More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Outside, the campus was bustling with students, a hint of the approaching autumn on the wind, stirring the leaves that would soon lose their chlorophyll and show the world how beautiful it is to die.
“Old-fashioned or old?” she goaded Gold Stitch further. “Hard to tell with that mask on, you know.” They hid in the shadows and the lantern light shown in his goggles, her face reflected back at her in the flame. “I’m vintage, darling.”
the peculiar girl with her nose always in a book, who lived above a morgue.
love her
If Sonder Murdoch was the dark lord, her soul was begging to be burned to ash.
After a while, he missed everything she said because, with the glow in her eyes from the fire, the wine suppressing his inhibitions, and her—Ariatne Morrow—sitting cross-legged on the floor of the room he’d worked, laughed, wept, lived in his entire life in a jumper of his she’d found on his desk chair, speaking of everything with such passion and brilliance, he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would sacrifice anything, everything for her.
