A Conjuring of Light (Shades of Magic, #3)

by V.E. Schwab

“a thief plays the game only when they think they’ll win. A pirate plays the game even when they think they’ll lose.”

Myths do not happen all at once. They do not spring forth whole into the world. They form slowly, rolled between the hands of time until their edges smooth, until the saying of the story gives enough weight to the words—to the memories—to keep them rolling on their own.

In myths, the hero survives. The evil is vanquished. The world is set right. Sometimes there are celebrations, and sometimes there are funerals. The dead are buried. The living move on. Nothing changes. Everything changes. This is a myth. This is not a myth.

A myth without a voice is like a dandelion without a breath of wind. No way to spread the seeds.