Kayla

“Kate grasped her small handbag and pulled a small blue vial and threw it into the grinding mass. It shattered harmlessly, causing two creatures to pause with a look of confusion.
"What is that potion?" Simon asked.
Kate stared as the two undead things began to shuffle forward again. She glanced into her purse. "Damn it! That was my perfume.”
― Clay Griffith, The Undying Legion

“Sometimes a hypocrite is nothing more than a man in the process of changing.”
― Brandon Sanderson, Oathbringer

“What did you do?" Kate asked.
"Nothing. We're inside the wards." Simon laughed and drank the elixir.
She looked around with surprise. "How can you tell? At night? In the snow?"
"That tree." He indicated an ash tree standing amidst other ash trees.
"It looks like a thousand other trees."
"No, it looks like you." Simon took a shallow, pained breath, but smiled. "It's my marker."
Both Kate and Malcolm stared at the tree. Kate cocked her hip. "It looks like me? A tree? That's flattering."
"Yes. See how the curves--" Simon worked his hands in an hourglass shape. "It looks like you.”
― Clay Griffith, The Undying Legion

“When Predator sailed into war, she sang.
The rapid winds and rising shrieks suddenly blended into a single harmonious tone. Lines in the rigging and the yards and the masts themselves quivered in time, and began giving off their own notes of music, in harmony with one another. As the speed increased, the chord rose and rose, and built and built, until it reached a crescendo of pure, eerie, inhuman fury.
Grimm felt the music rise around him, felt the ship straining eagerly to her task, and his own heart raced in fierce exultation in time with her. Every line of the ship, every smudge upon her decks, every stain upon the leathers of his aeronauts leapt into his mind in vibrant detail. He could feel the ship's motion, forward and down, could feel the wind of her passage, could feel the rising terror of his crew. One of the men screamed--one of them always did--and then the entire crew joined in with Predator, shrieking their battle cries together with their ship's. The ship would not fail them--Grimm knew it; he felt it, the way he could feel sunlight on his face or the rake of wind in his hair.”
― Jim Butcher, The Aeronaut's Windlass