FIND ME AT @EXEUNTOMNES

“I spent a long time playing that game,” she said. “Pretending there were other versions of this world, where other versions of me got to live, and be happy, even if I didn’t, and you know what? It’s lonely as hell. Maybe there are other versions, other lives, but this one’s ours. It’s all we’ve got.”

i don’t want to be a m o n s t e r

“But all stories start somewhere, and that night, as Rhy Maresh walked through the streets of London, a new myth was taking shape.”

there is a defiance in being a dreamer.

there is a defiance in being a dreamer.

happy birthday @vaisra​ ♡

ideas are so much wilder than memories…

the invisible life of addie larue by v.e. schwab

She wanted more. Wanted an adventure. She used to think that if she stole enough, the want would fade, the hunger would go away, but maybe it wasn’t that simple. Maybe it wasn’t a matter of what she didn’t have, of what she wasn’t, but what she was.

Kell would say it was impossible. What a useless word, in a world with magic.

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. On the surface, Eli seemed perfectly normal, but now and then Victor would catch a crack, a sideways glance, a moment when his roommate’s face and his words, his look and his meaning, would not line up. Those fleeting slices fascinated Victor.

“Myths do not happen all at once.

They do not spring forth whole into the world. They form slowly, rolled between the hands of time until their edges smooth, until the saying of the story gives enough weight to the words—to the memories—to keep them rolling on their own.”

And she is tired. Unspeakably tired. But there is no question she has lived.