We all burn. We burn in fire. We burn in blood. We burn in dreams. And it never ends. Dreams never end. You would not want them to. Not if it means forgetting. You can never forget. You, who are all that is left. So remember, we are born in fire. Again and again. You would live it all again. No matter how much it hurts. When it hurts you know you are alive. And you know that as long as you live, they live. And when you die, they die. You are the inheriter of memories.

There’s never honor where there’s power.

We’re all the same inside the cage. When they put the collars on us.

There are wolves in the night. The soldiers would say that, when I was a girl. My uncles and brothers in war. My friends. Raising me on the battlefield because there was no where else to go. There are wolves, they would say. And there are stories about wolves and girls. Girls in red. All alone in the woods. About to get eaten up. Wolves and girls. Both have sharp teeth.

What happened once, will happen again... but in a different form. To become a future-teller, one needs only to study history.

Too bad people don’t rebuild themselves so easily.

I have hunted for less. I have killed for less. But never with as much pleasure.

You’re my wife,” he replied, but behind those words, in his eyes, I knew what that really meant was, You’re my friend, and I love you. The.

But focus always on your shame, and your shame will eat you. It will become you. That is the coward’s way. A coward never has to learn.

Dreams, stories, art- they were, and are, instruments of divine intervention that molded you into a woman who dwells in possibility: who now feels herself serene with comfort and strength.