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She had not realized that a nun had more power than a princess, that she could close a door.
the history of the world was written in women’s wombs and women’s blood and she would never be allowed to change it.
She had been born a princess, which should have been lucky, but the price for never going hungry was to be caught in a struggle between people too powerful to call to justice.
She was used to being stubborn, but having people agree with her was off-putting and didn’t give her much to work with.
It was hard to be frightened of the unknown when the unknown kept chickens.
“Lots of people deserve to die,” said the dust-wife finally. “Not everybody deserves to be a killer.”
“How did you get a demon in your chicken?” “The usual way. Couldn’t put it in the rooster. That’s how you get basilisks.”
Some things come into being once it’s inevitable that they will exist.”
Nothing is fair, except that we try to make it so. That’s the point of humans, maybe, to fix things the gods haven’t managed.
