For some folks death is release, and for others death is an abomination, a terrible thing. But in the end, I'm there for all of them.

There is something about riding a unicorn, for those people who still can, which is unlike any other experience: exhilarating, and intoxicating, and fine.

Friday's a free day. A woman's day.

Potentially evil. Potentially good, too, I suppose. Just this huge powerful potentiality waiting to be shaped.

Because there are mysteries. Because there are things that people are forbidden to speak about. Because there are things they do not remember.

Richard did not believe in angels, he never had. He was damned if he was going to start now. Still, it was much easier not to believe in something when it was not actually looking directly at you and saying your name.

She had forgotten them all; forgotten Richard down in the mud, and the marquis and his foolish crossbow, and the world. She was delighted and transported, in a perfect place, the world she lived for. Her world contained two things: Hunter, and the Beast. The Beast knew that too. It was the perfect match, the hunter and the hunted. And who was who, and which was which, only time would reveal; time and the dance.