Death Bringer. Derek Landy

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      alkyrie felt something cold twist in her gut. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice brittle and sharp. “This is my home.”

      “I know it is,” Melancholia answered. “I’ve heard Cleric Wreath mention the pier in Haggard so many times that it was really no trouble finding you. So this is where you live, then. How … mundane.”

      Melancholia smiled as she approached. The hem of her robes flowed over the ground like a river of shadows. “What’s wrong? Nothing to say? You usually have lots to say. Are you feeling all right? Are you sick? Are you ill? You don’t look ill. Are you putting a brave face on it? You have nothing to prove to me, you know. I respect you for who you are. And who are you again? Oh yes, that’s right. Absolutely nobody.”

      “Whatever you want,” Valkyrie said, struggling to keep her anger down, “it can wait, OK? My baby sister’s inside.”

      Melancholia’s smile grew wider, and now Valkyrie could see the multitude of symbols that scarred her face. “You have a sister? I didn’t know that. Do you think she’ll grow up to be as ordinary as you, perhaps? How does it feel, to suddenly go from being the saviour of the world back to being some insignificant little schoolgirl?”