#owlreads

I never understood, before, how sacrificial victims could go consenting. I thought of Elua, baring his palm to the blade. I thought of Yeshua, taking his place upon the wooden tree. No two sacrifices are the same, and yet all are, in the end. It is the commitment to belong, wholly, to that which claims one.

So I have felt about this book also. It is mine and not wholly mine, as I am constituted today; it represents rather some past self of mine which has already joined that long succession of other selves that existed for a while and faded away, leaving only a memory behind

had all this wealth to draw upon and the only limitation was my own capacity to profit by it

“Tales of gods and angels may end that way, for they continue, we know, in the land beyond the end of the world, the true Terre d’Ange. Alas for we who are mortal, and are denied the luxury of dramatic license. We must live, and go onward.”

Reading poet empress (spoilers)