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She wore trouble like royalty wore the Iron Crown, and it fit her a little too well.
trying to argue with Ana was like trying to tell the stars to stop shining.
Metals didn’t have emotions, so how could she love something that would never—could never—feel the same? She often told herself, when her heart fluttered or her cheeks burned, that she didn’t love him.
“I’m sure they’d follow you to the ends of the stars,” the woman replied wryly, “but that doesn’t mean you take them there.”
“You sound like a symphony of electrical currents,” she explained, and began to hum, as if in tune with it, and grabbed his hand to dance.
And her heart beat on in a universe without him, a sad and useless organ in her chest.
the best stories were the ones with cracked spines and dog-eared edges.
A broken heart beating on.
Never underestimate a criminal.
“Because I will follow you anywhere,” he insisted. “To the ends of the galaxy, if I have to. I want to exist where you exist, and that is enough.”
“Di was a medic. He knew what he was doing. The blade missed her vital organs. She didn’t survive because she was the Goddess. She survived because Di loved her.”
“Screw fate. I’ll tear down the stars for you.”
She was Ananke Armorov. She was the heir to the Iron Kingdom. She was a girl born in fire and raised in the stars, and she would burn against the darkness—and drive it away.
