Divine Rivals (Letters of Enchantment, #1)

by Rebecca Ross

It always smelled oppressive here, like oiled leather and tobacco and the strong sting of aftershave.

I can’t expect someone else to make me feel complete; I must find it on my own. And I think I was always writing for myself, to sort through my loss and worry and tangled ambitions. Even now, I think about how effortless it is to lose oneself in words, and yet also find who you are. I hope I’m making sense. I’m probably not,

“There is always a choice. Are you going to let your father write your story, or will you?”

“Do you think we could live in a world made only of those things? Death and pain and horror? Loss and agony? It’s not a crime to feel joy, even when things seem hopeless.

“I pray that my days will be long at your side. Let me fill and satisfy every longing in your soul. May your hand be in mine, by sun and by night. Let our breaths twine and our blood become one, until our bones return to dust. Even then, may I find your soul still sworn to mine.”