The Exorcism of Faeries (Morbid Realities, #1)

by J.L. Vampa

His deep voice, like the smooth burning warmth in the first sip of whiskey,

All right, Jane Bennet, get your shite together. You are a Lizzie, damn it. And this man is no fucking Darcy.

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.

“There’s darkness found in hearth tales and the Church, but they all know that part already. They’ve seen it in the eyes of their dead. But there is also whimsy found in fairytales and hope found in the spiritual.”

“Mourner’s tear bottles?” “Clever woman. Yes, my mother said they were not only a way to remember the dead but a great form of protection.

Her heart broke for him. For his parents. For all the beauty their deaths caused. Because it was nothing but Juliet’s kiss, Macbeth’s decapitation, the murder of Desdemona. Achilles mourning Patroclus. “Sonder, I’m so sorry.”

Slash their hearts and gouge their eyes. Give us what is ours in time.

Things would be different if people weren’t so fucking scared all the time but let their fear propel them instead of paralyse them.”

“Attaaaa,” she sang. “Oh, Ariatne, dearest!” Emmy’s head popped in Atta’s doorway, her face set in theatrical despair. “The rain is absolutely gushing from the clouds. If I go to the library to study on my own, I’ll die. Please join me.”

“Thank you! My saviour, my gloomy little cloud. I’ll be your sunshine if you’ll be my rain.” “You’re a disaster, Em.”

Faeries as far as the eye could see, wings flitting against fog, sharp teeth bloody, bits of flesh and flora in their gaps.

Cut your eyes, one at a time, scoop them out and make them mine.

“You, a stór, are everything that is right with the world. My world. With all the worlds. And don’t you dare apologise for it.”