Hate cannot be fought with hate. Evil cannot be conquered by darkness. Only love has the power to conquer them both.

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

I comfort myself with the knowledge that if Duval ever feels smothered by me, it will be because I am holding a pillow over his face.

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

Not all men are the same, you know. With someone such as Gavriel, I would suggest appearing aloof, not chasing too much. He might see that as suffocating rather than charming." Her words are sharp, but her voice is sweet, like honey on the edge of a blade, and meant to be cutting. I comfort myself with the knowledge that if Duval ever feels smothered by me, it will be because I am holding a pillow over his face and commending his soul to Mortain.

And so it is with us; we serve as handmaidens to Death. When we are guided by His will, killing is a sacrament.

If you are not careful, soon you will have men locking themselves in dungeons so that you can rescue them.