Harrow the Ninth (The Locked Tomb, #2)

by Tamsyn Muir

He mistook your deeply bigoted hate for disbelief,

“Don’t be ridiculous. She can’t be using theorems,” said Mercy. “She’d be barely awake and it’s totally beyond her at this poi—John, stop her, she’s using theorems!!”

It was only the fourth funeral you had ever been to where you had been responsible for the corpse.

“You are twenty-two.” “It’s a universe away from eighteen.”

REAL

“That was disgusting, to say the least. Old people should be shot.”

“This is the Beast,” she said. Augustine said, “That’s a muffin.” “I see a cloud, but with a face,” said Ianthe. “If you take that main squiggle for an eye.” You said, “I thought it was a flower,” and God said, “No, yes, I agree, there’s something—florescent about it.” And Ortus said, “Thought it was a snake in a bush.”

Harrowhark, I gave you my whole life and you didn’t even want it.

I feel sick omfg

Palamedes Sextus had made a war of his whole life in order to prosecute his desire to marry this woman.

You’d touched that letter, and I—you know it was killing me twice that you weren’t there, right?

Oh!

“She wants the D,” I said. And: “The D stands for dead.”

but Nonagesimus, you hating me always meant more than anyone else in this hot and stupid universe loving me. At least I’d had your full attention.

Literally wht if i killed myself

I used to sit by my mother’s niche and catch her up on everything.

Im SICKKKKKKK