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“I didn’t notice this when the stain was dry, but now that it’s on the paper towel, it’s clear that I got the color wrong. The stain is not brown. It’s dark red. It’s got to be wine. It’s the right color. Well, not exactly—it doesn’t have that purplish hue that I sometimes associate with wine. But it’s got to be. What else could it be? What other dark red liquid could have stained my floor boards? Okay, there is one other thing it could be. Yes, it is the exact color of blood. It much more closely resembles blood than wine. And it has a strange metallic smell. But it can’t be that. Because why would there be a bloodstain all over my floor?”
― Freida McFadden, The Tenant

“For anyone who’s ever felt lost and alone and found sanctuary in the pages of a book . . . This story is for you.”
― Brigid Kemmerer, Warrior Princess Assassin

“Santa Claus . . . Santa Claus . . . Santa Claus. That name, like you, like your Christmas and all its perversions, is a lie. But then you have always lived in a house of lies, and now that house has become a castle, a fortress. So many lies that you have forgotten the truth, forgotten who you are . . . forgotten your true name.”
― Brom, Krampus: The Yule Lord

“There was a raw wedge between us after that night, an unmovable force, and I felt the jagged splinters of it scrape my chest every time I looked at her. So, more often than not, I chose not to.”
― Kandi Steiner, A Love Letter to Whiskey