Michelle Huss

“August groaned inwardly.

Mind over body.

Mind over body.

Mind over body over bodies on the floor over tallies seared day by day by day into skin until it cracked and broke and bled into the beat of gunfire and the melody of pain and the world was made of savage music, made and was made of, and that was the cycle, the big bang into the whimper and on and on and none of it was real except for August or all of it was real except for him. . . .”
― Victoria Schwab, This Savage Song

“This is the human way, she thought. On the edge of destruction, at the end of all things, we still dance. And hope.”
― Rosamund Hodge, Crimson Bound