niklasmalikovs: It was chaos. Chaos of her making. I did this, she thought wonderingly. I comm
niklasmalikovs: It was chaos. Chaos of her making. I did this, she thought wonderingly. I commanded those corpses, those bits of bone, those dying cells. What did that make her? If any Grisha had ever had such a power, she’d never heard of it. What would the other Grisha think of her? Her fellow Corporalki, the Heartrenders and Healers? We are tied to the power of creation itself, the making at the heart of the world. Maybe she should feel ashamed, maybe even frightened. But she hadn’t been made for shame. Perhaps Djel extinguished one light and lit another. Nina didn’t care if it was Djel or the Saints or a brigade of fire-breathing kittens; as she hurried east, she realized that, for the first time in ages, she felt strong. Her breath came easy, the ache in her muscles had dimmed. She was ravenous. The craving for parem felt distant, like a memory of real hunger. Nina had grieved for her loss of power, for the connection she’d felt to the living world. She’d resented this shadow gift. It had seemed like a sham, a punishment. But just as surely as life connected everything, so did death. It was that endless, fast-running river. She’d dipped her fingers into its current, held the eddy of its power in her hand. She was the Queen of Mourning, and in its depths, she would never drown. -- source link