More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Read between
July 14 - July 17, 2022
“Reasons help you decide a path of action. Justifications are for when you already know what you’re going to do.
Seeing my surprise, she grinned. “I licked you clean as you slept.” I couldn’t decide if I was aroused or terrified. Henka had a way of creating both within me at the same time.
Responsibility was a burden one slung around one’s own neck. Each person cared for, each object cherished, each ideal clung to, each goal strived toward, every choice and every carefully considered decision: all added to the weight.
Like anything of worth, purpose, too, was a burden.
“Save yourself,” I said. “Now is not the time to be the hero.” He coughed a sputtering laugh, cracked lips seeping blood. “That’s what makes it the right time.”
By the late teens, most people already had their parent’s beliefs, foolish or otherwise, carved into their soul. It was hard to cut out such faith. People hate change. They fear being forced to think—or rethink—more than they’re afraid of being wrong or looking stupid.
I screamed in glorious agony, falling backward to sprawl on the dirt floor. Pain became my world, a raging inferno searing every thought to ash. I welcomed it. There should be a cost to power, and I paid it gladly. For everything I had done and for everything I would do, I deserved to suffer.
She was the dream that held the universe together. And she dreamed in blood.
“And northerners boil everything!” crowed Bren. “They think salt is the most exciting spice. They boil bread and call it pudding!”
“He was a terrible waiter.”
My promises were shit. Even those spoken only to myself. I was a liar.
“I don’t want to be the villain,” I said. “The concept is meaningless. Everyone does what they think they must. Such labels are applied by others, those who don’t know the whole truth.”
“What’s the difference between a god and a demon?” I asked. “Scale.”
Promises are prisons.
“It’s your sword. Call it whatever you want.” “Justice,” he said. “No. That’s silly. Death Blade? Skullfucker?” He tested the blade with a thumb, blinked at the blood. “Nick?” “Maybe give it some thought,” said Henka. “Yeah,” he agreed. “No rush.”
“Weak for a god,” mused Tien, “but still capable of crushing mortals.” “Said the undead wizard to the long-dead emperor,” muttered Bren.
And yet selfless. She cared more for me than she did herself.
I doubt that.
“Would it be that bad if he didn’t live up to his full potential?” I asked. “What if he chose the happiness of a simple life instead?”
“People are happiest when striving, when working toward something. Life isn’t about the destination; it’s not about winning. It’s the fight, the struggle.
There was something terrifying about someone willing to do anything they thought was in your best interest.
“How simple life would be,” mused Nhil, “if everyone defined ‘the greater good’ the same way.”
Confident men didn’t hunger for worship, didn’t crave fear. The wants of a man who likes himself are so very different from those of a man drowning in self-loathing.
