cannot walk unassisted.
And so it is with us; we serve as handmaidens to Death. When we are guided by His will, killing is a sacrament.
His divine spark lives within me, a presence that will never leave. And I am but one of many tools He has at His disposal. If I cannot act - if I refuse to act - that is a choice I am allowed to make. He has given me life, and all I must do to serve Him is to live. Fully and with my whole heart. With this knowledge comes a true understanding of all the gifts He has given me.
It takes a surprising amount of courage to place one's hand into an unseen area when your mind is thinking about vermin.
Hate cannot be fought with hate. Evil cannot be conquered by darkness. Only love has the power to conquer them both.
I am beginning to think that love itself is never wrong. It is what love can drive people to do that is the problem.
We are all of us, gods and mortals, made up of many pieces, some of them broken, some of them scarred, but none of them the total sum of who we are.
The maids in my village talked of falling in love with a man at first sight. That has always seemed naught but foolishness to me. Until I enter Sister Serafina's workshop. It is unlike anything I have ever seen, full of strange sights and smells, and I tumble headlong into love.
The pain of hope dying is worse than his fists and boots.
You come to us well tempered, my child, and it is not in my nature to be sorry for it. It is a well tempered blade that is the strongest.
One heart cannot serve two masters.
Good intentions are only lies the weak tell themselves.
For all that I have kissed before, I have never felt anything like this. It is as if I have swallowed a tiny piece of the sun, its warmth and light reaching into every corner of my soul and chasing away the shadows. I surrender to that kiss - surrender to the strength and the courage and the sheer goodness of the man.
In the distance a wolf howls. Let it come, I think. Beast will most likely simply howl back, and the creature will either turn tail and run or fall into line behind him, like the rest of us have.
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