I am only a little lion, child, and I vow, I shall not savage you.

Choosing... it has always hurt. And always will. I know.

Fire consumes, but cold preserves.

Let me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths. So if you must hate, Arya, hate those who would truly do us harm.

When you have known the kiss of a flaying knife, a laugh loses all its power to hurt you.

I can see a scene in my head, and when I try to get it down in words on paper, the words are clunky; the scene is not coming across right. So frustrating. And there are days where it keeps flowing. Open the floodgates, and there it is. Pages and pages coming. Where the hell does this all come from? I don't know.

And the mystery knight should defeat all challengers and name the wolf maid the queen of love and beauty.