from Chapter 8

When in the house of Saturn there are things an EMF member must do, instructions that were given to us, drawn up under roofs of lead. Things to be done if one is ever lucky enough to be in proximity to the enemy. The carnation knife must be pulled out of the waistband and then put to the throat of Saturn, dragging the blade across the skin and stubble of his neck, letting his ink drip. Because if that is what he wants, to write, let him write his own blood letter on the cloth and foam of his mattress. A dense, warm prose that stains the floors and always reappears six coats of paint later. Something that will remain longer than any novel will.

At the very least, if rushed, steal the plot lines and the hundred and five pages that have been written. Leave nothing behind but the title page and table of contents, on which you write, "you are not so powerful."

But I left my carnation knife in my pocket and was careful not to touch anything. Sabotaged nothing, simply waited for Saturn to rise and walk into the living room.

Even if I believed in Federico de la Fe's cause and in the fall of Saturn, there is an etiquette that must be followed, even in war. You cannot kill or steal from a man while he is asleep and heartbroken. While it is said that everything is fair in love and war, the dictum is nullified when both love and war occur simultaneously; then, the rules of battle become more stringent. The politics that lead to war can always be argued, but there is an undeniable sympathy that must be extended when a woman leaves a man. Saturn waited ten years from the time Merced left Federico de la Fe before he decided to invade the privacy of Federico de la Fe. I would only be extending the same courtesy.

from The People of Paper by Salvador Plascencia, pp. 104-105