Nynniaw

“You did not let me keep my name, so I will strip you of yours. In this world you are what I say you are, and I say you are a ghost, a long night's fever dream that I have finally woken up from. I say you are the smoke-wisp memory of a flame, thawing ice suffering under an early spring sun, a chalk ledger of depts being wiped clean. I say you do not have a name.”
― S.T. Gibson, A Dowry of Blood

“Life is too short and love is too long.”
― Tamsyn Muir, Nona the Ninth

“We are kin, Sayan.” His voice cracked. Weak, as if every word fought through smoke and blood to shape itself. “We make ourselves kin, we do, as deep a truth as that I am my parents’ son, as deep a truth as that I am my brothers’ brother.” He had not been. Foundling, abandoned baby, claimed and loved. Truth. “We share a name, Sayan. My mother gave me your name and you blessed it. You’ve let me hide in you from my enemies. Held your hands over me so many times. Hold on to me now.” Words clearer now. Stronger. More certain. Feeling…truth, making a shape in the world. “I’m not a god, but what is a devil, Sayan? We warred against the Old Great Gods. We are powers to destroy gods of the earth. I’m not strong enough, whole enough, to stand against Jochiz. I’ve lost my own name. But I can be—” He hardly had words. Friend. Love. Brother. Where it mattered. In the heart, the soul. “You are my brother, I name you so, as you name me yours.” Tightened his grip on the god, illusion though that might be. Wrapped him, pulled him close, drowning brother, kin to kin, heart to heart, soul to soul. “Hold to me. Hide in me. Let me carry you.”
― K.V. Johansen, The Last Road

“It's not what the Masquerade does to you that you should you fear, she wanted to tell Ake. It's what the Masquerade convinces you to do to yourself.”
― Seth Dickinson, The Traitor Baru Cormorant