A Dowry of Blood (A Dowry of Blood, #1)

by S.T. Gibson

This is my last love letter to you, though some would call it a confession. I suppose both are a sort of gentle violence, putting down in ink what scorches the air when spoken aloud.

think, my lord, that this is when you loved me best. When I was freshly made, and still as malleable as wet clay in your hands.

In my mind, I was God’s lovely angel of judgment, come to unsheathe the sword of divine wrath against those who truly deserved it.

“It would be easier if he hated us,” she said. “But he loves us all terribly. And if we go on letting him love us, that love is going to kill us. That’s what makes him so dangerous.”