Death does not give up its citizens easily.

one cannot know the best of times until they are gone, until they are lost.

A hard grimace set on Abitha’s face. “If it is a witch they want,” she hissed, “then a witch they shall have.”

“You speak often of gods and devils. What is the difference?” “That’s easy,” Abitha said. “Gods are benevolent, looking over their flock in return for their devotion. Devils vex and torment.” “And what if it is not that simple?” Samson asked. “Can a god be both slayer and shepherd? Reward and vex? Does your god only do good?” Abitha started to say

“You were not always the Devil; you were once a great forest spirit and the wilderness was your kingdom. It is the wildfolk who twisted you, they who set the demons to you, they who begged Mother Earth to make you so.”

“Angels must often do dark deeds in the name of the Lord,” Magistrate Watson added. “Do they not?”

“Mind your own houses!” Abitha cried. “You are all naught but a gaggle of clucking cunts!”

The serpent closed in, closer and closer, its lethal promise igniting something deep within Abitha’s breast: the primordial need of every creature that has ever been hurt by another—the need to bite back.

“Life is nothing but riddles … we spend our whole lives puzzling them out. Sadly, as soon as we find the answer, the riddle changes. Does it not?”