What Feasts at Night (Sworn Soldier, #2)

by T. Kingfisher

and on Sunday, I woke to the sound of cathedral bells and thought “I could go to church,” and then I wouldn’t. (This was also a vital part of the routine.)

Anyway, never argue with your laundress. She has subtle and terrible ways of taking her revenge.

(Ha and Har are our particular Gallacian pronouns that are used only for God. When I found out that in English those are sounds associated with laughter, all I could think was, “Yeah, sounds about right.”)

You’re there and then you leave, but places don’t stop existing just because you aren’t looking at them.

I’d learned long ago that things you don’t see can kill you, but at least the visions don’t stalk your mind for decades after.

“Blessed Virgin,” I whispered, even though I couldn’t even hear myself. “Why must you keep sending me innocent monsters?”

“Something bad happened to both of us, too. We don’t deserve to fall apart either.”