atlas of bone

But what fascinated Victor most was the fact that something about Eli was decidedly wrong. He was like one of those pictures full of small errors, the kind you could only pick out by searching the image from every angle, and even then, a few always slipped by.

You think too highly of mortals. They give nothing to the universe, and the universe owes them nothing in return. If they cannot survive, then let them die.

If Eli really was a hero, and Victor was meant to stop him, did that make him a villain? He took a long sip of his drink, tipped his head back against the couch, and decided he could live with that.

I am a blank paper on which you and your magic wrote a girl.

There Tsar Koschei, he wastes away, poring over his pale gold.

Dearest, deepest Blue— At the end as at the start, and through all the in-betweens, I love you. Red