You're beautiful this morning," Archer said, stopping before her, kissing her nose. "You're impossibly sweet in my shirt." That might be but she felt like death. She would gladly make the trade; how blissful it would be to feel impossibly sweet and look like death.

Every configuration of people is an entirely new universe unto itself.

When you're a monster, you are thanked and praised for not being a monster.

Still doing your best to ruin the horses, I see.

There will be no yelling at people who are bleeding themselves to unconsciousness.

What she really loved was to hang over the edge and watch the bow of the ship slice through the waves. She loved it especially when the waves were high and the ship rose and fell, or when it was snowing and the flakes stung her face.

That's interesting," Bitterblue said. "You think a conscience requires fear?