3
" All these years, I thought the first Watchers were a bit dense for giving power to only one girl. One Slayer to fight everything? One Slayer to make impossible choices? But... that's the beauty of it. Because the Slayer is young. The Slayer is a girl. The Slayer isn't some rich dude, insulated from life and pain and struggle, sitting in his Mr. Darcy house deciding who gets to live and die.
The Slayer is on the streets, in the dark, in the night, walking right alongside the things she hunts. So when she makes life-or-death choices - they're life-or-death choices for her, too. Not just for the things she's hunting. She's not a committee, a council, a group working at a remove.
She'd part of the darkness.
And when you're already in the dark, you can see the subtle differences in the shadows. "
― Kiersten White , Chosen (Slayer, #2)
13
" You were supposed to be unconscious." Honora's hair isn't even mussed, a sleek high ponytail showing off her lustrous dark locks. She's wearing perfectly fitted black pants, combat books, and a black sweater. She's like an advertisement for traitorous assholes - betray your people, but look good doing it!
Now it's not the grit that's making it hard to see. It's the pulsing red on the edges of my vision. "Yeah, well, you were supposed to be screaming 'my arm!'"
She tilts her head in confusion. I rip one of the heavy doors the rest of the way off and throw it at her. She only has time to raise one arm to protect herself, and the door slams into her forehead with a bone-shattering blow.
"You bitch!" she screams, clutching her arm and dropping to her knees.
I shrug. "It's not 'my arm', but it's close enough. "
― Kiersten White , Chosen (Slayer, #2)
17
" Sean's a creep! You're better than this!"
She stands, glaring at me. "I am better than this. I'm better than Sean, and I'm better than the Watchers, and you have no idea what I'm doing, so keep your judgy eyebrows to yourself."
"My eyebrows are not judgy!"
"Your eyebrows are so judgy they might as well have a gavel!"
We both glare at each other. I crack first. "Can they have a frilly white collar like Ruth Bader Ginsburg?"
She tries to hold her stern look, but the edges are trembling. "No. Your eyebrows have to wear a huge gross wig because we're not in the USA, we're in Ireland."
I snort, which turns into a giggle. Artemis was never one for giggling, but even she grins at me, and for a few precious moments we're each other's again. "
― Kiersten White , Chosen (Slayer, #2)
19
" I forget sometimes just how demon-y Doug really is. He fits in so well at the castle. The differences between us don't seem to matter. Differences like the fact that I eat food and he eats emotions.
His stomach rumbles in response to my thoughts. "No offense, Nina, love, but you are barely a snack these days. More like an after-dinner mint. One of those unwrapped buttermint that's been in a tin for years, and when you try to pull it out, it's stuck to three others, and you know you don't want it, but you're already committed, so you pop it in your mouth and regret every decision you've ever made that brought you to that point."
"I think I should be offended by that."
Doug shrugs. "I think you and I should talk about why you're so unhappy. "
― Kiersten White , Chosen (Slayer, #2)
