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Quote by Miramoon

“His violence birthed inside my chest, clasping me and hanging like a rock on my neck, engraving a lifetime of a burning scar, how would it not? If you grow up in a house witnessing that your father’s hands have grabbed your mother’s throat more than her waist.”

Quote by Miramoon

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Miramoon

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“Is that all you want?” At that, he reaches for me, and pulls me toward him so that we’re standing face to face. “Well, I want you, but I didn’t think I had to say that,” he says. “In whatever capacity I can have you, for however long you want me, I’m yours.” I smile, rolling onto the balls of my feet to kiss him softly. “Yana Crebesti,” I murmur against his lips. “No matter what comes.”

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“You aren’t useless. You have your mind, you have your determination. You can still probably wield a sword better than half of Cress’s army, I’d bet, depth perception or no. Stay and fight and show her that she didn’t ruin you.” Erik swallows. For a moment, he says nothing, but eventually he nods his head. “I don’t suppose you could heal me, Heron?” he asks, though he sounds like he already knows the answer. “I can’t make you a new eye,” Heron says, his voice pained. “But I can try to help with healing your other one.” “What about you, Artemisia?” Erik asks. “Any illusion you could cast to hide it?” “Nothing permanent. I’m sorry,” she says. “And nothing that would give you back your vision.” “Ah well,” Erik says, his voice still quavering. “I had a few good years of being handsome. It’s more than most get.” It’s an attempt at a joke, but no one laughs. “You’re still handsome,” Heron says quietly. Erik laughs, the sound hard. “I’m monstrous,” he says. “You’re brave,” Heron says, louder this time. “And steadfast. And you fight for your people—for what you know is right no matter what it costs you. You are, without a doubt, the handsomest man I’ve ever seen, and if you try to say otherwise one last time, I will break your nose as well, you vain ass.”

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“Man becomes uprooted, starts feeling meaningless. All the values of life disappear. A great darkness surrounds. Sense of direction is lost. One simply feels accidental. There seems to be no , no significance. Life seems to be just a byproduct of chance. It seems existence does not care for you. [...] All seems to be pointless. These times of chaos, disorder, can either be a great curse, [...] or they can prove a quantum leap in human growth. It depends on how we use them. It is only in such great times of chaos that great stars are born. [...] The ordinary masses live in such unconsciousness that they can’t see even a few steps ahead. They are blind. And they are the majority! The coming twenty-five years, the last part of this century, is going to be of IMMENSE value. If we can create a great momentum in the world for meditation, for the inward journey, for tranquillity, for stillness, for love, for God... if we can create a space in these coming twenty-five years for God to happen to many many people, humanity will have a new birth, a resurrection. A new man will be born.”

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“You are sweet and docile and dumb.” I recoil. “Excuse me?” She smirks. “Another role to play. You’re very good at playing roles.” I’m tempted to look at Søren, who’s too busy rowing to talk but can certainly hear every word. “Let them believe you are dim,” Artemisia continues. “The King, his court, your suitors. If they believe you to be an idiot, they will underestimate you. Let them.”

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“I’m sorry,” I say, bringing my hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry, Erik.” Erik shakes his head. “I’m useless to you now,” he says. “I have no army for you, Theo. I can’t lead a battalion. I’m not even sure I could lead the way out of this tent.” “You’re blind,” Heron says, finding his voice again finally. “Half,” Erik says, motioning to the swollen eye. “This one should heal, I think. But with no depth perception and a narrower field of vision—” “No,” Heron says. “I mean you’re blind—you aren’t dead. You want to help, you want to save your people, then do it. You don’t have to lead an army to do that.”

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