Immortal Longings

They trained her for war. And she rose up to wage it on them.

Calla can handle pain. She can handle blood. But this—this is somehow all and none of that at once, a wrenching in her very soul. This is tenderness. And she is more afraid of it than anything else in their forsaken kingdom.

Go on,” he says evenly. “Kill me. Fall not a tear. Be the murderous princess they say you are.

A living thing, when faced with a break or injury, is compelled to heal itself

Calla Tuoleimi, princess of Er. She could do nothing on a throne, but she can do everything with a sword in her hand.

Calla removes the cigarette from her lips and, with the puff of smoke still in her lungs, leans forward and kisses him. Despite his words, he lets her release right into him, taking the toxins down his throat. He’ll let her poison him, swallow everything down like this is the sweetest liquor he has ever tasted.

Calla is a woman in the same way that the sky is blue. She understands that it’s the easiest identifier to slap on and she doesn’t mind it, but in actuality, the sky is an incomprehensible void, and Calla, too, feels closer to a nebulous, inexact entity. Before she is anything else, Calla is just Calla.

There are no good kings, but there are fair ones

Calla,” she echoes, putting on a tone of reverence. She makes a thoughtful noise. “Would you know me in another body?” “In any body,” Anton promises, “you would still be the same terrifying princess. ”That draws a laugh from her, and the sound sends an unexplainable thrill shooting along his body. He would give anything to keep her like this next to him, her every gesture of approval like a line of narcotics wired directly into his veins. When she lifts her chin to grin at the look on his face, he can’t help but feel that he is giving away more than he should, yet he can’t stop himself.

He loves her the way no one can let go of the first person they ever wholly adored.

To suffer in San-Er is not a punishment, only a way of life

She could kill him right here if she wanted. The apartment hosts only the two of them. The rest of San-Er sleeps within its own walls. He would have nowhere to jump. But she won’t. She trusts her life in his hands, and for that, she wants to deserve his trust too, offer him safety in her embrace.

Truth be told, she’s never felt like she aligns one specific way, but she enjoys femininity and how it looks on her. Calla is a woman in the same way that the sky is blue. She understands that it’s the easiest identifier to slap on and she doesn’t mind it, but in actuality, the sky is an incomprehensible void, and Calla, too, feels closer to a nebulous, inexact entity. Before she is anything else, Calla is just… Calla.

This is tenderness. And she is more afraid of it than anything else

Given Anton's childhood, a natural assumption would be that he couldn't handle bloodshed. But blood is faultless. Blood is only a consequence. Better to draw blood before it can be drawn from you; better to exert power and hold control- to seize power and maintain control.

Twelve years old and honed to be a weapon. Fourteen years old and molded into an unquestioning arm of the throne.

Suddenly, Anton turns, nudging his shoulder closer toward her. Calla snatches her hand back with a start, but he’s not stirring against her touch. He has not awakened at all: he only adjusts until he is facing her, eyes still closed. Before Calla can react, Anton draws her near, seeking her body amid the sheets. He reaches for her, an arm curling around her waist, solid and steady. Even asleep, he reaches for her

It doesn't take a blade to carve open a heart. It only takes a soft glance.

There are no good kings, but there are fair ones.

Take the cuts. Take the burns. You will heal, and you will be braver. Braver? I want to be stronger. Strength is a conscious effort. First, you will be braver, and then you will be stronger.

Galipei touches August’s wrist. It is a small brush, nothing more than the pad of his finger making contact with his prince’s exposed skin just below the cuff of his sleeve. “Relax,” he urges. “The crown will soon be yours.