Truly, we are the gods' own children, forged in the fire of our tortured pasts, but also blessed with unimaginable gifts.

Truly, we are the gods' own children, forged in the fire of our tortured pasts, but also blessed with unimaginable gifts.

When one consorts with assassins, one must expect to dance along the edge of a knife once or twice.

I stare at him coldly. "I do not care for needlework." I pause. "Unless it involves the base of the skull.

The body on the ground is nothing more than a shell, a husk, and I am filled with a sense of peace. Yes, I think. Yes. This is what I want to be. An instrument of mercy, not vengeance.

Jewels can be replaced, cousin. Independence, once lost, cannot.

I have found it is surprisingly difficult to remain sad when a cat is doing its level best to sandpaper one's cheeks.