Tongue and Quills are no sharper than knives, Black. Knives with your name on them.

Don't listen to the scold, Justine. Break its quill, cut off its hands, silence its tongue. Sharpen the blade and reap the harvest of blood.

I wonder, will your blood still run pure, after so many years of taint? Rivulets of tarnished blood, still red, still red my lovely

I'll certainly relish finding out