The Thirteenth Hour (The Cruel Gods, #1)

by Trudie Skies

“If reality is but a dream of the gods, then I wish my dream to be of this.

She carried herself with the strength of a woman who knew her worth.

I was about to die. Not the death of my visions, but a different kind of death, because that was what memory loss entailed. The death of present time. The death of potential. It was too late to run.

“Are you aware of who I am?” He’s a sanctimonious time-keeping wanker, that’s who, Jinx said.

And I assume you’re here to question me, threaten me, possibly drag me to some sort of depraved torture chamber and then my eventual death, which honestly sounds very dull. I’ll take a cuppa, if you’re making. Three sugars and a splash of milk, please.”

I couldn’t quite catch what she was singing, but her lyrics sounded something like get down you fuckers.

Yes, falling to my death would be the cherry on top of this shit cake.

“Family doesn’t force you into committing mass genocide.”

It was pleasantly warm, like the correct temperature to enjoy a good cup of tea, though now I was the tea leaves steeping among the milk and sugar of the universe.