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She’d been called many disparaging things in her life. Alarmingly all beginning with the letter F. Flighty, foolish, forgetful, and, by a strange turn of events, she was finally able to add the final F. Fucked.
“You just can’t kill people and be pretty. It’s confusing.” Evie began unwrapping the wool scarf her little sister, Lyssa, had given her on her last birthday, stepping closer to The Villain and holding it up like a signal of peace. “For the blood, Your Evilness.”
Running had never been her friend, and running fast, she believed, was her mortal enemy.
“Normal” was for those who didn’t have the ability to stretch their minds past the unreachable end.
Women? Have legs? Alert the town crier!
My stupidity is profound enough to be acknowledged, dammit.
He sighed and tried to come back to who he was before this natural disaster of a person entered his hemisphere.
“If you’re having some sort of episode, may I suggest you sit before you faint and crush the tulips?”
“If life was built on regrets, we’d have monuments the size of giants.”
This is what you get for reading books with no naughty words in them.
Am I receiving judgment from an overgrown lizard?
I’m still reconciling the fact that you didn’t hatch from an egg.”
“I didn’t want to put the bottoms of my shoes on your desk. I thought that would be rude,” she explained sensibly. “Yes, one must observe the proper etiquette when standing on other people’s furniture.”
She was exasperated, he could tell, because her hands were flying around like a manic butterfly.
Adulthood should be illegal.
If I hadn’t distracted her, you would’ve been an evil pancake.”
“By the gods, sir! If you insist on continuing to sneak up behind me like that, I’m going to force you to wear a bell.”
He’d tortured many men over his ten years in this business. For information, for making him angry, for trying to kill him, and he’d been loath to admit it…but he even did it once because he’d seen a man being cruel to a duck.
Women’s tears scared men, but the functions of the female body clearly sent them into apoplectic fits.
Focus, you absolute nincompoop.
“Oh gods,” she choked out. “You’re trying to tell me about your trauma, and I’m hyperventilating like a selfish ass.” She held up a hand, keeping her head down. “Give me a moment. I’ll be right with you.”
The little tornado’s eyes scrunched in confusion, and he resisted the gratified feeling that she enjoyed their hug so much that she thought another was well-advised.
Fuck. Well, he knew how the guvres felt now.
Where the fuck did being good ever get her? What would The Villain say? Make this man pay, little tornado. And so she did.
