Mountains Made of Glass (Fairy Tale Retelling, #1)

by Scarlett St. Clair

“You do not get to leave this world of your own accord,” he said, his gaze falling to my lips. “And if you manage it, I will follow you in death and haunt you for all of eternity.”

“It is not reckless to make a mortal swallow his cock for hurting a woman,”

Seven letters, I reminded myself. Your name knows no stranger. Your name is the wail on the lips of a birthing mother. Your name is the howl from the mouth of a grieving lover. It is the cry that breaks the night when death is summoned.

“Everyone knows his name. It knows no stranger. It is the wail on the lips of a birthing mother, the howl from the mouth of a grieving lover. It is the cry that breaks the night when death is summoned and the scream that echoes at daybreak when truth makes you ache.”

I met his gaze. “You were made for this,” I said. He smiled and asked, “Made for what, sweet creature?” Pleasure, I wanted to say. Sex. But instead, I answered, “Heartbreak.”

“She makes me feel like it won’t matter if I have a name or not. So long as I know her, I will know myself.”

You know his name. You have felt it.

“You asked who I was now that I had survived the forest? Here is your answer. I am Ella, lady of thorns and keeper of wings, wife of the seventh brother, and I have come to wish you only Anguish.”

“I love you, Anguish of Thorn.” He pressed a hand to the side of my face, aligning our lips. “I love you, Gesela of my heart.”