When the Moon Hatched (Moonfall, #1)

by Sarah A. Parker

First was Caelis, God of Aether, invisible to the naked eye.

he is a tiny god

filling his gorges with her gushing affections.

nope

The Creators did not expect their beloved beasts to sail skyward upon their end. For many of them to plant themselves just beyond gravity’s grip, curl into balls and calcify, littering the sky with tombstones. With moons. They certainly did not expect those moons to fall not long after they found their lofty perch. For them to collide with the world in a clash of splintering doom that threatened to devastate everything that had come to be.

so when dragons die they become comets that collide with the earth and the only person who can stop them is Bruce Willis

A mighty fae warrior known for his strength and wisdom

well it’s not Cassian

He inspects the token, handing it back with a gruff “No veils.”

can’t even escape anti-maskers in epic fantasy novels

“There are screaming spirits desperate to speak with you. How about a small suckle of your soul?”

what the fuck just happened

I’m halfway up a thin staircase chipped into the back wall when somebody tall, broad, and cloaked charges down from above.

I wonder if this person will prove to be significant to plot

Tension clogs the air, my gaze dropping to his large, heavily scarred hand—outstretched, paused midmotion, as if he were just about to grab my veil and rip it free.

“MASKS DON’T WORK”

discreet swell of her babe-laden abdomen.

either she’s pregnant or she just ate a hottie

The ghost of something I can scarcely grasp, its corpse anchored in my icy nether.

in your what now?

I bite my tongue so hard it bleeds,

that’s fucked up

Screw it.

customary high fantasy language usage

my stabby hand

oh no

Snow spews—fat flakes that catch on my feathered lashes and dust the pave anew.

“dust the pace anew” girl pick a style of prose and stick with it

Mine’s a scorched skeleton of flame-forged rage that keeps me upright. Keeps me moving forward. There’s not much that’s wet and squishy left in my chest. It’s all hard and hostile, impervious to things like caring for the likes of Tarik Relaken. In fact, even if he were a pile of shit on the pavement, I’d still go out of my way to stomp on him.

we got a serious case of not-like-other-girlitis

“Perhaps I should explain,” I say, pulling a wax bag from my pocket.

what are you, a Bond villain? Just kill him and be on your way

“Funniest thing. The next dae, your bound found a way to reach out to us. You know who we are, of course. The Fíur du Ath.” From the Ashes.

I have tried saying this out loud several times and I just sound like the Swedish chef

Looking at my gown, I click my tongue at the spurts of blood deepening the shade in places. I’d hoped for a clean job this time. Every time. Never happens.

maybe you should get better at your job

My lungs pull full of his scent, so deep and drugging, like smelted stone topped with a ladle of cream.

who needs the masculine smell of leather and pine when you have rocks and hot dairy

The bold, muscular sort of build often found in those with strong roots to The Burn—the hot, ever-sunny northern kingdom.

the swole build of the people from the hot… north?

Sadness is like stones that stack inside you, making it harder to move. Ignorance is my self-preservation tonic, and I’ll swear by it until I die.

Well aren’t you a peach

I snort-laugh.

nope

I’ll never forget the way the sowmoth squeaked. I didn’t even know they could squeak.

You giggled in delight when one of these disgusting bugs shed its horrific wing-powder on you like two chapters ago and now you’re grossed out?

I think that’s a plop of spangle poop.

Is it me? Am I just too grouchy to enjoy books that talk about spangle poop? Maybe it’s me

and fetching bottles of colk milk

it’s totally legal to reference cows in fantasy books, they can’t put you in jail

That there’s no bloody stains anywhere on my gown that’s cinched at my waist, the gathered bustle emphasizing my round hips. The tight bodice makes my already full breasts almost spill from the neckline,

gotta say fellas this sudden focus on her tits and good birthing hips is out of nowhere

“Messy job?” “Unfortunately.” I shrug. “He was a squirter.”

oh

You can reshape a turd an infinite number of times, but it’s still a turd.

don’t touch poop

My pulse scatters

where did it go?

Most prefer to make their homes on the other side of the wall, where sunlight shafts through colorful windows and fills rooms with warmth. Where folk can line their sills with potted vegetables that thrive in its constant flow. Not me.

AW MAN I FUCKIN KNEW SHE WAS A PICK ME GOD DAMMIT

“Stop,” I growl. “Don’t look at me like that.” Why is she looking at me like that? Her eyes gloss over with a sheen of sadness that’s so much worse. “Raeve, I can’t lose you—”

you’re going to look me in the eye and tell me that these women are not in love with each other?

My only companion is a heavy mug of mead I bring to my mouth, drawing a frothy glug of the thick, bitter-tasting liquid.

mead is made from honey so I think your drink just sucks

He steps into my shadow, almost close enough for me to reach out and touch him, my next breath laced with a drugging punch of his rich, molten scent.

remember he smells like hot rocks slathered in heavy whipping cream

That Rygun—his ancient Sabersythe—was too big to fit in any of the city hutches the last time he came to Gore. That he lets the beast hunt freely across his kingdom, firing cities with his blazing breath and feasting on his folk whom he cares little about.

the fuck is he supposed to do with a big ass dragon? Hit him with a rolled up newspaper and tell him “no”? I think giant fire-breathing dragons can probably do whatever they want seeing as they can FIRE-BREATHE YOU TO DEATH

microcock.”

why is she so fixated on penis size?

I should be able to die how I want to die, dammit!

that’s not how jail works, baby cakes

Incognito King

🥸🤴🏻

It doesn’t matter how much of my skin is smoothed or how deep he kneels at my feet. I’m still an assassin marked for execution come aurora rise, and he’s still a tyrant king.

NO WAIT EVERYONE I REALLY LIKE THIS LINE OH MY GOD THINGS ARE LOOKING UP MAYBE

A rumbling sound boils all around me,

Is it Kaan?

I hope he doesn’t mind when I heartily slit his throat.

just slit his throat already, nobody likes an empty threat

The taste of copper fills my mouth.

THE 🗣️ COPPERY 🗣️ TANG 🗣️

Failing to muster any more words to wield, I poke my tongue out at him instead.

this is actually illegal

Burns. He has burns.

well yeah he has a dragon

It’s got two levels, bearing oddly shaped windows not round or square but somewhere in the middle.

that’s called an oval. Raeve: great at killing, bad at shapes

Moonshards come in all different hues, depending on which fallen beast they split from.

Like in Zelda

when my stomach gurgles again,

it be ya own tumtum

his voice a tender stroke to my hackled heart.

nope

I’m plotting your death as we speak.”

now I’m not an assassin (I’d be really bad at it) but I feel like maybe you shouldn’t be telling your intended victims like, all your plans all the time

Giving Kaan time to fall asleep, I wait—entombed in the smell of cream and molten stone.

why won’t she let us forget that this dude smells like hot milk

My cheeks heat, thunder rumbling as I consume the vision of Kaan Vaegor stretched across the long seater. Naked. More lightning, and I see the fluffy throw draped across his groin, covering that part of his body but leaving his scars and his fierce, formidable stature on bold display. Creators. He’s so big his legs hang off the end, feet flat on the ground, legs partially spread.

this guy a sleepy ho