To Snap a Silver Stem (Crystal Bloom, #2)

by Sarah A. Parker

“I’m well versed in the art of running from my problems.”

Real

Promising yourself to another shouldn’t mean you lose yourself in the process.

I didn’t leave my Safety Line to be forced into another box. To be owned by a man who doesn’t even know me.

But I’d rather die by the sword of my own decisions than be stripped of the ability to make them.

“You are light, my love. Light and life and all that is good.” He sets his hands around mine, his touch warm and grounding, palms smooth. “That is what you cling to.”

can’t look at the painting. Can’t look in her eyes and tell her this is nothing more than a tragic coincidence. That her little girl’s not here, not coming back, because I know the burn of that hopeful flame, even when you know it’s useless. Sometimes, it’s the only thing that keeps you warm.

I’m living in a shell that doesn’t fit right anymore. Perhaps it never did.

I look to the sky instead; to the moon and the stars and the nothing in between. In the moon, I see a clock that won’t stop ticking. In the stars, I see my brother’s eyes. In the black between it all, I see the inky death that poured from my skin,

I didn’t deserve to be put back together in the first place. Not after everything I’ve done. I wish you’d let me die that day. The burden of those words sits heavy in my heart, reaching up my throat with clawed hands that threaten to rip my mouth wide so they can spill.

What I regret is letting her believe she doesn’t hold my cold, crippled heart in the palm of her hand. Because she does. She always will.

There was a kinship with Gael—like our threads ran unnaturally deep for the short amount of time we’d known each other. The sort of bond I’d imagine sisters would have. Now I know why. We’re sisters in death—both victims of the same tragic end that changed our lives forever. Took from us the people we loved most.

“Because he was hers—forever—even though he knew his love was lethal.”

“Your pain calls to me. You can tuck it down deep and cover it up all you want, but I can still see it clear as day.”

He’s all dark, masculine beauty licked in a silver scrawl. My own damnation carved into a roughly hewn sculpture of agonizing temptation.

“You’re going to go to war with him? Over me?” He doesn’t blink or flinch. “I’d strike the fucking world down for you.”

I’ve got nothing to lose except myself.

There’s ire in my eyes. Fire in my veins. Hurt in my heart.

He taught me to bleed so beautifully. I wonder … will he bleed for me?