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672 pages, Paperback
First published September 26, 2023

"I realize Hell is empty, and the Devil is here."
I smile--because I know, in this moment, my strength has never been like the others'. I am not cunning or fearless like Lou, nor am I strategic or disciplined like the Chasseurs. No. I am Célie Tremblay, Bride of Death, and my strength has always and will always be in my loved ones. My friends.
"Perhaps the Célie you know never existed. Have you ever considered that? It can happen without us even realizing--we fall in love with an idea instead of a person. We give each other pieces of ourselves but never the whole thing, and without the whole thing, how can we ever truly know a person."
“We aren’t exactly being inconspicuous as it is, and”—I lower my voice—“and couldn’t you just compel a courtesan to tell us where to go?”
“Doest my ears deceive me, or did the holier-than-thou Mademoiselle Célie Tremblay just suggest we take away free will?” He casts me a sidelong glance. “I had no idea you were so wicked, pet. How delightful.”
“I don’t mean we should compel her,” I say hastily. “I’m merely asking, hypothetically, what would happen if we did.”
“Hypothetically,” he repeats, his voice dry.
“Of course. I would never actually suggest we force someone to do something against their will. I’m not”—I cast about for the right word, failing to find it—“I’m not evil.”
“No, no. Just hypothetically evil.” He rolls his eyes again as I sputter indignantly.


Exhaling slowly, he stares right back, his black eyes narrowing as if I'm a puzzle he cannot quite solve.
"You're doing it again," he says at last.
I look away quickly. "Doing what?"
"Romanticizing nightmares."

"Every step of the way, you've tried to put me in a glass box and keep me on your shelf, untouched and untested and untrue. But don't you understand? I'm already broken. Morgane shattered me, and I used those shards to strike back."

"It can happen without us even realizing—we fall in love with an idea instead of a person. We give each other pieces of ourselves but never the whole thing, and without the whole thing, how can we ever truly know a person?"



I lift his hand to the feverish skin of my cheek. His fingers are cool. Lovely. The guilt twists deeper.
"This isn't real," I tell him. "We're just pretending."
He tilts his head languorously to consider me. "Of course we are." His thumb, however, brushes my bottom lip in the next second, parting it from the top and lingering there. Daring me, I realize, to make the next move.
In some [of my stories], my heroines would triumph, conquering great evil and dragging
their prince back from Hell. In others, the prince himself would be great evil, and he and my heroine would rule Hell together, hand in hand and side by side.
Those stories were always my favorite.
