“For the lips of an immoral woman drip honey, and her mouth is smoother than oil; but in the end she is as bitter as wormword, sharp as a two-edged sword. Her feet go down to death, her steps lay hold of hell”

“There was a basket at her feet. She reached into it and lifted out the head of a young woman, a marquise. She wore Bourbon white to her death, but wears the tricolor now - white cheeks, blue lips, red dripping from her neck. Long live the revolution.”

“When she closed her eyes she felt he had many hands, which touched her everywhere, and many mouths, which passed so swiftly over her, and with a wolflike sharpness, his teeth sank into her fleshiest parts. Naked now, he lay his full length over her. She enjoyed his weight on her, enjoyed being crushed under his body. She wanted him soldered to her, from mouth to feet. Shivers passed through her body.”

“With the blood dripping from her lips, with her blood spattered white dress, and with her pale skin, she is just a horrifyingly lovely and a breathtakingly attractive sixteen-year-old girl living in Hell. Nothing wrong with that, right?”

“Kiss me, woman. I command you,” the voice echoed, this time compelling her to obey. Helena’s survival instincts gave her a hard kick, jarring her back into the horrific reality of the situation. But as she tried to regain control of her body, her tongue slipped from her mouth and wet her lips. Traitorous tongue. Backstabbing lips. What the hell are you doing?”

“They were suddenly both naked. He got on top of her and kissed her passionately, withdrew his lips slightly from hers, and allowed a few drops of saliva to drip into her mouth.”