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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
Killing
Death
Handmaidens
Sacrament
Guided
Sacraments
Serve

More quotes by R.L. LaFevers

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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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If he is smart, he will run. He is not.
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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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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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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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... true faith never comes without anguish.
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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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It is a good thing I no longer have a heart, because if I did, it would surely break.
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Why be the sheep when you can be the wolf?
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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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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.
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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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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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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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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 barks out a laugh. My little rebel.
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You are not my nursemaid. Remember, I am rescuing you.
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One heart cannot serve two masters.
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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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