Masters of Death

The past is passed

“Persistence. Isn’t forever a terrible blessing, and a terribly blissful curse?”

It’s a lucky thing to die in your own bed, boy

“The thing about vice is that love can certainly be a virtue, but the lines of separation so often blur.”

Love is frequent, and often fleeting.

People have secrets, Fox,” said Death. “It’s easy enough to tap into them, because few people can truly conceal them. Understand a person’s heart, what makes them soft and what makes them hard, and find the source of their materials.”

“And then?” Fox asked.

Death shrugged. “Then drive it in them like a knife.”

“Ah, but the tricky thing about love,” Vi-Lainey said, inching towards him, “is that when employed in sacrifice, it can save you just as much as it can damage you. Don’t you see?”

Thus its undeniable appeal, unfortunately. It’s a cycle of misfortune that begins with boredom and ends with suffering.” He paused. “And then boredom again.”

“Well, everything’s a game if you play it right,”

For Mr. Blake, an alleged mortal

without whom my existence would be bleak;

For my mother, who assured me

that this book is not blasphemy;

And for you, for being here,

when so many Otherworlds are calling.