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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.

R.L. LaFevers

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R.L. LaFevers
Along
Wonder
Glances
Running
Finger
Soul
Sheer
Feel
Reached
Feels
Surely
Every
Fingers
Time
Smile

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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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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, until Death do us part. Whatever that may mean when consorting with one of Death’s handmaidens.
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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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If he is smart, he will run. He is not.
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You are not my nursemaid. Remember, I am rescuing you.
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Why be the sheep when you can be the wolf?
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You would throw away all that we have given you for a man’s love?” “Not a man’s love,” I say softly. “But Duval’s. And I would find a way to serve both my god and my heart. Surely He does not give us hearts so we may spend our lives ignoring them.
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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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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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Perhaps that is because you mistake death for justice, and they are not the same thing at all.
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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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Good intentions are only lies the weak tell themselves.
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One heart cannot serve two masters.
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