The Contortionist (Harrow Faire, #1)

by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

If souls are the currency of hell, then the devil himself has become the victim of inflation.

Sitting at a desk all day sucked, but everything else sucked worse. Living with constant pain was a gradient. Either it hurt, or it hurt worse.

If it wasn’t her ankles, it was her knees. If it wasn’t her knees, it was her hips. If it wasn’t those, it was her wrists or her shoulders. They were always floating. Her tendons just couldn’t do their fucking jobs for ten minutes. It was one thing, after another, after another.

“Lady, all I am is failure and stagnation.”