Yumi
@clementinery
I have one of those faces, I fear. Le visage de beaucoup, le visage d’aucun. The face always seen—”
“—the face never remembered,” I finished the old adage by rote.
Bazı hikâyeler tam tahmin ettiğin gibi ilerler. Bazılarıysa son sayfada tüm bildiklerini sorgulatır. 🤯
Ters köşeleri seviyorsan, seni sonuna kadar merakta bırakacak 3 kitap önerisini keşfetmeye hazır ol!
Nicholina. Her memories. They slip across the surface of the shadows, as slick and bright as oil in water, mingling with my own. Snippets of a lullaby here. Ginger hair and warm hands there, a clandestine smile and an echo of laughter—genuine laughter, not the eerie, artificial kind she uses now. Warmth envelops that particular memory, and I realize it isn’t her laughter at all. It comes from another, someone she once held dear. A sister? A mother? Pale skin, freckled flesh. Ah . . . a lover.
"Did he not hear our prayer?”
Zenna arched a brow. “Your arrogance astounds.”
“It’s hardly arrogant to expect the help of a friend—”
“He is not your friend. He is a god. If you speak to him, he will listen. He will not, however,” she added firmly, eyes narrowing, “always answer.
“Claud has never claimed to be the supreme deity, huntsman. Only divine. He is not omniscient, and he is not omnipotent.
“God doesn’t deny the existence of other deities. He—He just commands us to worship no other gods before Him.”