Seven Blades in Black

Now, it’s certainly not true for *every* woman, but the ones I have had the good fortune to know in my life have all followed this rule. If you need a favor, you bring her flowers. If you need her forgiveness, you bring her jewelry. And if you need both, you bring her a book.

People were noisome, demanding, judgmental. Books gave everything and asked nothing more than to be taken care of.

No one ever gets the death they want,” I replied. “Just the one they deserve.

Courageous read a lot of books. That’s probably why he was so angry all the time.

Feathers glittering the color of amethyst against the dying light of the day, long tails trailing in the breeze like kites, wings shimmering with every beat. They looked so oblivious to their majesty, like flying and painting the sky with purple was just something they did, rather than something that made my knees shake.

If you're lucky, you meet a lot of people you like enough to touch them. If you're really lucky, you meet a few who you like enough to let them touch you back. But if you're very luck, you meet that one person who touches you in a way that makes you feel like you're standing up a little straighter, like you're breathing a little clearer, like you were walking hunched over your whole life and you didn't even know it.

Because justice isn’t for the victim, is it? It’s not for the girl crying every night or the boy burying his father. It’s for the killer, it’s for the judge, it’s for the shits like you who want to feel like you’re above it all, like forgiving a killer makes up for not being able to protect his victims.” I spat on the floor. “A man kills and you fawn over him and wonder what went wrong. A man dies and you shrug and step over the corpse.

Just because something is religious does not necessarily make it insane.” She studied the writing and hummed. “Though this particular something is decidedly fucking nuts.

Pain has a way of dragging time out. You can lose hours, days, years of your life to it, either in fear of it or waiting for it to stop.

People are wounds. They cut and they hurt and they bleed. Some hurt for a little while and go away. Some don’t stop hurting until you make them.

Books gave everything and asked nothing more than to be taken care of.

In Liette's case, those words were probably something like, If it were possible to make love to books, I would.

Now, it's certainly not true for every woman, but the ones I have had the good fortune to know in my life have all followed this rule. If you need a favor, you bring her flowers. If you need her forgiveness, you bring her jewelry. And if you need both, you bring her a book.

The loudest sound in the world is a man of faith beginning to doubt. And over it, I couldn’t hear anything else.

That hadn’t gone well. Not that I had expected it to go better—nothing is ever improved with the addition of tentacles, after all.

She always preferred paper to people. People were noisome, demanding, judgmental. Books gave everything and asked nothing more than to be taken care of. I found her priorities charming.

You wear ignorance like a crown as you feast upon a thickheaded fantasy of lies,

There are others, but the end result is that most Vagrants showing up where you live will ruin your day. Not me, of course. A girl like me tends to ruin your whole week.

I’m used to no help. I’m used to the odds being stacked against me. And I wish I could tell you either of those made me less scared.

If you learn any three lessons from me, they are these. You never know a person until you see them angry. You never know a weapon until it fails you. And you never know a city until the sun goes down.

And I doubted there would be such a time as you would ever see reason. Like a specialized predator, you have evolved to a point where you are immune to all forms of logic.” She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Also, given the rate and quality of your consumption, I had doubts that I had any alchemics powerful enough to subdue you.

You wear ignorance like a crown as you feast on a thickheaded fantasy of lies,’ she replied - and I was pretty sure I should be insulted, even if I couldn’t quite make out what she was accusing me of.

You were ignorance like a crown as you feast upon a thickheaded fantasy of lies

I reached into my pocket. I pulled a sheet of parchment out and unfolded it, looked at the top of the list, and pressed a piece of charcoal against it. Vraki the Gate.

You can breathe now.” He let out a sharp gasp, his eyes bulging out of their sockets as he flailed his hands. “General’s graces,” he said, panting, “I did not think that was going to work. I was sure they were going to know. I feel tingly. Do I look tingly? I feel tingly.” “Relax.” I chuckled, slapping him on the back. “You did some fine fucking work.” “Praise from Sal the Cacophony, huh?” He shot me a crooked grin of his own. “I’m not sure if I should be pleased or horrified.

Because she only trusts weapons in her own hands,” Liette muttered. “Or,” I snapped over my shoulder, “it’s because if you run into any creature out here, the only thing a weapon will be good for is turning it on yourself before it has a chance to eat you.” I sniffed. “And if it ate you, it’d eat the weapon, too, and then how would I kill myself

Take your pick. They were a fruit basket of assholes.” Sal paused, considered. “An ass basket, if you will.

I was given a glimpse of a sneer so mean and ugly that it would make a pregnant woman miscarry just to look at.

What if there’s trouble?” he called after me. “Golly, what if? I hope I have a nice big fuck-off gun to deal with it.

Well, why don’t we ever get to talk about what I want to talk about?” I demanded. “Because we have already covered the conversational breadth of guns, tits, and whiskey.” I sniffed, a little more petulant than I would have liked to appear. “I like other stuff.