Six Scorched Roses (Crowns of Nyaxia, #1.5)

by Carissa Broadbent

Here’s the thing about the God of Abundance. Abundance wears many faces. The god of plenty is also the god of decay. There can be no life without death, no feast without famine.

So much lived in that gap—the gap between the things I knew and the things I didn’t.

“After so long, you realize that knowing things doesn’t especially matter very much. Knowledge with no context is meaningless. That’s not the real treasure.”

“What are you afraid of?” I said. “That I’ll fall into the darkness? We’re already there. We’ve been there for years, and we’re only falling deeper.”

“You want more than I can give you,” I whispered. “I can’t imagine that ever being true,” he murmured. “Because I want only you, Lilith. Whatever of you I can have. I’ll take one night. One hour. One minute. Whatever you want to give me. I’ll have it.”

Cried in public on the train

My death defined my entire life. It was my beginning and my only end.

Death’s home was a field of blackened flowers.

Death’s home was a field of flowers. A destination I had come to terms with—a path I was fifteen years late in traveling. Death walked beside me.

Death’s home was a field of flowers, and someone was pulling my hand, but I wouldn’t go—