Her power was a wrenching thing, starless black and sorrow, but my magic was something more...it was hope.

And in such bliss does devastation grow.

Who wanted to be smiled at by the girl that trailed shadows like pets, conjured snakes and waited for Death, her bridegroom, to steal her from these walls?

I used to think fear either numbed or nudged. Now I knew fear did neither. Fear was a key that fit every person's hollow spaces---those things that kept us cold at night and that place where we retreated when no one was looking---and all it could do was unlock what was already there.

Fear was a reminder that even the insubstantial could kill. But insubstantial meant it had no shape. It couldn't be conquered or tamed or avoided. Only moved through, with force and will.

I love you," he murmured into my hair. "You are my night and stars, the fate I would fix myself to in any life.

I wanted a love thick with time, as inscrutable as if a lathe had carved it from night and as familiar as the marrow in my bones. I wanted the impossible, which made it that much easier to push out of my mind.

Neither the secret whirring song of the stars nor the sonorous canticles of the earth knew the language that sprang up in the space between us. It was a dialect of heartbeats, strung together with the lilt of long suffering and the incandescent hope of an infinite future.

All war is philosophical. That's why we call it war. Strip it of its paint and it's nothing more than murder.

What property is left to dreamers when every idea has been tamed and conquered? What about the poet who dreams of embracing the night sky? It's utterly impossible. And yet the thought of it sparks song and dance, poetry and philosophy.

Beauty, coveted though it was, could not outlive you. Only actions would.

I know your soul. Everything else is just an ornament.

You know nothing about me." "I know your soul. Everything else is an ornament.

My joy was ghostly, like something not quite realized.

He loved her. And she loved him. And in such bliss does devastation grow.

Existence is the gift. Life is a choice.

There's always impossibilities in dreams. Dream more.

A memory is a fine legacy to leave behind.

I promised you the moon for your throne and stars to wear in your hair," said Amar, gesturing inside. "And I always keep my promises.

Father once said the real language of diplomacy was in the space between words.

Ruling Akaran is a strange task. In many ways, it is like balancing an illusion. You must separate the illusion of what you see and the reality of its consequences," he said. "Tell me, my queen, are you ready to play with fate?

Where are we going?" I asked. "The main road leads to all of the major kingdoms.""Not all of them," said Amar.

The worms do not take heed of caste and rank when they feast on our ashes," the Raja said. "Your subjects will not remember you. They will not remember the shade of your eyes, the colors you favored, or the beauty of your wives. They will only remember your impression upon their hearts and whether you filled them with glee or grief. That is your immortality.

Surviving isn't just about cutting out your heart and burning every feeling into ash. Sometimes it means taking whatever is thrown at you, beautiful or grotesque, poisonous or blissful, and carving out your life with the pieces you're given.

Ah, desire. Such a poisonous thing.

And perhaps that in itself was the great secret---not just for legacy, but also for life. You could carry a story inside you and hold it up to the light when you needed it the most. You could peer through it, like a frame, and see how it changed your view when you looked out onto the world.

Perhaps Choices spring up when history makes way for them. Perhaps they will grow, like legends upon dead conquerors.

Enough tiny sharp jabs can cut as deeply as any knife.

A story. This was the key to immortality. The things that made kings quiver and deities distrustful: Nothing but a tale.

Night coaxed out the stars, my jailers.

I would rip the stars from the sky if you wished it. Anything for you. But remember to trust me. Remember your promise.

I will not let us be beings of regret. I know my past. What I want is my future.

Nothing was more beautiful than a night sky dusted with stars. Nothing was more terrible than a night sky scrawled with a thousand destinies. Night was inevitable. Like me.

Night heralded sleep and shadows, demons and dreams. But I heralded the night.

What she coaxed out of me was a visceral need to live, and wasn't that what fueled immortality and made it worthwhile anyway? That there were wonders still left to be uncovered?

He loved her.And she loved him.And in such bliss does devastation grow.

The problem with guilt was not how it attacks the present, but how it stained the past. Hindsight was a blemish on memory.

Guilt is what makes you accountable.

His smile banished my loneliness and limbed the hollows of my anema with starlight, pure and bright...his touch hummed in my bones like an aria -- a song to my dance, a beginning of a promise.