Yumi
@clementinery
“Has this cauchemar harmed anyone?”
“Aside from me?” Célie asked. “It nearly frightened Cabot and me to death!”
Coco scoffed beneath her hood. “What a tragedy that would’ve been.”
“Coco,” Beau admonished. “That was beneath you. If you’re going to be spiteful, at least be clever about it.”
“Not spiteful at all,” she said sweetly. “I would’ve mourned the horse.”
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!
“I know it’s not my fault. Ansel loved me, and—and just because I didn’t love him the same way doesn’t mean I loved him any less. I certainly loved him more than you.” Despite her heated assurance, her voice cracked on the last. “So you can take your advice and your condescension and your pity, and you can shove them up your ass.”
“The Archbishop was a sick fuck, Reid. Comparing him to Ansel is despicable.”
“Yeah, well”—I stared at her pointedly—“you can’t help who you love.”
I cannot. If I let go, I will lose something important. Someone important. I cannot remember who it is.
I cannot remember who I am.
Mice burrow together, yes—they keep each other safe and warm—but when a pup in the litter sickens, the mice will eat it. Oh yes. They gobble it down, down, down to nourish the mother, the nest. The newest born is always sick. Always small. We shall devour the sick little mouse, and she shall nourish us.