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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.

R.L. LaFevers

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R.L. LaFevers
Sacrament
Guided
Sacraments
Serve
Killing
Death
Handmaidens

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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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Perhaps that is because you mistake death for justice, and they are not the same thing at all.
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Good intentions are only lies the weak tell themselves.
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In the distance a wolf howls. Let it come, I think. Beast will most likely simply howl back, and the creature will either turn tail and run or fall into line behind him, like the rest of us have.
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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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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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He barks out a laugh. My little rebel.
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People hear and see what they expect to hear and see.
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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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He smiles then, and even though it is well past midnight, its as if the sun has just come out.
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