In the end, all disguises must drop.

We only have babies when we're young enough not to know how grim life turns out.

Where I'm from, we believe in all sorts of things that aren't true... we call it history.

...but the tale itself is a trickster and doesn't hesitate to lie. It is anachronistic with a vengeance. It emerges always and everywhere, overt or disguised, pureblood or hybrid, and healthy as sin.

And girls need cold anger. They need the cold simmer, the ceaseless grudge, the talent to avoid forgiveness, the side stepping of compromise. They need to know when they say something that they will never back down, ever, ever.

I do love to sing. Had I a longer set of thigh bones and a sweeter voice, I should have loved to be a performer.

I mean, evil and boredom. Evil and ennui. Evil and the lack of stimulation. Evil and sluggish blood.