Life and death were so unpredictable. So close to each other. We existed moment to moment, never knowing who would be the next to leave the world. I was still in it, barely, and as I looked up from the ashes, everything around me seemed so sweet and so beautiful. The trees. The stars. The moon. I was alive -- and I was glad I was.

You’re a terrible liar, Sage, but I’m still touched you’d attempt it for my sake. A for effort.

All we can go on is what we think, how we see the world. If you can't trust your own mind what can you trust?

Maybe I was in love, but I was still me, after all.

Keeping love buried was a lot like jeeping anger pent up, I'd learned. It just ate you up insides until you wanted to scream or kick something.

In fact I was fairly certain there was no one in the entire world quite like Adrian Ivashkov.

Was it weird having a witch grandma? Scary? Was she always, like, threatening to cast spells if you were bad?" "Most of the time she just threatened to send me to my room." "That doesn't sound so scary to me." "That's because you haven't met her.