Shadowfever (Fever #5)

by Karen Marie Moning

The longer I walk around with this grief inside me, the more I understand that. It’s as if sunshine is a slap in the face that says, Look, the world’s all bright and shiny! Too bad you’re not.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned since Alina’s death, it’s that grief is more physically draining than running a marathon every day. It wipes you out and leaves you bruised, body and soul.

I frowned, realizing that was exactly the problem. At this moment, there was nothing wrong, besides the usual fate of the world stuff I’d become mostly inured to. I couldn’t deal with that. I’d been compressed, gripped in a painful vise. I’d gotten used to it. It was things being wrong that had given me shape and purpose and kept me going.