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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.

R.L. LaFevers

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R.L. LaFevers
Around
Slips
Crossbows
Doe
Wood
Frowns
Hard
Woods
Slit
Fingers
Slits
Close
Annoyance
Hand
Softly
Start
Slip
Tiller
Hands
Vengeance
Crossbow

More quotes by R.L. LaFevers

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There is no shame in scars, Ismae.
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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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Perhaps that is because you mistake death for justice, and they are not the same thing at all.
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Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours.
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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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Why be the sheep when you can be the wolf?
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We are all of us, gods and mortals, made up of many pieces, some of them broken, some of them scarred, but none of them the total sum of who we are.
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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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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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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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I am left with the conviction that an avalanche would be easier to dissuade than that man.
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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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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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He smiles then, and even though it is well past midnight, its as if the sun has just come out.
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The pain of hope dying is worse than his fists and boots.
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He barks out a laugh. My little rebel.
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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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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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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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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