Grief was a peculiar thing. It knocked her to the ground, pinned her under its weight, and carved a hole in her chest. It smothered her in a bitterness that fed off her cries until she had no more to give.
“Once upon a time there was a silence that dreamed of becoming a song, and then I found you, and now everything is music.”
― Muse of Nightmares
― Muse of Nightmares
Sarah’s 2025 Year in Books
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