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464 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 19, 2021
“That’s how she ended all of her letters to me. She told me once that love didn’t have to do anything other than exist. You don’t have to dress it up or compare it to something else; when it is, it’s miracle enough.”
“To fall into the grasses of Forever Sea was to fall through them. The grasses were like hair, capable of holding nothing up on their own. Whatever magic gave growth and body to the Forever Sea, whatever magic the beasts of the Sea had also been granted in order to ascend and descend—none of it extended to humanity, who dropped through Sea, dead weight falling without slowing.”
“On the table, books full of graphs and numbers and charts lay open, and scattered around and atop these were notes and letters of all types. She longed to rake her eyes over and through this written chaos, to wriggle through the tiny nettles of the pages and lose herself in them. Words, when written, were a labyrinth she could wander forever.”
"Let us escape again," the storyteller says, clapping his hands to gather their attention, "to a story of senseless violence and distrust, a story of love and hope, a story of our worst natures and the devastation a few might wreak."
Imagine it with me. A Sea so deep that none who walked above had ever seen its floor. A Sea reaching so far east that none who had set sail for its end ever returned. Well, almost none. As large as it was unknowable; that was the Forever Sea in those days, and those wild enough, or mad enough, would sail on it.
The island city proliferated before Kindred, streets stretching and winding through darkness, covered in the refuse of its people and its refused people. Prairie dwellings bulged from the ground like pockets of inflamed, infected flesh. Lights flickered in windows and on streets, suggesting what lay in darkness even while bringing homes and shops into existence in the night.
Every day we strive more to break the environment to our will. Flatten the Sea. Sell the water. Chain the animals and order the plants. In our arrogance, we have forgotten ourselves to be a product of this place. A participant in it. One star in a grand constellation.