All the Murmuring Bones

by A.G. Slatter

If I know anything for certain it’s that neither love nor hate is ever simple.

Some folk make a point of not visiting pain on others when it’s been done to them; most people, though, think it’s their due to inflict a little of their own agony.

it’s hard to forgive a graceless heart.’

‘Very few people are entirely good or bad, missy, but some ignore the calling of one or the other better than the rest of us.’

Love is a barbed hook and family the line to which it is tied. It digs deep and sometimes trying to remove it entirely does more damage than simply leaving the obstruction beneath the skin for a scar to grow over.

Perhaps that one was ill-chosen, but it’s what came to mind. Still, all change is painful, cutting and cauterising yourself for something better.

I’m Miren Elliott now, for it’s what I can bear – you claim what you can endure from your once-life and burn the rest.

‘I don’t need you,’ I say, ‘I want you. That should be enough. That should be better because it means I’ve made a choice.’