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330 pages, Paperback
First published August 6, 2024

My daughter is a demon who lives in the forest. Her muscles are lean; her claws are long; her teeth are a broken mass of pulp and enamel. Her fur is a testament written in scars, a dark scrawl in the incomprehensible calligraphy of violence. When she comes for your children, she eats only their softest parts; she tears the tenderness from them as it was torn from her; she takes their stomachs and lungs; she leaves their muscle and bone to fester on the forest floor. My daughter is a poem written in blood. My daughter is a reckoning. My daughter burns like the sun and you will never catch her.
“Everything changes, all the time,” she said. “I can’t even trust the ground beneath my feet. I don’t want the world to be certain, but I’d like mine to be. Everything is out of control; I want to be in control of as much of it as I can. I want things to be clear, because even if they’re obvious, if you don’t say them, then they’re only half-real and harder to hold on to. I like answers, because even if they’re not what I want to hear, at least I know where I stand.”
“No,” said [REDACTED], “I’m sorry, that’s bullshit. It doesn’t matter what we say, it matters what we do. Some things are so obvious that you only say them when you’re scared they’re over. If you need it said, it’s because you’re worried it’s not real.”
“Exactly,” said [REDACTED]. “Exactly. How do you get it and not get it at the same time?”
“...And I don’t need to forgive you. Nobody should forgive you. That’s not the point. I don’t give a damn about whether you’re redeemed—I care about whether you’re still hurting people. You’re not forgiven; you’re just getting started, and it doesn’t matter. Justice, forgiveness, they come when you fix what you broke, and you can’t fix everything you break, not even close, but you’re not staying here, because wallowing is selfish. If you have any fucking integrity, you’ll fix what you can, because the end was never the point, redemption was never the point. Redemption is fucking selfish. We care too much about the soul who inflicted the damage and don’t stop to think about the victims. You’re going to help me save the world, and when you’re done, we’ll still call you a monster, and you’ll be happy with that, because despite all the fucking evil, in the end, you did what you could. ... You’ll never be redeemed, and it doesn’t matter, because the only moral thing left is to act as if you could be. Start with me. It’s easy, I’m right here. Now help me.”
“...I’m not playing your game. You want my help? I give you instead the strongest curse of my people: yeah nah, I’m good.”
You want my help? I give you instead the strongest curse of my people: yeah nah, I’m good.”
“Bury me deep,” he spat, “wrap me in ten shrouds and twelve chains and throw me in the ocean; put my carcass in your largest cannon and fire it at the sun; put as much distance between me and your God as possible, because if you don’t, I will come back as a curse. I swear on my blood and the blood of my people, I will be there when your children are buried; I will be there when their children are buried; I will be there a thousand times over, until the stars lose their fires. I bestow my soul to whichever god or spirit is clever enough to find it; I bestow my curse upon Empire and all her vicious children. Now, hurry up and kill me–I’ve got places to be.”
"My daughter is a demon who lives in the forest... My daughter is a reckoning. My daughter burns like the sun and you will never catch her.