I was running in circles, I hurt myself, just to find my purpose. Everything was so worthless, I didn't deserve this, but to me you were perfect.

Which was how Britteny ended up nestled next to Mickey, under the shelter of a painter's drop cloth.
She felt no pain.
She saw no light.
She heard, but barely.
Her heart was still and silent.
Yet she did not die.

It is a great deal to ask of a kitten, to defend a man against the armies of the dead.

A dozen cobras moved as one, shattering their bottles. Wine and glass sprayed the room. The snakes sprang for Isyllt's attacker with fangs unfolded. He screamed high and sharp as they uncoiled, long slick bodies whipping through the air. She wasn't sure if their venom could survive death and pickling, but it didn't seem to matter. After several bites, he curled on the floor, weeping and trying to bat the undead snakes away.

The undead did not love, but they remembered love with a savage loyalty.

Something coming back from the dead was almost always bad news. Movies taught me that. For every one Jesus you get a million zombies.