In Dolor, we had no concept of damage. Time was the closest to damage we knew.
Most-read Fiction
Fate gives the enigmatic-yet-still-relatable protagonist the good partnering fortune she deserves.
I see now that I’m synecdochic for every institution she’s felt pinched by, every older person she’s felt used by. She wants to summon what little power she has left and ruin.
There was, I thought, a type of man who’d frequent a bathhouse. This turned out to be ignorance.
In the middle of the night, the train makes one of many stops in a small town whose name appears written in a dream alphabet.
I am now one of a small number of people to have actually seen The Four in the flesh. Well, not quite the flesh.
They had only been married a year and she knew with absolute certainty that his mother would blame her for this.
And the Word became flesh: coarse hair, crooked smile, the taste of salt on his clavicle. I am the disciple whom he loved.
I asked about the children we were to study: who were they, why were they to undergo the test, what was the purpose of our program? Though I also knew it wasn’t any of my business.
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