Kutipan Favorit dari (Lagi-lagi) Deathless

Koschei, my insatiable brother, abducted all those girls—from Moscow, from Petrograd, from Novgorod, from Minsk. Spirited them from their cozy little homes, barreled them through the snow, telling them what to eat, how to kiss, when to speak, bathing them when they fell sick, just so they’d love him and need him—oh, my brother does yearn to be needed! He needs so much himself, you see. And then, well, what always happens with husbands? A few of them he got bored of; some of them betrayed him, stealing his death or running off with preverbal bogatyrs with necks like hams. And then they steal his death. Oh, the vixens! They were shameless. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. My brother always ends up dead in the end. Oh, the funerals I’ve had to attend! And flowers and gifts for each of them! I’m half-bankrupt with his theatrics. It never takes, though. That’s what deathless means. It’s only his death that dies. Koschei goes on and on. None of those milk-assed girls down there understood it, even though he practically wears a letter of intent on his chest. They snatch up his death and break it open and stomp on it like the curs they are, but what can you do? A dog is a dog. She only knows how to bite and eat. But most of them, Marya—my, what a black, soft name! I could lie in it all day—most of them couldn’t get by me to begin with. Family is a thorny, vicious business, and Koschei can’t marry without my say-so. Those stupid ox-wives weren’t fit to sweep my floor! They couldn’t even fire an arrow through the eye of a needle! What good is a wife who can’t, I ask you? I’ve done him a thousand favors.

The one who spoke those words: