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.
This is what I want to be. An instrument of mercy, not vengeance.
People hear and see what they expect to hear and see.
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 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.
Are men truly such idiots that they cannot resist two orbs of flesh?
I bear a deep red stain that runs from my left shoulder down to my right hip, a trail left by the herbwitch's poison that my mother used to try to expel me from her womb.
However, there are those who deserve to die but who have not yet encountered the means to do so—we help them on their way.
The body on the ground is nothing more than a shell, a husk, and I am filled with a sense of peace. Yes, I think. Yes. This is what I want to be. An instrument of mercy, not vengeance.
A kiss for luck, demoiselle?" It is a magnificent, lusty kiss and I feel nothing but deep regret that it may be his last. Just before he pulls away, he whispers in my ear. "Duval said to give you that should I get a chance. It is from him.
God's Teeth,' he says. 'I was only trying to wake you. You were crying out in your sleep.' 'I was not,' I say, then look from his neck to my knife. 'When I tried to wake you, you stabbed me.' He sounds sore put out. and I cannot blame him.
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.
And just as love has two sides, so too does Death. While Ismae will serve as His mercy, I will not, for that is not how He fashioned me. Every death I have witnessed, every horror I have endured, has forged me to be who I am -- Death's justice.
It is a good thing I no longer have a heart, because if I did, it would surely break.
I am beginning to think that love itself is never wrong. It is what love can drive people to do that is the problem.
Truly, we are the gods' own children, forged in the fire of our tortured pasts, but also blessed with unimaginable gifts.
If he is smart, he will run. He is not.
It takes a surprising amount of courage to place one's hand into an unseen area when your mind is thinking about vermin.
If you are not careful, soon you will have men locking themselves in dungeons so that you can rescue them.
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.
I am left with the conviction that an avalanche would be easier to dissuade than that man.
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