He couldn't think of his robbed left eye without hate squirting into his veins from some deep poison gland he hadn't known he possessed.

Right and wrong matters little when survival matters most.

If I rolled the dice carved out of my weathered bone
And offered of my blood the libation to the fane
When even the reaper’s mockery forsakes me alone
My own clangorous thoughts are the last to remain

It’s easy to be yourself in the dark.

Christians. They’re determined to rid the land of any who worship the Horned One. Murdering all the druids, burning the temples, sometimes whole villages, and knocking over the standing stones.”

The Lady’s face hardened. “This god of peace and love certainly likes to bathe the land in blood.

hidden desires in the soul; unleashed by the moonlight