Hatred is a cold fire, and it gives no warmth.

Nothing is certain, ma petite, not even death." - Jean-Claude

I got out my jar of ointment. I knew animators who had special containers for the ointment. Crockery, hand-blown glass, mystical symbols carved into the sides. I used an old Mason jar that had once held Grandma Blake's green beans. Larry fished out a peanut butter jar with the label still on it. Extra-crunchy. Yum-Yum.

Besides I'm a sucker for a pair of pretty eyes.

The fey in this country keep to themselves, and are a separate nation, much like the American Indians, but with even more autonomy.

I try to be a good cop. I try to be a good little soldier and follow orders up to a point. But in the end I’m not really a cop, or a soldier. I am a legally sanctioned murderer. I am the Executioner.

That was the true terror of love, that you could love with your whole heart, your whole soul, and lose both