WHO'S slow?
In her hand she felt a bone break and whimpered, biting hard enough on her tongue that suddenly there was blood in her mouth.
Agatha had been born to withstand torture, to smile demurely in the face of agony. But Agatha wasn't just some story anymore. Mankind had given her flesh and blood and it was all very well to stand up to torture and pretend she didn't feel pain, but her bones broke just as easily as any mortal.
"I've done nothing," she said, gathering those words to her, wanting to believe them. "I've always been the most faithful of them all." All these saints she'd made her friends, all so full of sin. And Agatha had tried so hard to live up to everything she was supposed to stand for.