The Order of Merciful Aid provided merciful aid, usually on the edge of a blade or the burn of a bullet.

Peope, especially unhappy people, want a cause. They want something to belong to, to be a part of something great and bigger, and to be led. It's easy to be a cog in a machine: you don't have to think, you have no responsibility. You're just following orders, doing as you're told.

You sure you don’t want to kiss me good-bye, baby?

Black hair, angelic face, and devil eyes.

Outside the windows the day was bright: golden sunshine, blue sky, pleasant wind . . . I wanted to punch the happy day in the face, grab it by the hair, and beat it until it told me what the hell it was so happy about.

He isn’t so much flirting,” Cerise murmured. “Either he doesn’t like me or he doesn’t know how.” “Of course he likes you. You’re lovely. He probably just doesn’t get it. Some men have to be hit over the head with it. Her aunt rolled her eyes. “I thought I’d have to draw your uncle Jean a giant sign. That or kidnap him and have my evil way with him, until he got the message.

He gave an impression of coiled power, a contained violence that if released, would explode with terrifying intensity.