Nenia Campbell

We're all hunters in my family, you know. Deer, ducks_damsels.

I feel I could kill. I feel that I might like it. And I know that this should scare me. But it doesn't. It excites me. I am in Plato's cave, watching the shadows and fraught with the desire to hunt what casts them.

You are fifty different kinds of twisted.""Only fifty? Val, you wound me.

Sometimes evil didn't need an excuse. Sometimes evil just was.

If evil had a laugh, she thought it would sound like his.

What once was had, forever lost; thy fate is destined, thy love star-crossed.

As if I'd had time to drug it in the two milliseconds she'd let me out of her sight.

Happiness is such a fragile thing, isn't it? So easily burst, like a bubble blown by a child, and always on the verge of being carried away.

Be careful what you wish for. Especially out loud.

We hunger in earnest for that which we cannot consume.

He was a phoenix of blood, rising from the ashes of those who had fallen and suffered before him.

Her world fragmented into dozens of sharp, cutting shards, shedding the salty blood and saltier tears that ringed the bitter cocktail of her despair. She was caterpillar and butterfly, both, caught in a cocoon of raw nerves and open sores; she was insanity, wrapped up in the thin, transient wrappings of a temporary lucidity; and she was afraid, because an innate desire lay in the bottom reaches of her psyche for the very poison that was killing her.

I bask in that sympathy because it's nice to have somebody who cares, even if it's the wrong person for the wrong reasons.

...there was a difference between killing for nourishment and killing for curiosity or sport.

You think you're superior to the others, don't you? We'll you're not. In fact you're worse for mistaking basic human decency for moral superiority.

Fire and water, logic and reason__hose footholds of reality that you mortals hold so near and dear become like so much mist on the plains of the dreamscape.

Come closer, my dears, let me give you a warning,Of the fate that befalls those who stay out past morning,In the darkest hours before the dawn,When witches roam and demons spawn,And children die with spirit gone,Magicked away in the gloaming.

In a fight between a shifter and a witch, the shifter would often win__ut only if they could keep the witch from speaking, usually by severing the throat or tearing out the tongue. If the witch was powerful enough, and quick enough, physical size didn't matter. Catherine had heard of the horrible ways the witches could kill their victims. Cooking them alive from the inside out, restricting oxygen flow through the nasal and oral passages by creating a vacuum, drowning them with vapor pulled from the very air.It made fights between shifters look almost humane by comparison.