And just as love has two sides, so too does Death. While Ismae will serve as His mercy, I will not, for that is not how He fashioned me. Every death I have witnessed, every horror I have endured, has forged me to be who I am -- Death's justice.

It takes a surprising amount of courage to place one's hand into an unseen area when your mind is thinking about vermin.

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

Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours.

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

Perhaps that is because you mistake death for justice, and they are not the same thing at all.