In the far corner, a tenor began to sing, Zsadist's crystal-clear voice sailing up toward the warrior paintings on the ceiling far, far above them all. At first John didn't know what the song was...although if he'd been asked what his name was, he would have said Santa Claus, or Luther Vandross, or Teddy Roosevelt. Maybe even Joan Collins.

My twin's not broken. He's ruined. Do you understand the difference? With broken maybe you can fix him. Ruined? All you can do is wait to bury him.

For f*ck's sake, get off the cross. Someone else needs the wood" ~Zsadist

Among the problems with shame was that it in fact did not make you shorter or quieter or less visible. You just felt like you were.

In the silence, she felt the past and the present shift and mix, but that was a mirage. There was no way to comfort the lost boy he'd been back then. But she had the grown male. She had him right in her arms, and for a brief moment of whimsy, she imagined that she was never, ever going to let him go.

[Qhuinn looking a Blay] A tear escaped from that eye . Welling up along the lower lid, it coalesced at the far corner, formed a crystal circle, and grew so fat it couldn’t hold on to the lashes. Slipping free, it meandered downward, getting lost in dark hair at the temple.

The mind...the mind was the most powerful force for and against someone.