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Christy Anne Jones
Goodreads Author
Born
Australia
Website
Twitter
Member Since
January 2015
URL
https://www.goodreads.com/aileaux
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Christy Jones
rated a book it was amazing
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| I'm so happy I got to read this early 😭 FLEW through the book. It was gothic; it was twisty; I had so much fun! What a bold and beautiful world of alchemy Lynn has created here! Can’t wait for it to be out ...more | |
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Christy Jones
rated a book it was amazing
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| Such a brilliant take on a beloved story! Kris created a really cool world here and added so much depth to the characters, which I loved 😭 very honoured to have read this so early | |
“My mother is gone. The maples morph into gumtrees; their limbs fall and crash around me. Around and around the park I keep going. The merry-go-round blurs the Photoshopped greenery and the laughter of children and the yapping of Natsuki and the caw of crows and the thick, sticky humidity of the air and the sweat dripping down my arms and face and chest. Faster and faster it turns. My father is gone. I run past the bird fountain. It’s shattered on the floor. As I pass, it melts into the pavement. Everything becomes one. I can’t remember Dad’s face. I leap over a dead manatee. My limbs are cast off, like lizards dropping tails. They all leave me.
I keep going.”
― The Bird Fountain
I keep going.”
― The Bird Fountain
“Time does not exist for the island that the conquerors missed.
If you walk the wrong way around the island quickly enough, time will turn backwards.
But I could never make it. At a brisk pace, the frail bones of my shins would pinch; my body was not meant to move that way. Whenever I made it past the needle rock, the one at the top of the island’s strange hill, I would collapse. My ruined body crumpled in the ancient grass, the damp, salty air stinging my cheeks and lips, tasting of forgotten sea shanties sung by dead sailors whose bodies sink, still, somewhere, not too far from here.
Today, I meandered across the rocks and craggy cliffs, passing the home of the prehistoric petrel, whose beak is hooked like the pterodactyl’s; the albatross, wider than waves; the mischievous skua, claiming the carcasses of her siblings from the sand. When summer returns, the king penguins will roar back, covering the beach like burnt breadcrumbs under melted butter.
Today, like every day, I found myself drawn to the sand. I sat. I waited. I watched the waves and listened to the language of the sea.
What else was there to do when my tasks were complete?
Beneath that chorus was the dull ringing of windchimes, mildly muffled by the bellow of waves assaulting the sand. I noticed how long it had been since I’d noticed that eldritch melody.
The routine fractured.
I saw something far out in the water.”
― The Mercy of Sea Foam
If you walk the wrong way around the island quickly enough, time will turn backwards.
But I could never make it. At a brisk pace, the frail bones of my shins would pinch; my body was not meant to move that way. Whenever I made it past the needle rock, the one at the top of the island’s strange hill, I would collapse. My ruined body crumpled in the ancient grass, the damp, salty air stinging my cheeks and lips, tasting of forgotten sea shanties sung by dead sailors whose bodies sink, still, somewhere, not too far from here.
Today, I meandered across the rocks and craggy cliffs, passing the home of the prehistoric petrel, whose beak is hooked like the pterodactyl’s; the albatross, wider than waves; the mischievous skua, claiming the carcasses of her siblings from the sand. When summer returns, the king penguins will roar back, covering the beach like burnt breadcrumbs under melted butter.
Today, like every day, I found myself drawn to the sand. I sat. I waited. I watched the waves and listened to the language of the sea.
What else was there to do when my tasks were complete?
Beneath that chorus was the dull ringing of windchimes, mildly muffled by the bellow of waves assaulting the sand. I noticed how long it had been since I’d noticed that eldritch melody.
The routine fractured.
I saw something far out in the water.”
― The Mercy of Sea Foam
“Terror and grief crashed at me like the waves: violent and sharp, gushing and ebbing, but, at length, revealing a softness beneath. There was hope there. There was longing.
It was too late for both of us.
The sea witch howled.
I felt ancient and infantile.
My warming skin welcomed me back.
I pulled my final leg through and I landed, again, on the sand.
My belly was heavy, and sore at its scars, but I kicked my mottled grey tail and flapped my flippers. The true scent of the ocean roared back.
I threw myself at the mercy of the sea foam.
*
I plummet to the jagged water,
Ending fourteen years I’d fought her,
I am not the Raven’s daughter,
I ‘claimed my skin from the witch.”
― The Mercy of Sea Foam
It was too late for both of us.
The sea witch howled.
I felt ancient and infantile.
My warming skin welcomed me back.
I pulled my final leg through and I landed, again, on the sand.
My belly was heavy, and sore at its scars, but I kicked my mottled grey tail and flapped my flippers. The true scent of the ocean roared back.
I threw myself at the mercy of the sea foam.
*
I plummet to the jagged water,
Ending fourteen years I’d fought her,
I am not the Raven’s daughter,
I ‘claimed my skin from the witch.”
― The Mercy of Sea Foam
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