Wickedsaints Stories

A few of the wounds do not fade: they become permanent flowers etched in her skin.

It's hard to doubt the word of the gods when they speak directly into one's brain.

There is blood in his mouth. He'll keep the taste for it.

Malachiasz's dead: that much Nadya knows. After all, she has seen Serefin kill him, has heard his last words. Logically, she knows he is gone.

There are no gods, Serefin recites mentally, a mantra that accompanies his every step.

Malachiasz: it felt half-curse, half-blessing.