The Puppeteer (Harrow Faire, #2)

by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

Madness is an insidious disease. We do not see the danger until it is too late. It creeps into the cracks and crevices of the mind and makes itself at home, like carpenter ants in the framing of a home. We do not know the floor has rotted away until one ill-timed step destroys the façade of normalcy.

You might think that man the fool. You might think him a harmless, laughing lunatic. It is a mistake that leads to ruin. For that man is the most dangerous of them all.

“Don’t call me names, you overdressed crimson pimp. I’m well past my limit, and I’m done taking shit from somebody who looks like they fell out of the bargain bin at a Halloween outlet.”

“You need to understand your cage before you can try to pick the lock.”

“That is most definitely a ‘no.’ Don’t they say talking about trauma helps in the healing process?” “You know what helps me in the healing process? Stabbing you with this fork.”

“I never thought I’d be jealous of my own fractured psyche, but here we are.

Yes. I was always a little…eh…fractured. The Faire only finished the job. We are chosen for the roles we take because we are close to the aspect we represent. The role of the Puppeteer is to represent sin, temptation, wickedness, and fear. I am both the chains of bondage and the joy of breaking them. I was a bit of a hedonist before I came here. And on the verge of being a lunatic.”

“Keep going,” he urged. “You are not the broken creature you were. I promise you.”

OOF TTHE FUK CK

She felt his forehead rest against her. “I’m proud of you, cupcake. Standing up to me like that…If they see you unafraid to face me down, no one will mess with you. I’m not upset. Dress me down all you want in public, because someday soon you’ll let me dress you down in private.” He placed a kiss against her cheek, just by her ear. Slow and sensual.

I think he’s desperate to know what it’s like to fuck himself and not be gay about it.”

Oh, please don’t tell me this is the beginning of some terrible love triangle. How utterly boring. Jackie, this isn’t a triangle. It’s an exclamation point. And you’re the dot.”

Dear Libido, you pick the worst possible times. Love, Simon.

Hate your cage. Find another. Build it with your own bare hands if you must—but understand that it is a cage all the same. Embrace it. Fashion it with pride. Make it your home. There is no such thing as freedom for our species. Take these words to your soul, and happiness will follow.