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have to shoot you now,” and then she burst out, quickly, “Joke—that was an actual fucking joke, you don’t even need to pay for it,” and she followed the Angel up the ramp.
“Yeah,” said Pyrrha. “I think it’s time to wake you up.”
“The love of God is the trust that you won’t have to illumine that darkness alone,” he said.
You’re afraid of so many things, but she’s only afraid to die.
“God is a dream, Harrow,” he said very gently. “You all dream me together—and she’s dreaming me too. In a way, her dead dreams of God mean more than all your dreams put together. In this dream of yours, where will you seek out God? Where will you go?”
“I might not help you when … I’m back,” she said, not quite understanding I. “I’ll be different. I’ll remember everything … I’ll remember the thing I’m trying to forget. And Palamedes—I won’t love him. I won’t love Camilla, or Pyrrha, or Hot Sauce, or even Noodle. I won’t love anything … I won’t know how. I won’t be me at all, or … I’ll be the me who knows the thing, and knowing the thing means I’m not Nona—I’m someone else.”
“Don’t worry, kiddie,” she said tiredly. “I’ll keep loving you—my problem is I don’t know how to stop. And, you know … who you are … were … you’re capable of more than you think, right now. I liked you. He liked you—Gideon liked you. My necromancer and I always liked you … and hey, what’s like except a love that hasn’t been invited indoors?”
“I don’t know what you are yet, but you know what I am, so … stay put, Sext.” “It’s Paul,” said Paul. “I respect that, but can’t admire it,” said the new person, taking a long drag.
“He loves her!” Ianthe howled. “John loves Alecto—John needs Alecto! Without that piece of goddamned fridge meat, he’s nothing—and we need to keep him that way!” The secret was told: the secret was out—the middle brain disappeared. Nona unravelled.
John loved her. She was John’s cavalier. She loved John. For she so loved the world that she had given them John. For the world so loved John that she had been given. For John had so loved her that he had made her she. For John had loved the world.
She hadn’t come on purpose; the scrap of black-eyed meat had asked for it—the chain of a kiss: the ice that burnt the flesh of the mouth that had stuck to the mouth that was frozen. The teardrop on the hand. The hand that John had fashioned.
John had said, It’s so beautiful. Come and look. She had said, There are almost no beautiful things left. Where is Anastasia? Let me talk to Anastasia.
Most human voices sounded alike, after all. They were not beautiful.
She looked back beyond, and she saw Anastasia, tucked where nobody would find her: Anastasia, all bones. Not really Anastasia. But Anastasia’s body without the meat on it, snuggled right into the curve of the rock, ready to close the door whenever it was opened. She remembered Anastasia.
And the first child asked: Dost thou oppose me, and thou half-dead? And the second child said, I am as one half-dead, but you would be two-halves dead, bitch. To which the first child said, My sweet, I only die of longing for thee. And the other child said, Then perish.
And Alecto said, Pyrrha, he laid me down as an appeasement to them; he fed you to them as an appeasement to them; but he has never appeased me, and now all he has done was teach me how to die.