The Six Deaths of the Saint (Into Shadow, #3)

by Alix E. Harrow

He lifted you in his arms—you were hideously aware of every scabbed sore, every flea scuttling through the reddish mat of your hair—and said to the Lady, “Well, she is my Devil now.” And you found you did not mind being a devil, so long as you were his.

Gwynne’s voice cut through yours, his brow still resting heavily on your forehead. “I would rather love a coward than mourn a legend.”

I wonder what the songs will say about the Devil now that she is covered in the blood of her own God. I find that I no longer care at all.