The Fallen and the Kiss of Dusk (Crowns of Nyaxia #4)

by Carissa Broadbent

Mische Iliae would be remembered by the bones of time itself, and I knew it because I would write her story there with my blood if I had to.

As if the gods had seen some beauty in mortality but failed to realize that the imperfection of it was what made it remarkable.

“They need to hear, ‘Even if it is your fault, I will love you anyway.’

“For whatever of your mistakes, Mische Iliae,” he said, quietly, firmly, “for whatever of your faults, for whatever unintended pains you may bring this world, I will love you anyway.”

But the truth in every wound they healed together was absolute. A connection so intrinsic that it rendered all else meaningless.

I still was holding my breath. This, I realized, was prayer.

The two of us colliding for only a few ephemeral moments, magnificent in their impermanence.

I had walked the path to divinity; I had walked the path to death. And yet, here, in her presence, I was overwhelmed. Here, in her presence, I knew worship.

“It’s hard work, to make the choice to do better every single night for the rest of your life.