Say what you will, dear sister, we do what we do for the promise of our youth. Yet it is always they who scar beneath the points of daggers.
The simple truth? History was never simply history. If it was anything it was another collar—another means to control.
All men were tools, as she saw it. Dangerous tools, when roused, but that was why one took care in efforts of control. It all came back to leverage. It wasn’t enough to ask a man if he would kill his brother. One had to make him see the consequence...
Duty and honor are oft enough realm only for those with security to afford them.
Hold mirth tight against your breast, but answer every injury with bladed heart.
Are we not all one flesh? One mind? A sword brings power. Knowledge brings coin. With either, one can make blood reckoned, can earn names. The only thing that differs between a noble man and a working man is that they have now, while the other does n...
A penny for the moat, where all the ashen song be wrote—a tune for man, so long eloped in hours of decision and derisive hope. Flutter, flutter heart, beyond your base and noble part. All eyes behold the passing.
Everything burned, everyone lied, and no one paid for it but the ones in the muck.
Madness is a regenerating thing. Like a phoenix, when one strand dies, another burns anew.
Nothing lives long but the mountains and the earth. All the rest is air.
Some run the cliffs, and set upon an eagle’s wings. Others mire in the den, and once within, can never leave again.
Life moved in circles. Such was the path. What came would come again, breath to breath, until each riddled out the truth within. War was a path to the next, as sure as any, but lies gained nothing.
Even corpses had purpose, or could be given one. A man could make himself an island his entire life, only to have reason itself laid about him, a fabricated existence. Identity became relative, history nonexistent. As they said, dead men told no tale...
That was magic, sweetest.” The witch flexed her fingers, wriggled them in front of her. “Did she think it a wave of the hands? A slip of the tongue?” A kiss upon her skin. She could see the woman reaching out and taking her in hand, kissing eac...
Man tames not vengeance; vengeance breaks the man.
Logic kills. Faith burns. Better to be the one with the torch than the one on the pyre.
That was one of the inherent flaws of faith. Belief without knowing. But worse yet: belief without action. It could be good in its own right. Beautiful, even, when embraced, but that had to be measured. Checked. Too many surrendered themselves to it....
Everyone was trying to forget something, but they could never seem to find the way to do it. All they ever seemed to do was make it worse. Such quiet madness, the masses led.
