A Forbidden Alchemy (The Artisan Trilogy)

by Stacey McEwan

I’d read poetry that had described romance as being a descent into madness. A kind of precursor to pain. That wasn’t how being with Theo felt. Being with Theo was levitation. I was weightless here, when usually I felt encumbered.

I stared at the earth beneath his feet as he spoke and wondered why I could so easily move it, but I couldn’t move him.

And wasn’t that the true evil of war? That it didn’t have the decency to strip the humanity of those we killed?