Foul Lady Fortune

Don’t”—he swung again—“touch”—another hard thwack—“my”—the crate broke into two pieces—“wife.

Nation over everything. But not you, sweetheart. Never your life in exchange

You can't ask me not to love you by keeping me at arm's length. I'll love you anyway.

This is not a game to me,” Orion cut in. “I would rather die by your hand than have you believe me a traitor. I would rather take a fast bullet than have us pitted on different sides of an agonizing battle.

She only wanted to be a girl who was deserving of the world.

You cannot save the world. You can try to save one thing if you must, but it is enough if that one thing is yourself.

Broken things called to broken things, tried to slot their shards together in the hopes that they would fit.

Trauma doesn't have to lead to destruction. Trauma can be the guiding point to something better, something stronger

You wanted daffodils at your wedding, and suddenly I wanted to be the one beside you at the altar watching you hold them. I wanted it to be real. I wanted it all to be real.

ORION!” Rosalind screamed. “I AM DOING MY BEST, BELOVED.” “YOU ARE GOING TO GIVE ME A HERNIA.

A city reborn is a city traumatized. It remembers its past, every second that it took to get to this point. It sees the former version of itself and knows that it has changed, its boots no longer fitting, its hats no longer comfortable. The streets trace how they used to sprawl. No matter how it is paved over and reorganized, memories and echoes do not fade away that easily.

I’ve seen what love does. It’s powerful. It’s selfish. It will draw us away from the battlefield, and we can’t allow that.

Orion breathed out. “There is no trick,” he said. “I allow this because I love you.

Do that again,” he said. She looked at the sink. “Wash the razor?” “No, beloved. Your laugh.

Attached to High Tide?” she echoed, her voice teasing. “Have you grown attached to me, Hong Liwen?” “Yes.” His reply came easily. It didn’t sound like he was teasing her in return. “I have.

Who did this to you?” Orion’s voice was violently quiet. “I’ll kill them.

You were my first hope that there might be something else...A third category of memory. A future separate from the past. I have spent years thinking that if I just do the right thing, then I can go back to how it used to be. But maybe I don't want that anymore.

What is family for if not to love us and then break our hearts?

You’re okay,” Rosalind repeated more kindly. “You’re going to be okay, I promise.” She smoothed his hair away from his forehead. As soon as he felt her touch, Orion shifted forward, leaning right onto her shoulder.

Do you think of me as some all-controlling harpy wife?

You’ll spend your whole life trying, and you’ll still fail. There is a reason why duì bù qǐ is duì bù qǐ. We’re only human. We will never match up to what everything could be.

Orion couldn't stop looking at her. Those determined eyes and the set of her brow. Artists would scramble to paint a face like that onto their war posters. Render her expression in vivid enough lines, and the sight alone could lead the world into battle.

Your life is mine as mine is yours,” she said, very seriously. “We are bound in duty if not in matrimony. I won’t make the same mistake twice.

He would promise to wander the ends of the earth and find where the sky began if it meant she would keep her hand there, if it meant he could drown out the rest of his frantic fears by focusing on the sound of her voice. She was his guiding saint, the Polaris of his heart.

Maybe we don’t have to be like this forever, wielded around as national tools. Maybe we can just be people.

It’s okay that you’re grumpy. I think it’s very cute—

Isn't it strange how we say sorry in Chinese? In every other language it's some version of "pardon" or distress. But 'duì bù qǐ...' We're saying we don't match up.

If Rosalind hadn’t left, she would have become another one of the odd items, forgotten amid the mess and clutter in that room.