Виктория Б.

“You’re not the villain in my story.” “I am,” he says without remorse, his sharp jaw tight with tension. “But I’ll be the villain for you. Not to you.”
― Raven Kennedy, Gleam

“He reached up and brushed his knuckles over the wetness on my cheek. The smallest smile touched his bloodstained lips. "Someone to mourn me." He dropped his hand, as if the weight were too much. "No grave," he gasped, his hand tightening on mine, "for them to desecrate."
"All right," I said. The tears came harder. There will be nothing left.
He shuddered. His eyelids drooped.
"Once more," he said. "Speak my name once more."
He was ancient, I knew that. But in this moment he was just a boy- brilliant, blessed with too much power, burdened by eternity.
"Aleksander."
His eyes fluttered shut. "Don't let me be alone," he murmured. And then he was gone.”
― Leigh Bardugo, Ruin and Rising

“Hecate watched the maelstrom of thoughts flash through his mind. The past. The feel of her soft skin, the press of her naked flesh, their mutual need. Hands running through hair, lifting, entangling. The present. Cypress and wind; fire and union in the void.
The future. Red flowers clinging to a tree that rose from the field of gray, branches entwining through others' branches. Red, ripe fruit hung on interlocked boughs. Radiating out from the tree came soft grasses and flowers that spread over immeasurable ground. Hecate imparted in three voices what she saw. "Embrace and cherish these visions, Aidoneus. They belong to both of you.”
― Rachel Alexander, Receiver of Many

“Father, I am what you made me. I’ve become your daughter after all.”
― Holly Black, The Cruel Prince