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“Nevernight,” he muttered. “Stupid name for a book.”
“Sometimes the past won’t just die. Sometimes you have to kill it.”
“Don’t fuck with librarians, young lady. We know the power of words.”
A bearded Itreyan with a vicious scar and a red greatcoat with brass buttons bowed low, his face as sour as if he’d eaten a bowl of fresh dogshit.
How do you kill a monster without becoming one yourself?”
Fear was a poison. Fear was a prison.
Part of having is the fear of losing. Part of creating is the fear of it breaking. Part of beginning is the fear of your ending. Fear is never a choice. Never a choice. But letting it rule you is.
But to live in the hearts of those we leave behind is to never die. And to burn in the memories of our friends is to never say goodbye. So let me say this instead. Goodnight, gentlefriend. Goodnight. Never flinch. Never fear. And never, ever forget.
