... then he offers me his arm. As I take it, I wonder what folly decreed that women cannot walk unassisted.
Do you need anything before I go? I want you to return my wits, I long to say.
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.
Perhaps that is because you mistake death for justice, and they are not the same thing at all.
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.
If he is smart, he will run. He is not.
Truly, we are the gods' own children, forged in the fire of our tortured pasts, but also blessed with unimaginable gifts.
It is a good thing I no longer have a heart, because if I did, it would surely break.
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.
I am left with the conviction that an avalanche would be easier to dissuade than that man.
You love me?' 'Yes, you great lummox. I love you.' He lets out a sigh. 'Sweet Camulos! It's about time.
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.
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