Bury Our Bones in the Midnight Soil

by V.E. Schwab

“Kitchens have some of the same herbs,” she says, holding the cook’s gaze, “and more discretion.”

Charlotte wakes the way the sun comes up: not all at once, but by degrees.

“Death comes, and sometimes it is kind, and often it is cruel, and very rarely it is welcome. But it comes, all the same.”