More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Every woman draws a circle around herself. Sometimes she has to be the only thing inside it.
If he peeled back her pretty skin he’d find nothing soft or sweet at all, just busted glass and ashes and the desperate, animal will to stay alive.
you have a family right up until you don’t. You take care of people right up until you can’t, until you have to choose between staying and surviving.
“Oh, every good journalist is a detective.”
But she should have known no man ever loved a woman’s strength—they only love the place where it runs out. They love a strong will finally broken, a straight spine bent.
She is a woman who understands the value of words, especially the ones they don’t want you to say.
“If you want to blame someone for a fire, look for the men holding matches.”
“The Constitution? What, exactly, do you think the Constitution is? A magic spell? A dragon, perhaps, that will swoop down to defend you in your most desperate hour?” Cleo straightens in her seat. Juniper doesn’t think she’s ever seen a face so full of scorn. “I assure you it has only ever been a piece of paper, and it has only ever applied to a very few persons.”
Maidens are supposed to be sweet, soft creatures who braid daisy-crowns and turn themselves into laurel trees rather than suffer the loss of their innocence, but the Maiden is none of those things. She’s the fierce one, the feral one, the witch who lives free in the wild woods. She’s the siren and the selkie, the virgin and the valkyrie; Artemis and Athena. She’s the little girl in the red cloak who doesn’t run from the wolf but walks arm in arm with him deeper into the woods.
She knows powerful men only keep their promises when they have to, and they never have to.
