House of Hunger

by Alexis Henderson

But begrudging contentment was not the same as happiness. At best it was familiarity, and at worst defeat. It certainly wasn’t the same as true fondness.

“This isn’t true night, child. True night is black too thick to see through. It’s a crescent moon and starless skies and the kind of cold that kills. You’ll know it when you feel it.”

Consumption is the highest honor. —Selina, Bloodmaid of the House of Hunger

We bleed for those we love most.

She’d never been able to understand why people who had so much fought over so little. What was the point of war when everyone had full bellies and more money than they could ever spend? What more could they possibly want? As far as Marion was concerned, they were simply too rich and too bored and looking for violent ways to pass the years.

“What we are made to feel we are made to remember. And there is no feeling as memorable as pain.

Marion had always found it odd that someone would go through the trouble of killing a creature only to make it look alive again. It seemed somehow perverse.

“My father used to tell me I had eyes for the things I shouldn’t see.”

I can’t continue to fight my hunger for you, Marion. I want you near me. I would give you everything. All of me, if you’ll only let me have you.”