Mariia

“Was being free to do what you needed and be who you wanted – truly free – monstrous? If so, it was not a wrong kind of monstrous, but a beautiful one. A way of being to celebrate rather than run from.”
― Rachel Yoder, Nightbitch

“It was her goal to make havoc, to leave a mess, to wrest from her form all of the rage and sadness and insanity of these years since her son was born. She had been storing it all in the puckered dough of her thighs, the sad little paunch hanging around her middle. In the dark-brown circles she could not seem to get rid of that framed her eyes days and night. In the joints of her fingers, which had now begun to hurt whenever she was tired or angry or sad, which was always.”
― Rachel Yoder, Nightbitch

“Now her secrets were nearly as precious to her as her art had once been, and, as she thought about it, there was something that has been secret about her art, too. The dreaming of ideas, the excitement she held silently inside as she began to work, the heights to which she fantasized a project might grow, the hours of work alone, the thinking and imagining, the conversations with herself. There was something beautifully, deliciously secret and intimate and intoxicating about that life, the art she had made.”
― Rachel Yoder, Nightbitch

“Here was a woman who now knew that life unfolded through mystery and metaphor, without explanation, who looked upon her perfect son in front of her, a person she had made with her strongest magic, standing right there in a blinding spotlight as if he weren’t a miracle, as if he weren’t the most impossible thing in the entire world.”
― Rachel Yoder, Nightbitch