More on this book
Kindle Notes & Highlights
She looked ordinary, to the ordinary eye. That was the thing about monsters: the real ones always did.
Now the years were in her, bent like a soft nail, and there was just no getting them out. She was too old, she thought some mornings. Too old for what living demanded.
There were 206 bones in every human body, give or take, and Jeta could feel each one, had always been able to, had counted them over and over. The soft clavicle, like a coat hanger for the body to hang from. The tiny horseshoe-shaped hyoid in the throat, connected to no other bones and instead afloat in the soft tissue, like a stone in a jar of jelly.
