I am beginning to think that love itself is never wrong. It is what love can drive people to do that is the problem.

The maids in my village talked of falling in love with a man at first sight. That has always seemed naught but foolishness to me. Until I enter Sister Serafina's workshop. It is unlike anything I have ever seen, full of strange sights and smells, and I tumble headlong into love.

Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours, until Death do us part. Whatever that may mean when consorting with one of Death’s handmaidens.

The pain of hope dying is worse than his fists and boots.

He does not start guiltily, as he should, but frowns in annoyance. "Who are you?" I slip my hand through the slit of my overskirt, and my fingers close around the hard wood of the crossbow tiller. "Vengeance," I say softly.

I am a handmaiden of Death. I walk in His dark shadow and do His bidding. Serving Him is my only purpose in this life.

I am left with the conviction that an avalanche would be easier to dissuade than that man.