Glint (The Plated Prisoner, #2)

by Raven Kennedy

Gold may gleam, but it doesn’t stand the test of time. It wears down, loses its luster, becomes nothing but a needy, malleable surface with no durability.

I don’t know if the bones in my body are as gold as the rest of me, but for my sake, I hope they are. I hope my spine is gilded, because I’m going to need a strong backbone if I want to survive.

Time changes with torment. It stretches on, lengthening seconds, extending minutes. I’ve learned that pain and fear have a way of prolonging. And as if that weren’t cruel enough, our minds make sure we relive those moments again and again and again, long after they’ve passed. What a bastard, time is.

“Oh, Goldfinch. You think I’m a monster now, but you haven’t seen anything yet.”

I’ve found that some smells are strings tied around memories. When you catch certain scents, those strings pull taut. Like a boat being brought to dock, forced to float in the sentiment.

“We’re all captives of something, even things we don’t want to admit to.”

“I hope you burn so bright that you scorch your Golden King down to ash.”

“Sometimes,” he murmurs, “things need first to be ruined in order to then be remade.”

“Option two is harder. It’s harder for us,” she admits, looking me straight in the eye. “There will always be someone who will try to make us choose option one. But don’t. Don’t lie down to make it easier for the world to keep you under its thumb. Own your shit and choose yourself.”

“Kindness shouldn’t have to be earned. It should be freely given.”

“If you tried, you could shine brighter than the fucking sun. Instead, you’ve chosen to sit back and wither.”

“Commander, I must insist that you don’t touch King Midas’s favored.” “I must insist that you shut the fuck up,” Osrik drawls.

I’ve been bending over backwards for so long that I forgot I even had a spine.