"But that's not right at all," said Fengye. "[i]I[/i] made [i]you[/i]. I put you in that body. I took away your army, your name and your power, and gave you a new role. I shaped you for purpose and gave you everything you needed. There was a point in the past where I held absolute power over you. Why should you not obey me?"

She [i]had [/i]read her Immaculate Philosophy, thank you very much. She knew the correct paths for dealing with blasphemy; the confusing and shifting argument, the immovable and obstinate refusal, the kind and nuturing instruction, the silent departure, the furious knife to the throat of the blasphemer. She knew that arguing outside of the prescribed forms was forbidden and some part of her mind reminded her of that even now. Doing that kind of thing was bound to get you captured by demons and carried away to hell.

But she didn't have the heart for meditation. Didn't have the will to be an enlightened sage. Those feelings were just as hollow as the rest of her heart. But she did find a flicker of interest in the Maid's sermon, an echo of something truthful, an argument that she agreed with argued poorly.

"And now you rebel against me, steal my mask and my power, and seek to overthrow me in turn. Yet I do not curse you for a traitor. If anything -" the words slipped out before she realized them, "- I admire your tenacity. If not your self pity."