Harrow the Ninth (The Locked Tomb, #2)

by Tamsyn Muir

But your idiot dying mouth rounded out three totally different syllables, and they were three syllables you did not even understand.

In the mirror, you perceived the Body, waiting quietly beside you; she wore a turquoise hospital shift exactly the same as your own,

He could not possibly know that in your youth her eyes had often been black, like yours were, but that ever since you had writhed in Lyctoral agony her eyes had turned a yellow that made you dizzy to behold: a bronzed, hot, animal yellow, as amber as the inside of an egg.

I am nothing, I am pointless, I am unmanned.”

Harrow regretted not making him take a solemn pledge of silence, to walk the place as the mute and intimidating bulk his father had been; but only a very obedient idiot of a cavalier would have stuck to that.

You could always leave everything else behind, but you never got rid of being so absolutely fucking goddamn sad.

these motherfuckers had a hunger that only thumbs could satisfy.