Shannon > Recent Status Updates

"Did the convent send you orders?"

I'm really getting sick of Duval saying this and/or accusing her of something underhanded. He wants her to trust him but then he blames her for every death, as if she's keeping things from him and doing whatever she wants (which she could and should totally do, but since she's not it's just annoying for Duval to keep saying the same things over and over again.)

Desperate to be away from here, I grab a rough woolen cloak from the bed and use a corner of it to wipe the wall clean as best I can.

Do I watch too much TV, or don't you think her first thought should be to find what the dude was looking for (most likely something she'd want to know) instead of trying to clean up blood? And I'm pretty sure the DEAD BODY is going to alert people that somebody died in that room, no?

My blood is singing in my veins, so happy am I to be doing my god's work.

Sigh.

Neither Duval nor the abbess can find fault with me for acting under her order.

This girl is good at finding loopholes, huh?

Well, that sucks. I figured things were moving along too easily for it to work out anyway, but still, way to just ruin everything for Anne. Now what is she going to do?

I am naught but a tool of the convent, to be wielded at need. Who am I to question those who have raised me up from the cellar floor?

Right. Don't question them. Questioning people never helps anything.

I am a handmaiden of Death. I walk in His dark shadow and do His bidding. Serving Him is my only purpose in this life, and I have let my annoyance drive that duty from my mind. It will not happen again.

: |

"Is that not murder?"
"No. You would not expect a queen to wash her own clothes or lace her own gown; she has her handmaidens for that. And so it is with us; we serve as handmaidens to Death. When we are guided by His will, killing is a sacrament."

Er, that's ... convenient. Also, my "I dislike blind faith and worship in my paranormal books" sense is tingling.

I bear a deep red stain that runs from my left shoulder down to my right hip, a trail left by the herbwitch's poison that my mother used to try to expel me from her womb. That I survived, according to the herbwitch, is no miracle but a sign I have been sired by the god of death himself.

Reading this one with Sarah! I really love the cover, it's so pretty.

Read-along with Lucy!

Thanks for proving my point, Jessica Park. She's posted a screen-cap of me on her Facebook in a public post. Lovely woman, no?

Anyone else having random reviews of theirs shown as "edited" today and being pushed to the feed? I swear I'm not updating my more controversial reviews today out of spite, or for any other reason.

Accidentally typed "Fisty Shades of Grey" in the search bar ... perhaps that could be the title of book four? : |

Culling my friend list herd right now, mostly because I get sick of seeing ratings and reviews from people who never talk to me of "like" my reviews on book pages. I'd much rather see the opinions of people who value mine enough to interact with me every now and then.

Started off a bit confusing (and if it confused ME, how would a kid feel?) but I really need to know what happened to Aunt Sarah now. Normally I don't care for mysteries, but I really, really need to know the answer to the mystery! Hopefully it doesn't disappoint.

Randomly borrowed this from the library yesterday. Lovers of The Baby-Sitters Club represent!

Not without some minor quibbles, but as far as self-published books go, this is pretty much the gold standard. I've also recommended this to four friends already (and SubCat even finished and gave it 4 stars! yay!) and I do so without any worries. For once, this is a book everyone loves that deserves its praise.

My mother clenches her hands and prays desperately over my body in the low guttural sounds that is her speaking-in-tongues. They are her unique perversions of words that are undoubtedly disturbing to hear, but she chants them in a cadence that's somehow lulling at the same time. Leave it to Mom to be simultaneously frightening and soothing, as only an insane mother can be.

I look at the angel's blank eyes, his bleeding mouth. His head trembles, tapping against the floor.
I slam the blade into his heart.
I've never killed anyone before. What frightens me isn't that I'm killing someone. What frightens me is how easy it is.

Paige.

He grabs another drink from a passing waiter who holds a tray full of various drinks. Raffe tosses that one back as well and grabs another before the waiter leaves. He's downed four drinks in the short time it took for me to get myself together and find him. Either he's shaken by something or he's falling off the wagon hard and fast. Great. Just my luck to be partnered with an alcoholic angel.

His face is so close to mine our breaths mingle. Yet he's far away from me in a place where he's buffeted by emotions deep and unkind. Whatever he's feeling, it's very human. I have this strong compulsion to try to pull him out of this mood, to try to distract him.
I place my hand on his cheek. It's warm and pleasant. Maybe too pleasant. When his eyes don't open, I tentatively touch my lips to his.

She'd sit on the floor beside my bed, rock back and forth in a trancelike state, gripping her Bible and speaking in tongues for hours. The nonsensical, guttural noises had the cadence of an angry chant. Or a curse.
Really creepy stuff while you're lying in the dark, mostly asleep. That's about the extent of my religious education.

He stares into my eyes for a moment. His eyes are so intense.
I hold my breath.
I swear he's memorizing me as though his mental camera is firing, capturing me in this moment. he even inhales deeply as though filling up on my scent.

This skirts the line of creepy/hot for sure.

The cheering crowd instantly mutes. The only noise I hear is Boden's groaning. Sounds like he's having trouble breathing.
Just to make sure he stays that way, I jump up and kick him in the face. I kick him so hard his body spins halfway on the dirt.
I wind up for another kick, this time to the stomach. When you're small enough to have to look up at everyone around you, there's no such thing as a dirty fight.

The men are stacking desktop computers and cementing them into a privacy wall.
"Yup," says Dolores as she sees what I'm looking at. "My husband always did call his electronic gadgets 'bricks' when they got phased out."
They got phased out all right. Computers were the height of our technological prowess, and now, we're using them as latrine walls, thanks to the angels.

That makes my heart hurt.

Good, but I'm glad the main story is about Amelia instead.

She had no idea how long she'd been engrossed in the entries when she became aware of a chill. The air-conditioning must have cycled on. The outside windows were frosted and a fusty odor hung in the air, which Ree attributed to the moldy vents.
As she got up to adjust the thermostat, she heard the faint strains of a song.

D:

Ree's "What was that?" was added in really well without me seeing it coming. She was thinking about something and then BOOM creepiness. That's the way you do scary ghosts, for sure.

Trying to switch things up and read an adult series for a change. I'm going to read this prequel first and then start in on the first full novel right after I'm done.