Witches don’t look like anything. Witches are. Witches do.
Blast Cecil!” said Eldric. “You have my permission,” I said.
I hated myself, but I also loved myself in a hateful way.
My own mask stayed just where it ought. I’ve had lots of practice.
He’s harmless, poor thing. That’s what everyone said. It was true, but who cares? Lots of people are harmless, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them.
Father’s silence is not merely the absence of sound. It’s a creature with a life of its own. It chokes you. It pinches you small as a grain of rice. It twists in your gut like a worm. Silence clawed at my throat. It left a taste of burnt matches.