He has been speaking … I just haven’t been listening. The bluebell heads … The sheath … This … Trinkets of affection passed to me with silent hope I slashed and stabbed.
“A poet once wrote that the woods of Gallacia are as deep and dark as God’s sorrow, and while I am usually skeptical of poets, I feel this one may have been onto something.”
― What Feasts at Night
― What Feasts at Night
“If this was a fairy tale, it was the kind where everyone gets eaten as a cautionary tale about straying into the woods, not the sentimental kind that ends with a wedding and the words, “And if they have not since died, they are living there still.”
― What Feasts at Night
― What Feasts at Night
Olivia’s 2025 Year in Books
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