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The Either (The Horus Heresy) The Either by Graham McNeill
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“I won’t be the half-heard,’ said Marr, making his way down a carpeted hallway in the upper levels of the villa, a passageway replete with portraits that bore unmistakable genetic links.
Only the most recent picture had no date of death beneath it. A woman shawled with rich fabrics and draped in expensive jewellery stared back at him, handsome with rich living and what looked like subtle flesh sculpting.
‘Did you own this fine dwelling?’ he asked the portrait. ‘How did it feel to have it taken from you? To have your dreams crushed under the boots of the Sons of Horus?’
The portrait was, of course, silent.
‘Are you even still alive? Perhaps you fled to the interior countryside to wait out the war. Maybe you took refuge in another of your holdings, or in the household of a friend.’
Marr stepped away from the portrait and hurled the amphora at the wall. It shattered and soaked the picture, drenching it in wine that dripped in garnet droplets from its gilt frame.
‘It doesn’t matter!’ he roared. ‘Whatever became of you, you are nothing now. Whatever your achievements, they are as dust in the wind. All your labours, all your dedication, blood, sweat and tears… all shed for nothing.”
Graham McNeill, The Either