Mortal Heart

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.

I am sorry. I did not see you. Normally you are lurking in the corners or skulking in the shadows, not standing in plain sight." "I never skulk, and lurk only sometimes.

If you so much as snicker, I will kill you all.

I am beginning to think that love itself is never wrong. It is what love can drive people to do that is the problem.

For a spawn of the Underworld, you have far too much honor.

Even if we are lost or wandering, He will find us—always, He will find us—and try to bring us home.

What is it like?" "What is what like?" "Death. What is death like?" "He is quiet and still, and oh, so peaceful. Fear will no longer hold any sway over you, nor will worry or sadness. Can you think of a time when you were especially tired? Perhaps after a long day of travel? Do you remember how lovely it was to climb into your feather bed that night? How grateful your tired limbs were? How welcoming it felt? How delicious to close your eyes and finally rest?" "Yes." "It is just like that.

Oh no. Do not start leaking. Ismae, come over here and hug her so we can all pretend it never happened and get on with our lives.

I follow you for twelves leagues, accost you in the dead of night, and you are worried about my penance?" "You did not accost me; I let you kiss me, make no mistake.

We are the broken and the damned, the midden heap of Mortain's grace and mercy.

Beast looks as if he wishes to put his head down on the table and weep. Or perhaps lock Sybella up in her chamber for the next few weeks.

If Death could grant you a wish, you would use it for someone else? Trade your happiness for someone else's?

And have you never questioned your faith? Never doubted or turned your back on Him?" "No. I have not.

Just as I am drifting off to sleep, he speak again, so softly I almost cannot be certain it is not a dream. "I am sorry. You make me ashamed of what we are, of what little we can offer you, and I lashed out at you when what I really wanted was to punish my own dark thoughts.

The abbess may well try and force me to return to the convent, silent and in disgrace, but I will not go back. Not like this. Indeed, I can see no way I can ever return to the convent, for the abbess will not let me return in victory, and I refuse to do so in defeat.

It is rarely a lack of love that forces two hearts apart, but other obstacles.

Yes. I have see Him, but He is the god of Death, not some knight to be swooned over.

Don't you see? Your mortal heart shines like a candle flame and I, like one of those hapless black moths you used to leave as an offering, am helpless before its lure.

How do you not know the nature of the hellequin’s hunt? Have you sprouted from the earth wholly formed, like some miraculous cabbage?

When one has made as many mistakes as I have, one becomes very familiar with the fullness of God's grace and mercy.

It is best if you do not spend all your time wishing you were somewhere else.

You always hold a piece of yourself back, Annith. For all your love and affection and kindness, there is always a part of yourself that you withhold from others.

Impossible things do happen. But only if we make them.

I have lived now in the real world, with all its mess and turmoil, all its wildness and all its beauty, and I can never unsee what I have seen, I can never unknow what I now know. More importantly, something deep inside me has awakened, and now that I have moved through the world fully aware, it is impossible to let myself be lulled back to sleep.

And then, without any warning at all, he presses his lips against mine. As his mouth covers my own, I find myself reeling, as if I have been tipped backward and am falling, falling, so that even the stars in the sky are spinning. His lips are warm and soft, the unrelenting pull of his desire for me as strong as the pull of the waves against the sand. It is not like practicing with Ismae, or even Sybella. It is not like any of the first kisses I have imagined over the years. It is far, far better and more wondrous, and yet terrifying as well, like one of the raging storms that pound against the convent walls in the winter, threatening to breach its defenses. So too does this kiss threaten something deep within me that I cannot even name.

He lowers his lips to mine, placing them over my mouth gently, our kiss bearing the weight of a thousand we may never have.

And there it is. The threat I have lived with my entire life. If I am not good enough, kind enough, thoughtful enough, obedient enough, I will be cast from my home like a stunted fish from a fisherman's net.

I have always been willful and stubborn. It is one of my greatest sins." "But is it a sin? If it allows you to survive? Endure? Prevail?

Once they leave to see to their other duties, I go to stand before the fire, feeling once again as if I have been completely upended and remade anew, when in truth, I have barely caught my breath from the first time my life shattered before my eyes. But this- this is different. This is no shattering, but rather some great knitting together of the broken pieces into a stronger whole. I feel cleansed, not only of sin- but of artifice. I am stripped down to nothing but my raw self. As uncomfortable as it makes me feel, there is freedom in it as well, for there is no place left for others' expectations and desires of me to hide.

Mortain's was the only love that placed no demands upon me, the only one who loved me for simply being. His love was as unwavering and constant as the sun. It was what gave me the strength to keep going. The faith to keep trying. The hope I needed to persevere. That was him all along- whether I called him Mortain or Balthazaar, my heart knew him, recognized him.