The Lord of the Sabbath

I’m a monster. But that doesn’t mean I want to be one.

I have become the very monster that’s tortured me since I arrived in New Orleans.

Beating death isn’t just about survival, it’s also about deciding for yourself the reasons to face it.

“Why do you say that? You’ve already conquered death countless times. Didn’t you survive a life of gloom and misery? Didn’t you stay alive despite being tormented by nightmares since you were a child? Didn’t you resist, hundreds of times, the temptation to end your life, for pure and simple love, for the idea of being with your father again? Isn’t that beating death? Isn’t that beating the Lord of the Sabbath himself

If Mardi Gras isn’t a grand Voodoo ritual, I don’t know what is.

How the hell can you kill something that’s never been alive?

“Elisse, do you know one of the most effective ways to increase a sorcerer’s power?”
I shake my head, not sure if I should be ashamed of my ignorance.
“Consume the remains of a being more powerful than them. And do you know what they say about Laurele Fiquette? That she was chewing the ashes of Marie Laveau for ten years. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Do we have a deal or not?”
“I should just go.” I step past him toward the door. With his temperament and my mental instability, we won’t get anywhere.

Everything important to me died out there, so the physical pain is just an itch compared to how screwed up I am inside.

The ancestors are not independent of us. They are us, even if you’re not born with them. Instead of asking them to do a favor for you, be smart, demand yourself to do something helpful. Think of solutions for what you’re facing.