In the mirror no lines were graven into her face, as she had envisioned them, but there were shadows in the hollows below her cheekbones and her eyes. She looked gaunter, as if in quietude she had crept up on herself from the inside and slowly eroded all softness, herself, away, as tides of sand will bleach bone in the desert. - Caliah Liancourt
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"Art had been lavished upon her, but it is the function of art to render attractive and significant those things that without it would not be so, and so art had nothing to give her. The words Terminus Est had been engraved upon her blade in curious and beautiful letters, and I had learned enough of ancient languages since leaving the Atrium of Time to know that they meant This Is The Line of Division." - Gene Wolfe, Book of the New Sun