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

by Carissa Broadbent

This is the tale of how a fallen one ascends. Long ago, I told you a tale of a chosen girl who fell to the darkness. Now I will tell you the tale of a boy who was born within it.

“I’m giving credit to its rightful owner. I did not kill Atroxus. Mische Iliae did, and she deserves to have her name painted in the stars for it.”

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.

“Billions of threads,” she murmured, “and not a single one where you say no.”

And a voice, quiet and booming at once, said, “Get your hands off my wife.”

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.

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