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Saint wanted to ask what it was like, to lose the thing that defined you. But perhaps she knew: it left you someone else. A stranger you had no choice but to tolerate, and see each day and feel and fear.
“Anyway, all he's partial to sending is holograms of uniquely perverted unicorns and video clips of him reading puns. Pluto, if anything, has made him stranger.”
― Golden Son
― Golden Son
“He has to play my game!” Sevro says. “Shithead isn’t getting out till he plays nice. I’ll give him a riddle instead. What do I have in my pocket?”
― Golden Son
― Golden Son
“What a beautiful mess we could have made of each other.”
― Golden Son
― Golden Son
“How cruel a life, that the sight of my dead wife means hope.”
― Golden Son
― Golden Son
“Achilles was looking at me. “Your hair never quite lies flat, here.” He touched my head, just behind my ear. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you how I like it.”
My scalp prickled where his fingers had been. “You haven’t,” I said.
“I should have.” His hand drifted down to the vee at the base of my throat, drew softly across the pulse. “What about this? Have I told you what I think of this, just here?”
“No,” I said.
“This surely then.” His hand moved across the muscles of my chest; my skin warmed beneath it. “Have I told you of this?”
“That you have told me.” My breath caught a little as I spoke.
“And what of this?” His hand lingered over my hips, drew down the line of my thigh. “Have I spoken of it?”
“You have.”
“And this? Surely I would not have forgotten this.” His cat’s smile. “Tell me I did not.”
“You did not.”
“There is this too.” His hand was ceaseless now. “I know I have told you of this.”
I closed my eyes. “Tell me again,” I said.”
― The Song of Achilles
My scalp prickled where his fingers had been. “You haven’t,” I said.
“I should have.” His hand drifted down to the vee at the base of my throat, drew softly across the pulse. “What about this? Have I told you what I think of this, just here?”
“No,” I said.
“This surely then.” His hand moved across the muscles of my chest; my skin warmed beneath it. “Have I told you of this?”
“That you have told me.” My breath caught a little as I spoke.
“And what of this?” His hand lingered over my hips, drew down the line of my thigh. “Have I spoken of it?”
“You have.”
“And this? Surely I would not have forgotten this.” His cat’s smile. “Tell me I did not.”
“You did not.”
“There is this too.” His hand was ceaseless now. “I know I have told you of this.”
I closed my eyes. “Tell me again,” I said.”
― The Song of Achilles
GVCF Book Club
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— last activity Feb 11, 2023 07:02AM
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Cmistretta’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Cmistretta’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
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12 friends
410 books
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814 books
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