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“He needed Thomas, needed their lungs sewn inside each other so he could remember how to breathe. He needed to take words from Thomas's mouth and put them in his own so he had something to say.”
― Don't Let the Forest In
― Don't Let the Forest In
“It shouldn’t be a surprise that the forest had outgrown the confines of his body and longed to stretch. He used to be an empty boy, impossible to fill. Now he was so full of monsters.”
― Don't Let the Forest In
― Don't Let the Forest In
“Everything inside me is in ruins," Thomas said. "For you.”
― Don't Let the Forest In
― Don't Let the Forest In
“Have I ever told you how much you sound like Madoc when you talk about murder?” Cardan said, opening one eye. “Because you do.”
Oak expected his sister to be angry, but she only laughed. “That must be what you like about me.”
“That you’re terrifying?” he asked, his drawl becoming exaggeratedly languorous, almost a purr. “I adore it.”
She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and closed her eyes. The king’s arms came around her, and she shivered once, as though letting something fall away.”
― The Prisoner’s Throne
Oak expected his sister to be angry, but she only laughed. “That must be what you like about me.”
“That you’re terrifying?” he asked, his drawl becoming exaggeratedly languorous, almost a purr. “I adore it.”
She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and closed her eyes. The king’s arms came around her, and she shivered once, as though letting something fall away.”
― The Prisoner’s Throne
“Tell me again what you said at the revel," he says, climbing over me, his body against mine.
"What?" I can barely think.
"That you hate me," he says, his voice hoarse. "Tell me that you hate me."
"I hate you," I say, the words coming out like a caress. I say it again, over and over. A litany. An enchantment. A ward against what I really feel. "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you."
He kisses me harder.
"I hate you," I breathe into his mouth. "I hate you so much that sometimes I can't think of anything else.”
― The Wicked King
"What?" I can barely think.
"That you hate me," he says, his voice hoarse. "Tell me that you hate me."
"I hate you," I say, the words coming out like a caress. I say it again, over and over. A litany. An enchantment. A ward against what I really feel. "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you."
He kisses me harder.
"I hate you," I breathe into his mouth. "I hate you so much that sometimes I can't think of anything else.”
― The Wicked King
Achilles’s 2024 Year in Books
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