It is a good thing I no longer have a heart, because if I did, it would surely break.

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.

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.

He smiles then, and even though it is well past midnight, its as if the sun has just come out.

If he is smart, he will run. He is not.

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