Weyward

by Emilia Hart

Something to do with animals, anyway, which in her experience were far preferable to humans.

As far as he was concerned, animals belonged on one’s plate or mounted on one’s wall.

Violet waited until she was safely alone in her bedroom before she let the tears fall. She wept quietly as she changed into her nightdress and got into bed. After a while, she tried to steady her breathing, but it was no good.

crows were her favorite. There was something intelligent—almost human—about their sly voices and dark, luminous eyes.

we smelled of lavender, for protection.

But I cannot bear the long days. In fact, I hate them. I hate each and every day that stands between now and when I shall see you again.