We are all of us, gods and mortals, made up of many pieces, some of them broken, some of them scarred, but none of them the total sum of who we are.

... while I am Death's daughter and walk in His dark shadow, surely the darkness can give way to light sometimes.

Why be the sheep when you can be the wolf?

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

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.

One heart cannot serve two masters.

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