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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
Nothing
Instrument
Think
Mercy
Thinking
Instruments
Ground
Filled
Husk
Peace
Shell
Sense
Vengeance
Body
Shells

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Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours.
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Perhaps that is because you mistake death for justice, and they are not the same thing at all.
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He barks out a laugh. My little rebel.
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One heart cannot serve two masters.
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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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He smiles then, and even though it is well past midnight, its as if the sun has just come out.
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People hear and see what they expect to hear and see.
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There is no shame in scars, Ismae.
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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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When one consorts with assassins, one must expect to dance along the edge of a knife once or twice.
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The pain of hope dying is worse than his fists and boots.
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... true faith never comes without anguish.
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I am left with the conviction that an avalanche would be easier to dissuade than that man.
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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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It is a good thing I no longer have a heart, because if I did, it would surely break.
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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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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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Good intentions are only lies the weak tell themselves.
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I am sorry,' he whispers. 'I am sorry I treated you so ill. I thought only to protect Duval.' 'It was not I who was poisoning him,' I say. 'No, but you had stolen his heart and I was afraid you would rip it from his chest when you left.
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When he laces his fingers through mine, my heart does its now familiar panicked flight, bumping painfully against my ribs. My shoulder twitches as if to pull my hand back, but my heart overrules it.
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