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is the weasel truly clever, or are its teeth merely sharp?
They are brusque words and—she cannot help it—laced through with venom for her father. This venom nourishes her, in a sick sort of way, like overripe fruit that tastes sweet on the tongue but will turn to bile in your stomach.
He will damp the sheets with blood the same way he wets the earth
In fact, his anger nourishes her, in a strange way. It is that same sweet-tasting poison, the last overripe fruit plucked from the otherwise empty vine, which will keep her alive but also kill her slowly.
men are honest only in whispers.”
Yet the mind itself can make the sea into a desert and a frozen waste into the greenest meadow.
She feels him flinch as he touches her skin. The blue marbling of her veins looks particularly garish against his ruddy flesh, cold where he is warm, lifeless where he is vital.
Vengeance is not a wooden cup that empties. It is a jeweled chalice which endlessly spills over.
No sickness of the body leaves the mind untouched.
You do not enchant by accident. You compel.”
When a crown falls, many arms reach out to catch it.
