_hellcat

“That is the madness of it. Every day is amber, and she is the fly trapped inside. No way to think in days or weeks when she lives in moments. Time begins to lose its meaning - and yet, she has not lost track of time. She cannot seem to misplace it (no matter how she tries) and so Addie knows what month it is, what day, what night, and so she knows it has been a year.
A year since she ran from her own wedding.
A year since she fled from the woods.
A year since she sold her soul for this. For freedom. For time.
A year, and she has spent it leaning the boundaries of this new life.”
― V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

“Pain can be beautiful," he says, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "It can transform. It can create."
"But I don't want to be in pain," says Henry hoarsely. "I want-"
"You want to be loved."
A small empty sound, half cough, half sob. "Yes."
"Then be loved."
"You make it sound simple."
"It is," says the stranger. "If you're willing to pay.”
― V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

“Finally the church bell tolls, the same low tone it calls at funerals, and she forces herself to her feet.
Her father touches her arm.
His face is sorry, but his grip is firm.
"You will come to love your husband," he says, but the words are clearly more wish than promise.
"You will be a good wife," says her mother, and hers are more command than wish.
And then Estele appears in the doorway, dressed as if she is in mourning. And why shouldn't she be? This woman who taught her of wild dreams and willful gods, who filled Adeline's head with thoughts of freedom, blew on the embers of hope and let her believe a life could be her own.”
― V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

“The little wooden bird is gone.
The last of her past life, carried away with the dead.
For months, she will keep reaching for the bird, hand drifting to her pocket the way it might to a stubborn curl, a motion born of so much habit. She cannot seem to remind her fingers it is gone, cannot seem to remind her heart, which stutters a little every time she finds the pocket empty. But, there, blooming amid the sorrow, is a terrible relief. Every moment since she left Villion, she has feared the loss of this last token.
Now that it is gone, there is a guilty gladness tucked among the grief.
This last, brittle thread to her old life has broken, and Addie has been set well, and truly and forcibly free.”
― V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue