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Highlark
the horned homunculus boiled up from within the satchel, his bones clacking into place with rhythmic musicality,
his eyes ignited in twirls of cobalt flame.
With Varine’s departure, no further bonedust was required, as though her presence had been a sickness it kept at bay.
But for Viv, it was also like the end of a story. Except the story was somebody else’s.
Pembroke
Marret
“Then why does this have to be the end of it?”
“Because
Haha a little tear
About books and mirrors and that perfect moment of feeling seen.
Ch. 32 p. 244
folk who traded in blood.
Rackam’s Ravens
Varine’s book
The slit in the cover was surgically clean, a testament to Blackblood’s preternatural sharpness.
the faint whiff of blood on a frozen lake.
Rackam
Rackam,
scores of blueeyed corpses—
S...
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whatever passes for dead for her kind.
Malefico saw her thralls drop like sacks of flour all at once, and we haven’t seen one since.”
Haha
Haha good at extortion.
Haha - great introduction.
Viv
Maylee.
Viv never managed to say a word, but their time was over. One had gone up, and the other down, and the crossing would not be repeated.
Viv
Fern
people in books are wrong all the time. Hells, the authors are wrong.
if you could read past the end?
“The story past the story,” murmured Fern.
Satchel
Potroast
“See you in the story past the story,” said Fern.
Tandri
Viv
the gnomish coffee maker.
“Th...
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the impression of a page and quill.
It’s been many years,
I received the news of your shop, and your success, from Zelia Greatstrider, of all people.
Crossed Purposes.
the story past the story.
Satchel is gone now.
I will be traveling to Thune in Maias.
Have you been reading since you left Murk?
