Litfickic

“And he blamed the penny-whistle between his legs; that which had pushed him into emotional incontinence this time, every time.”
― Franciska Soares, They Whisper in my Blood

“She let her mind tailor a seam across the hem of her life as he sold her a fantasy, offered
her a charkha on which to weave hope. “You have done well not to bend to the burden of your fears because it can splinter dreams,”
said the man called Rodrigo.”
― Franciska Soares, They Whisper in my Blood

“She sighed and walked over to the tall windows peering into the gloominess of smokefall. A thin scrim of fog huddled against the hills and the moon winked half-lidded in the murky sky that had merged with the horizon. The fire crackled for attention and she swerved to gaze at its throbbing
red-orange wood-heart that held a million days of sunlight.”
― Franciska Soares, They Whisper in my Blood

“They rolled over her − the words − with an unexpectedness, as though something of great importance had been said, but she could not catch their meaning. She consulted the tree, with her ear jammed to its trunk. Then a funny thing happened. A switch
clicked inside her and all the fear and terror that had stoked her hopelessness disappeared. The incipient cancerous tumor that had threatened to derail her young life lay severed, and squirmed in a death-throe like the bodiless tail of a lizard.”
― Franciska Soares, They Whisper in my Blood