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The body on the ground is nothing more than a shell, a husk, and I am filled with a sense of peace. Yes, I think. Yes. This is what I want to be. An instrument of mercy, not vengeance.

R.L. LaFevers

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R.L. LaFevers
Think
Mercy
Thinking
Instruments
Ground
Filled
Husk
Peace
Shell
Sense
Vengeance
Body
Shells
Nothing
Instrument

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And so it is with us we serve as handmaidens to Death. When we are guided by His will, killing is a sacrament.
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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.
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However, there are those who deserve to die but who have not yet encountered the means to do so—we help them on their way.
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For all that I have kissed before, I have never felt anything like this. It is as if I have swallowed a tiny piece of the sun, its warmth and light reaching into every corner of my soul and chasing away the shadows. I surrender to that kiss - surrender to the strength and the courage and the sheer goodness of the man.
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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.
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It is all we have left to us. And while it is more than I ever dared dream, it is nowhere near enough.
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People hear and see what they expect to hear and see.
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Hate cannot be fought with hate. Evil cannot be conquered by darkness. Only love has the power to conquer them both.
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One heart cannot serve two masters.
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Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours, until Death do us part. Whatever that may mean when consorting with one of Death’s handmaidens.
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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.
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You would throw away all that we have given you for a man’s love?” “Not a man’s love,” I say softly. “But Duval’s. And I would find a way to serve both my god and my heart. Surely He does not give us hearts so we may spend our lives ignoring them.
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The pain of hope dying is worse than his fists and boots.
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You come to us well tempered, my child, and it is not in my nature to be sorry for it. It is a well tempered blade that is the strongest.
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... true faith never comes without anguish.
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You are not my nursemaid. Remember, I am rescuing you.
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There is no shame in scars, Ismae.
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Every time he glances at me I feel it just as surely as if he has reached out and run his finger along my soul. It is all I can do not to smile at the sheer wonder of it.
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If he is smart, he will run. He is not.
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