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

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Good intentions are only lies the weak tell themselves.
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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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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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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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Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours.
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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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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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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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You are not my nursemaid. Remember, I am rescuing you.
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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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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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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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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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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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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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