P-please…I beg you, don’t do this…you c-can’t, you can’t do this to me…”
“Yes, I can.

S.G. Night

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No one really knew who (or what) the Curator actually was, nor could anyone guess as to where he came from or why he stood guard over this gate. He was like the rainclouds outside or the sun behind them: you didn’t question where they came from or what they were doing, simply because they had always been there. Some of the more sociable Genshwin had tried several times to wring some interesting answers out of him, but no one had ever been able to get past his enigmatic grin.
It made Rachel uncomfortable. As a youth, she had often tried to provoke him to anger without success. He would just laugh and shake his head at her like a patient father ignoring a petulant child. He was too patient, and she resented that; he was intentionally cryptic and she hated him for it. And the Curator knew it, too.

S.G. Night

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I see you are still unnerved by my presence,” the Curator noted. He was still smiling. “My apologies.

S.G. Night

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Rachel scowled. “You’ve known Mrak longer than anyone alive. You know what I know — the things he's done, the things he hides from everyone else.”
The Curator’s smile did not wane as he shrugged. “Indeed I do. But judge-jury-executioner is not my calling. I’m just the gatekeeper.

S.G. Night

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He and Alexis had met on his first day in Velik Tor. He had been eleven, she ten. They had bonded almost instantly, and had been like brother and sister ever since. They were, after all, the only family they really had.

S.G. Night

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Don’t make fun,” Alexis scolded. “The Stinger’s design was piss before I came along. I turned it into a work of art, and by my good right hand, I plan to keep improving it until the day I die. Shut up and appreciate me.” -Alexis Vylis

S.G. Night

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She was always like that — it’s what I remember most about her. There was always something…wrong with Rachel. She was always permeated with some terrible resentment, like a cloak she wore around herself. In a way, it was fascinating. Beautiful…but terrifying. Make no mistake: I have seen greater power than hers, before and since. But hers…hers was different. And I feel no shame in admitting that I was always afraid of Rachel Vaveran.

-The Penitent God

S.G. Night

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All the blood drained from Hammon’s face. “No…”
“Yes.”
“But…that’s not possible….” Hammon’s voice was weak, and he sounded like he was talking more to himself than to Rachel. “It can’t be…I thought they were all—”
“Dead?” Rachel’s eyes flashed with ire so cold it could have frozen the ocean. “Do I look dead to you?

S.G. Night

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Whistling. The Human was whistling to himself, off-key and wretched. Whistling! Like he hadn’t a care or a clue about the poverty and decay around him. Like he was above it all. Like nothing was wrong with the world.

S.G. Night

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I owe nothing to anyone, I swear it! Who hired you? I can pay, just tell me who hired—”
“God hired me!” Rachel’s rebuke was like the crack of a toxic whip. Like poisoned thunder. “Humanity owes my kind a debt of flesh for every drop of blood we shed for you. For every one of us that died to save you.

S.G. Night

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