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The path is made of many stones that look all the same. When you trod upon evil, do not rest or look down because goodness is only a step away. The next may bring ruin, the next joy, but these stones are not your destination, they are but your journey to the path’s end.
Inside me there is a coward who fears discomfort. That coward will offer solace in the form of excuses. But it is the coward who grooms a man for his defeats. The coward who makes him accept them because he is accustomed to finding a good reason to quit. The coward inside can only be killed one way.
That season of life is a haze to him, but when I die and reflect on my life, I know I will still believe that season was the meaning of mine.
Victra murmurs. “You’re the bookish one. Was it a man who said ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’?” A lancer brings her gauntlets. “It must have been—to imagine something so petty as scorn to be the utmost misery a woman could suffer. What, I wonder, would he make of a mother who has seen her husband sold like meat and her babe nailed to a tree?” She dons her gauntlets. “Perhaps: wrath, I am thee? They come for our children, Virginia.” She turns to me and cups my face with one hand. “Do not fear for me. Instead, pity them.”
In the cold prison of our minds, we are alone with our self-hatred, our doubts, and guilt. No one more than Sevro. A friend may reach through the bars and hold our hand, but they cannot open the door for us. Only the prisoner has the key. All I can do is remind him we’re waiting for him when he gets out.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “I’m in the middle of a rescue, actually. While it is taking longer than expected, I’m optimistic with regards to its outcome.”
“Neptune’s prick. I thought I just died,” Cassius mutters.
“Then why did you give me a suicide pill?” “It was a breath mint.
Firelight bathes Darrow’s face as he cocks back his head and howls.
“When we lose something, we remember only the good and yearn for that. We forget the bad.
