Lu Elite Quotes

Be true to yourself. But that's something everyone says and no one means. No one wants you to be yourself. They want you to be the version of yourself that they like.

Everyone has darkness inside them, however hidden.

Once upon a time, a girl had a father, a prince, a society of friends. Then they betrayed her, so she destroyed them all.

I am tired of being used, hurt, and cast aside. It is my turn to use. My turn to hurt.

The irony of life is that those who wear masks often tell us more truths than those with open faces.

Embellish your flaws. They will turn into your assets.

But true rulers are not born. We are made.

Sorry, always sorry. What in the world can you buy with an apology?

You cannot harden your heart to the future just because of your past. You cannot use cruelty against yourself to justify cruelty to others.

After a lifetime of darkness, I want to leave something behind that is made of light.

We are drawn to stories,” he says in a soft voice, “and every scar carries one.

I’m going to follow her, of course,” Magiano says. “As the night sky turns. When she appears on the other side of the world, I will be there, and when she returns here, so will I.

In the silence, I sit alone on my throne and wait eagerly for all the satisfaction and triumph to hit me. I wait, and wait, and wait. But it doesn't come.

No. I'm not broken easily. I will never break.

It is better to have an enemy who will fight you in an open field then a lover who will kill you in your sleep.

Don't cry. You are stronger than that.

No one wants you to be yourself. They want you to be the version of yourself that they like.

Tomorrow, I will take on all of these things. I will be unstoppable.

Some hate us, think us outlaws to hang at the gallows. Some fear us, think demons to burn at the stake, Some worship us, think us children of the gods. But all know us.

I pledge myself to the Rose Society until the end of my days, to use my eyes to see all that happens, my tongue to woo others to our side, my ears to hear every secret, my hands to crush my enemies. I will do everything in my power to destroy all who stand in my way.

To those who, in spite of everything, still choose goodness

You are a light,” she replies gently. “And when you shine, you shine bright.

What is so great about being good?

None of us are saints. We can all do better.

What is the point of searching for love, when love is nothing but an illusion?

Fear creates the strongest illusions. Everyone has darkness inside them, however hidden.

So. Tell me, little wolf. Do you want to punish those who have wronged you?

Someday, when I am nothing but dust and wind, what tale will they tell about me?

Why feel guilty for something that isn't your fault? Because I loved him. And now he is gone.

Someday, when I am nothing but dust and wind, what tale will they tell about me? Once upon a time, a girl had a father, a prince, a society of friends. Then they betrayed her, and she destroyed them all.

Pain enhances beauty. - Adelina Amouteru

They think they can keep me out, but it does not matter how many locks they hang at the entrance. There is always another door. —The Thief Who Stole the Stars, by Tristan Chirsley

Once upon a time, a prince fell madly in love with a demon from the Underworld. When she disappeared back into the sea, he ached so much for her that he walked into the ocean and never returned. —Kenettran Folk Tales, various authors

Everyone knows that to openly show any disrespect for Magiano means instant death at my hands.

Passion is bright and warm... But passion has a dark side too. It links with fear. Our hearts fill with terror at the thought of harm coming to our loved ones, don't they?

I hereby pledge to serve the Dagger Society, to strike fear into the hearts of those who rule Kenettra, to take by death what belong to us, and to make the power of our Elites known to every man, woman, and child. Should I break my vow, let the dagger take from me what I took from the dagger.

Trust is when we plummet into the depths of an abyss and reach out for each other’s hands. —Amaderan Poetry, various authors

We were never meant to exist, Adelina," he says. "And we will never exist again. But we cannot take the entire world with us." He meets my gaze. "No matter how it has wronged us.

But the surest way to slow your own progress is to rush yourself into situation you're not ready for.

If you cast me out of the Dagger Society, then I will form my own. I am tired of losing. I am tired of being used, hurt and tossed aside. It is my turn to use. My turn to hurt. My turn.

I am the nightmare.

They were the best of friends as long as they did not know they were supposed to be enemies. The truth would do its damage soon enough. - Brothers in Fire, by Jedtare

Why so surprised, White Wolf?” he murmurs, smiling a little. There is something in the way he says my Elite name, a secret sweetness. Why so surprised that you are worthy?

We are doomed to be forever young.

The king is dead. Long live the queen.

Fear motivates, more than love or ambition or joy. Fear is more powerful than anything else in the world. I have spent so long yearning for things—for love, for acceptance—that I do not really need. I need nothing except the submission that comes with fear. I do not know why it took me so long to learn this.

There was once a time when darkness shrouded the world, and the darkness had a queen.

She walks to the boy, tilts her head up at him, and smiles. He bends down to kiss her. Then he helps her onto the horse, and she rides away with him to a faraway place, until they can no longer be seen. These are only rumors, of course, and make little more than a story to tell around the fire. But it is told. And thus they live on.

Every bone in my body yearns to keep this boy safe, always.

I am Adelina Amouteru, the phantoms whispered to my father, speaking my most frightening thoughts in a chorus of voices, dripping with hatred. My hatred. I belong to no one. On this night, I swear to you that I will rise above everything you’ve ever taught me. I will become a force that this world has never known. I will come into such power that none will dare hurt me again.

Sometimes, the only way to set things right is to do what is difficult.

They were the flash of light in a stormy sky, the fleeting darkness before dawn. Never have they existed before, nor shall they ever exist again.

I have always done the best I could, and yet, somehow, it has never been enough. No one cared what I did. They always turned their backs on me.

I will do everything in my power to destroy all who stand in my way.

When you’re all alone in a world that hates and fears you, you want to find others like yourself. New friends. Elite friends.

Everything about Enzo whispers of danger, of murder in the name of righteousness. I'm desperate to pull away. I ache for more. I tremble uncontrollably, caught in the middle.

The fire in you burns as fiercely as it did when I first met you.

I laugh at him, and behind us, several Inquisitors stir in surprise at the sound. Only Magiano can coax joy out of me so easily.

The day will come when we strike you down,” she’s saying. “Mark my words. We will haunt your nightmares.” I clench my fists and fling an illusion of pain across her body. “I am the nightmare.

Do you know what I miss the most? That night.” My heart skips a beat, aching in sudden sadness. “And what about the girl you once sat beside, on that night? Do you miss her too?” “She is still here,” he answers. “That is why I stay.

I looked into those eyes and I saw nothing. It was like staring straight into the Underworld. Like he aches to return to where he came from.

The world’s deadliest mercenaries choose to serve you, the whispers say, because they have yet to meet me.

For a fleeting moment, I imagine that if I were queen, I could make the act of hurting malfettos a crime. I could execute this boy's pursuers with a single command.

Some of us are broken and there’s nothing you can do to fix it.

It is my turn to use. My turn to hurt My turn.

Enzo enters with a sweep of dark robes, bringing with him the scent of wind, night, and death.

Through the whirlwind, I hear my father's harsh whisper. I know who you really are. Who will ever want you, Adelina? My fury heightens. Everyone. They will cower at my feet, and I will make them bleed.

How many times have you been called an abomination?” he whispers. “A monster? Worthless?” Too many times.

As you can see, I keep my word,” I call to the rest of the crowd. “Do not take advantage of my generosity, and I will not take advantage of your weakness.

He wanted to live in a house built on delusion, would rather believe in a million lies than face one truth. —Seven Circles Around the Sea, by Mordove Senia

You have goodness in your heart, but your darkness overwhelms it all; your desire to hurt, destroy, and avenge is more powerful than your desire to love, help, and light the way.

If I’ve learned anything from my past and my present, it’s the power of fear. You can give your subjects all the generosity in the world, and still they will demand more. But those who are afraid don’t fight back. I know this well enough.

In this moment, I am a god.

Trusting me is a dangerous game, mi Adelinetta.

Once upon a winter I met a man in the woods The man beckoned me over To see a satchel of goods He offered three wishes I asked for beauty, love, riches And he froze me in stone where I stood. —“The Greedy Ghost of Cypress Pass,” common folk song

Your Majesty,” he whispers, breathless. A note of amusement creeps into his voice. “You’ll ruin me.

I glance at Magiano. “Ready?” I ask. He winks. Rain soaks us both now, coming down in sheets, and water drips from his high knot of braids. “Always ready for you, my love.

Why do you look?” I mutter. I half expect Magiano to tease me, spitting back one of his sarcastic phrases. But he doesn’t smile. “We are drawn to stories," he says in a soft voice, “and every scar carries one.” He lifts a hand and places his palm gently against the ruined side of my face, covering the scar. I look down, embarrassed now. Instinctively, I reach up to brush some of my hair over my face—only to remember that I no longer have long locks. “Hiding it makes you more beautiful,” Magiano says. Then he takes his hand away, exposing my scar again. “But revealing it makes you you.” He nods at me. “So wear it proudly.

You are so full of light,” I say after a moment. “You align with joy, and I with fear and fury. If you could see into my thoughts, you would surely turn away. So why would you stay with me, even if return to Kenettra and resume our lives?” “You paint me as a saint,” he murmurs. “But I aligned with greed solely to prevent that.” Even now, he can make my lips twitch with a smile. “I’m serious, Magiano.” “As am I. None of us are saints. I have seen your darkness, yes, and know your struggle. I won’t deny it.” He touches my chin with one hand. At this gesture, the whispers seem to settle, pushed away where I can’t hear them. “But you are also passionate and ambitious and loyal. You are a thousand things, mi Adelinetta, not just one. Do not reduce yourself to that.

Now, are you happy? Have you finally achieved all you set out to do? What will you do next, little assassin, with no one left to see you?" - One Thousand Journeys of Al Akhar, various authors

A cruel queen does not mean an unsuccessful one. Under her guidance, Kenettra changed from a glittering gem into a clouded stone, and her empire became one to rule all others, a darkness that stretched from sun, to sea, to sky. - The Empire of the Wolf, translation by Tarsa Mehani

What if you are wrong? What if the gods sent you, and indeed the rest of us, not because we were never meant to be, but because we were always meant to be?

Don't cry" He says, his voice firm. "You are stronger than that.

Embelish your flaws. They will turn into your assets. And if you become one of us, I will teach you to wield them like an assassin wields a knife.

Why can’t I be like that? Why can’t I be the father who just shrugs off the love of his daughter? Why can’t I be the Lead Inquisitor who enjoys watching his pleading victims burn at the stake? Why can’t I be the one who befriends a lonely, lost girl and then casts her out? Why can’t I be the one to strike first, to hit so early and with such fury that my enemies cower before they can ever think of turning on me? What is so great about being good?

None of it was your fault, the whispers in my head argue. You didn't kill him, after all -- it was not your blade that ended his life. So why are you the one cast out? You didn't have to return to the Daggers -- you didn't need to help them rescue Raffaele. And still they turned on you. Why does everyone forget your good intentions, Adelina?

I am still alone, broken and small, the butterfly fighting for life in the grass.

They waged war for decades, never realizing that they were fighting for the same cause. —Campaigns of East and West Tamoura, 1152–1180, by Scholar Tennan

Hiding it makes you more beautiful," Magiano says. Then he takes his hand away, exposing my scar again. "But revealing it makes you you." He nods at me. "So wear it proudly.

Like fear and fury. It is energy from another realm, threads from beneath the sur­face, an immortal place never meant to be disturbed. Raffaele trembles. Something is poisoning the world.

He is not Enzo, I remind myself. But I don't want him to be. With Enzo, my energy yearned for his power and ambition, all too happy to let him take me into the darkness. But with Magiano... I am able to smile, even to laugh. I am able to sit here and lean back and point out the constellations.

I will wake a hundred times, lost in the madness of this nightmare, until the sunlight streaming through my windows finally burns the scene away. Even then, hours later, I cannot be sure I am not still in my dream. I am afraid that, one night, I will never wake. I will be doomed to rush to that door over and over again, running from a nightmare in which I am always, forever, lost.

You could say I am flawed. Marked. A malfetto. While my sister emerged from the fever unscathed, I now have only a scar where my left eye used to be. While my sister’s hair remained a glossy black, the strands of my hair and lashes turned a strange, ever-shifting silver, so that in the sunlight they look close to white, like a winter moon, and in the dark they change to a deep gray, shimmering silk spun from metal.

The first time Raffaele ever saw Adelina, it was a stormy-wracked night that changed her life and, indeed, the world. He recalls looking down from the window in his Dalia lodging to see a girl with silver-bright hair, conjuring an illusion of darkness such that he had never seen. He remembers the day she first came to his chambers in Estenzia, when Enzo was still alive and she was still innocent, and the way she looked up at him with her uncertain, damaged gaze. He remembers her test, and what he said to Enzo that night. How long ago that had been. How he had judged her wrongly.

I never saw her again. But even now, as an old man, I remember her as clearly as if she were standing before me. She was ice personified. There was once a time when darkness shrouded the world, and the darkness had a queen.” —A witness’s account of Queen Adelina’s siege on the nation of Dumor The Village of Pon-de-Terre 28 Marzien, 1402

I saw her, once. “She passed through our village, through fields littered with dead soldiers after her forces overwhelmed the nation of Dumor. Her other Elites followed and then rows of white-robed Inquisitors, wielding the white-and-silver banners of the White Wolf. Where they went, the sky dimmed and the ground cracked—the clouds gathered behind the army as if a creature alive, black and churning in fury. As if the goddess of Death herself had come. “She paused to look down at one of our dying soldiers. He trembled on the ground, but his eyes stayed on her. He spat something at her. She only stared back at him. I don’t know what he saw in her expression, but his muscles tightened, his legs pushing against the dirt as he tried in vain to get away from her. Then the man started to scream. It is a sound I shall never forget as long as I live. She nodded to her Rainmaker, and he descended from his horse to plunge a sword through the dying soldier. Her face did not change at all. She simply rode on. “I never saw her again. But even now, as an old man, I remember her as clearly as if she were standing before me. She was ice personified. There was once a time when darkness shrouded the world, and the darkness had a queen.” —A witness’s account of Queen Adelina’s siege on the nation of Dumor The Village of Pon-de-Terre 28 Marzien, 1402

Enzo looks up at me. Suddenly, the blackness in his eyes seems to fade, replaced by the familiar warm brown of his irises, the red slashes, the glow of life. I see a hint of his old self there, fighting through the darkness of the Underworld to gaze at me one last time. It is the look he’d given me when we used to dance. This is the real Enzo. “Let me go,” he whispers. It is his voice. It is the voice that once comforted me, gave me strength. And as I try to take in his words, the final tendrils of the tether linking us unravel from around my heart, freeing me.

You think me cruel.” “No.” Magiano hesitates for a long moment. “Maybe a little.” “I’m not branding them because I am cruel,” I say calmly. “I’m doing it as a reminder of what they’ve done to us. To the marked. You’re so quick to forget.” “I never forget,” Magiano replies. This time, there is a slight sharpness to his tone. His hand hovers near his side, where his childhood wound continues to plague him. “But branding the unmarked with your crest will not make them any more loyal to you.” “It makes them fear me.” “Fear works best with some love,” Magiano says. “Show them that you can be terrifying, yet generous.” The gold bands in his braids clink. “Let the people love you a little, mi Adelinetta.

When Compasia took pity on me, she reached down into the Underworld, touched the shoulder of Moritas, and asked her forgiveness. Then Compasia took my sister in her arms and placed her in the sky, where she, too, turned to stardust. Magiano looks at me, his eyes wide. It seems as if he already, somehow, understands. “My goddess made me a promise,” I whisper. Only now do I realize that I have never seen him cry before. In the stories, Compasia and her human lover would descend each night from the stars to walk the mortal world, before vanishing with the dawn. So, together, we stare at the sky, waiting.

If you are very quiet and do not look away, you may see the brightest star in the constellation glow steadily brighter. It brightens until it overwhelms every other star in the sky, brightens until it seems to touch the ground, and then the glow is gone, and in its place is a girl. Her hair and lashes are painted a shifting silver, and a scar crosses one side of her face. She is dressed in Sealand silk and a necklace of sapphire . Some say that, once upon a time, she had a prince, a father, a society of friends. Others say that she was once a wicked queen ,a worker of illusions, a girl who brought darkness across the lands. Stilll others say that she once had a sister, and that she loved her dearly. Perhaps all of these are true. She walks to the boy, tilts her head up at him, and smiles. He bends down to kiss her. Then he helps her onto the horse, and she rides away with him to a faraway place, until they can no longer be seen. These are only rumour,of course, and make little more than a story to tell round a fire. But it is told. And thus they live on. —“The Midnight Star,” a folktale