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386 pages, Kindle Edition
First published November 26, 2019
The death of a single child is like the end of the world.
On the day after the summer solstice in the year 403 of the New Calendar, Kyrionik ward-Safroy defe-Safroy admir-Safroy hold-Safroy attended his own funeral.
They were in a little storeroom or front office, with a counter and shelves full of wooden dolls with skull- like faces and outstretched arms, as though the tiny figure of Death was asking for a hug.
In Kyrioc’s experience, when death came, it was often very, very small: A breaking stair, the vapor from a cough, the edge of a knife like the one he was holding. A tiny figure was exactly the right size for Death, as far as he was concerned.