Sometimes in my tent, late at night, I think I can hear the stars scraping against the sky.
And then Evan Walker kisses me.
To hell with monsters and to hell with men. There is no difference to me.
Self-pity is egotism undiluted, after all—self-centeredness in its purest form.
Adolphus is not at his desk. That means he is somewhere in the Monstrumarium, has gone home for the day, or is dead.
Tampons. I’m constantly worrying about my stash and if I’ll be able to find more.