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“And how is a miracle different from a spell? Who is to say the saint was not a witch?”
“Oh my god, you sound like Outlander!”
New Alice, who doesn’t say sorry every time she so much as skims the air around another person’s space, as if none of it belongs to her.
“Bury my bones in the midnight soil,” he begins, infusing the words with the air of theater. “Plant them shallow and water them deep. And in my place will grow a feral rose.” He leans down to Renata and cups her face, running a thumb across her bottom lip. “Soft red petals hiding sharp white teeth.”
The daylight ushers in another kind of torment: children.
“The world will try to make you small. It will tell you to be modest, and meek. But the world is wrong. You should get to feel and love and live as boldly as you want.”
“Death comes, and sometimes it is kind, and often it is cruel, and very rarely it is welcome. But it comes, all the same.”
When you are happy, a decade rushes by. When you are sad, a minute crawls. When you are lonely and afraid, time seems to lose all meaning.
