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

God's Teeth,' he says. 'I was only trying to wake you. You were crying out in your sleep.' 'I was not,' I say, then look from his neck to my knife. 'When I tried to wake you, you stabbed me.' He sounds sore put out. and I cannot blame him.

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

I never skulk, and lurk only sometimes.

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

I bear a deep red stain that runs from my left shoulder down to my right hip, a trail left by the herbwitch's poison that my mother used to try to expel me from her womb.

He barks out a laugh. "My little rebel.