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“We need to embrace deliverance in the body of Christ so that God’s people can receive their full inheritance and be free from the chains of the devil.”
― Unlock Your Deliverance: Keys to Freedom From Demonic Oppression
― Unlock Your Deliverance: Keys to Freedom From Demonic Oppression
“Callan sucked in a breath. As a sniper, he’d been trained by the Marines to know and recognize moments.
Moments when all the training—his focused mind, muscle memory, weapon knowledge . . .
When all the preparation—target reconnaissance, angle of attack, position scouting . . .
When all the setup—hidden amid the terrain, barrel aimed, trajectory known . . .
When everything came together in one crucial moment—when the sniper squeezed the trigger and took his shot.”
― Losing My Breath
Moments when all the training—his focused mind, muscle memory, weapon knowledge . . .
When all the preparation—target reconnaissance, angle of attack, position scouting . . .
When all the setup—hidden amid the terrain, barrel aimed, trajectory known . . .
When everything came together in one crucial moment—when the sniper squeezed the trigger and took his shot.”
― Losing My Breath
“Even the youngest must have known they were now steaming away from the country of their birth, never to return. They’d all suffered through the trauma of the war and the loss of their parents and were presently being further traumatized by their banishment to Australia.”
― One More Life to Live
― One More Life to Live
“Yeah. I’m an asshole. But I promise you, when the shit rolls downhill and you need someone with a shovel, I’m an asshole who can get the job done.”
― Gabriel's Fire
― Gabriel's Fire
“I walked past Malison, up Lower Main to Main and across the road. I didn’t need to look to know he was behind me. I entered Royal Wood, went a short way along a path and waited. It was cool and dim beneath the trees. When Malison entered the Wood, I continued eastward.
I wanted to place his body in hallowed ground. He was born a Mearan. The least I could do was send him to Loric. The distance between us closed until he was on my heels. He chose to come, I told myself, as if that lessened the crime I planned. He chose what I have to offer.
We were almost to the cemetery before he asked where we were going. I answered with another question. “Do you like living in the High Lord’s kitchens?”
He, of course, replied, “No.”
“Well, we’re going to a better place.”
When we reached the edge of the Wood, I pushed aside a branch to see the Temple of Loric and Calec’s cottage. No smoke was coming from the chimney, and I assumed the old man was yet abed. His pony was grazing in the field of graves. The sun hid behind a bank of clouds.
Malison moved beside me. “It’s a graveyard.”
“Are you afraid of ghosts?” I asked.
“My father’s a ghost,” he whispered.
I asked if he wanted to learn how to throw a knife. He said, “Yes,” as I knew he would. He untucked his shirt, withdrew the knife he had stolen and gave it to me. It was a thick-bladed, single-edged knife, better suited for dicing celery than slitting a young throat. But it would serve my purpose. That I also knew. I’d spent all night projecting how the morning would unfold and, except for indulging in the tea, it had happened as I had imagined.
Damut kissed her son farewell. Malison followed me of his own free will. Without fear, he placed the instrument of his death into my hand. We were at the appointed place, at the appointed time. The stolen knife was warm from the heat of his body. I had only to use it. Yet I hesitated, and again prayed for Sythene to show me a different path.
“Aren’t you going to show me?” Malison prompted, as if to echo my prayer.”
― Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master
I wanted to place his body in hallowed ground. He was born a Mearan. The least I could do was send him to Loric. The distance between us closed until he was on my heels. He chose to come, I told myself, as if that lessened the crime I planned. He chose what I have to offer.
We were almost to the cemetery before he asked where we were going. I answered with another question. “Do you like living in the High Lord’s kitchens?”
He, of course, replied, “No.”
“Well, we’re going to a better place.”
When we reached the edge of the Wood, I pushed aside a branch to see the Temple of Loric and Calec’s cottage. No smoke was coming from the chimney, and I assumed the old man was yet abed. His pony was grazing in the field of graves. The sun hid behind a bank of clouds.
Malison moved beside me. “It’s a graveyard.”
“Are you afraid of ghosts?” I asked.
“My father’s a ghost,” he whispered.
I asked if he wanted to learn how to throw a knife. He said, “Yes,” as I knew he would. He untucked his shirt, withdrew the knife he had stolen and gave it to me. It was a thick-bladed, single-edged knife, better suited for dicing celery than slitting a young throat. But it would serve my purpose. That I also knew. I’d spent all night projecting how the morning would unfold and, except for indulging in the tea, it had happened as I had imagined.
Damut kissed her son farewell. Malison followed me of his own free will. Without fear, he placed the instrument of his death into my hand. We were at the appointed place, at the appointed time. The stolen knife was warm from the heat of his body. I had only to use it. Yet I hesitated, and again prayed for Sythene to show me a different path.
“Aren’t you going to show me?” Malison prompted, as if to echo my prayer.”
― Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master
Robbin’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Robbin’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
150 books
|
29 friends
88 books
|
14 friends
128 books
|
14 friends
108 books
|
11 friends
88 books
|
26 friends
Favorite Genres
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