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“The old gods may be great, but they are neither kind nor merciful. They are fickle, unsteady as moonlight on water, or shadows in a storm. If you insist on calling them, take heed: be careful what you ask for, be willing to pay the price.” She leans over Adeline, casting her in shadow. “And no matter how desperate or dire, never pray to the gods that answer after dark.”
His heart has a draft. It lets in light. It lets in storms. It lets in everything.
What is the point in planting seeds? Why tend them? Why help them grow? Everything crumbles in the end. Everything dies.
