Ranerio wrapped his hand around mine, guiding my fingers like Lucius had done when he'd shown me the latch behind the dressing-room door mirror. But while the warrior I loved had been offering me an escape route, the pacifist was trying to show me ho...
Fear is the worst kind of grave, because it buries one alive.
Enduring pain is like causing pain.
It is strange how love is a source for power––can spur the desire to fight to the death, or to fight back from something that seems like death for long enough to write a coherent note––but also of weakness.
