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“Here," she says, pressing the pastry box into his hands. "Enjoy the party."
Henry's smile falls. His forehead rucks up like a carpet. "Why don't you come with me?"
And she doesn't know how to say I can't when there is no explaining why, when she was ready to spend all night with him. So she says, "I shouldn't," and he says, "Please," and she knows it is such a terrible idea, that she cannot hold the secret of her curse aloft over so many heads, knows she cannot keep him to herself, that this is all a game of borrowed time.
But this is how you walk to the end of the world.
This is how you live forever.
Here is one day, and here is the next, and you take what you can, savor every stolen second, cling to every moment, until it's gone.
So she says yes.”
― The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
Henry's smile falls. His forehead rucks up like a carpet. "Why don't you come with me?"
And she doesn't know how to say I can't when there is no explaining why, when she was ready to spend all night with him. So she says, "I shouldn't," and he says, "Please," and she knows it is such a terrible idea, that she cannot hold the secret of her curse aloft over so many heads, knows she cannot keep him to herself, that this is all a game of borrowed time.
But this is how you walk to the end of the world.
This is how you live forever.
Here is one day, and here is the next, and you take what you can, savor every stolen second, cling to every moment, until it's gone.
So she says yes.”
― The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
“And old enough to know that womenfolk have little enough power of their own. That is why they must have their charms and their tricks. Their books and their ink and blood. Their eyes, their smiles, their hips; their lace and silk, their ribbons and thread …These are your weapons, dearie. You must use them as best you can.”
― After the Forest
― After the Forest
“Finally the church bell tolls, the same low tone it calls at funerals, and she forces herself to her feet.
Her father touches her arm.
His face is sorry, but his grip is firm.
"You will come to love your husband," he says, but the words are clearly more wish than promise.
"You will be a good wife," says her mother, and hers are more command than wish.
And then Estele appears in the doorway, dressed as if she is in mourning. And why shouldn't she be? This woman who taught her of wild dreams and willful gods, who filled Adeline's head with thoughts of freedom, blew on the embers of hope and let her believe a life could be her own.”
― The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
Her father touches her arm.
His face is sorry, but his grip is firm.
"You will come to love your husband," he says, but the words are clearly more wish than promise.
"You will be a good wife," says her mother, and hers are more command than wish.
And then Estele appears in the doorway, dressed as if she is in mourning. And why shouldn't she be? This woman who taught her of wild dreams and willful gods, who filled Adeline's head with thoughts of freedom, blew on the embers of hope and let her believe a life could be her own.”
― The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
“Pain can be beautiful," he says, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "It can transform. It can create."
"But I don't want to be in pain," says Henry hoarsely. "I want-"
"You want to be loved."
A small empty sound, half cough, half sob. "Yes."
"Then be loved."
"You make it sound simple."
"It is," says the stranger. "If you're willing to pay.”
― The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
"But I don't want to be in pain," says Henry hoarsely. "I want-"
"You want to be loved."
A small empty sound, half cough, half sob. "Yes."
"Then be loved."
"You make it sound simple."
"It is," says the stranger. "If you're willing to pay.”
― The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
“The sun is high, the day hot, and she lays the dress out in the grass to dry, sinks onto the slope besides it in her shift. They sit, side by side in silence, one a ghost of the other. And she realizes, looking down, that this is all she has.
A dress. A slip. A pair of stolen shoes.
Restless, she takes up a stick and begins to draw absent patterns in the silt along the bank. But every stroke she makes dissolves, the change too quick to be the river's doing. She draws a line, watches it begin to wash away before she even finishes the mark. Tries to write her name, but her hand stills, pinned under the same rock that held her tongue. She carves a deeper line, gouges out the sand, but it makes no difference, soon that groove is gone, too, and an angry sob escapes her throat as she casts the stick away.”
― The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
A dress. A slip. A pair of stolen shoes.
Restless, she takes up a stick and begins to draw absent patterns in the silt along the bank. But every stroke she makes dissolves, the change too quick to be the river's doing. She draws a line, watches it begin to wash away before she even finishes the mark. Tries to write her name, but her hand stills, pinned under the same rock that held her tongue. She carves a deeper line, gouges out the sand, but it makes no difference, soon that groove is gone, too, and an angry sob escapes her throat as she casts the stick away.”
― The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
Music, books and bubble tea! <3
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_hellcat’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at _hellcat’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
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