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.

Time changes with torment. It stretches on, lengthening seconds, extending minutes.

Maybe ignorance isn’t a vice, but a reprieve.

There’s safety in loneliness, but there’s a lurking danger too. One that doesn’t come from anything other than yourself.

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

my mind spins with warring emotions. I feel like every single thought I have argues with itself, and I don’t know which side is right.

This wintry land of Fifth Kingdom is nothing like Highbell. It’s not blustery or loud or punishing. It’s still. Quiet. The glacial calm of a land at peace with the cold, rather than at war with it.

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

There’s a pendulum swinging in my mind, in my chest. Back and forth it goes, with every heartbeat, every thought. Past and present. Right and wrong. Truths and lies. Knowing and not knowing. Doubts and trust. It’s a constant tick in an unending tempo.

“I know,” I reply, and I also know that my voice sounds numb, because that numbness surrounds me.

A sadness settles over me, like the soft silt of sand. It covers my skin, so many tiny particles that I know will continue to cling to me for a long time.

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