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No one would want a heart like his. But he’d still cut it out and given it away.
It was quiet there, and the trees seemed like they could keep secrets.
“You should write a whole book someday. Your stories are too short and I always want more.” “They’re meant to be paper cuts.”
everyone’s first instinct was to go inside and hide under the covers. As if monsters couldn’t open doors and crawl into bed with you.
To write something nice, he’d need something nice to say. But his ribs were a cage for monsters and they cut their teeth on his bones.
What were twins, if not one to shout and one to whisper?
he didn’t know if he was gay enough when there was only one boy he wanted.
If the trees belonged to Thomas, midnight was in love with Andrew.
“I won’t let my monsters hurt you.”
The prince and his poet
“I told a story.” Andrew gripped Thomas like he’d never let go. “I killed them with ink.”
their monsters had no rules anymore; they didn’t stay in the forest, they didn’t linger in the dark,
The forest had been growing inside him for a long time, he’d just refused to think about it.
But his mouth was missing. As if Thomas had been waiting to learn the shape of it first.
He’d thought there was a monster in the mirror and he only meant to kill it.
