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I am the plague which will burn through the marrow of the Anointed City.
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And if they thought her aimless, if they thought her a bit mad, let them. It meant they left her alone. Marya was not aimless, anyway. She was thinking.
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…but she does not know whom she wishes to catch, only that she wishes to catch someone, anyone, to be anchored, to be connected, to not be abandoned.
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It’s the most marvelous and terrible thing in the world. Everyone, but everyone, is pretending to be someone else.
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We always dreamed the same dreams, which was like living twice.
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Being the oldest sometimes meant being everyone's boss, but mostly, it meant being everyone's pack mule.
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You know how we can be about things which sparkle and shine. We imagine they will put back something of what has been lost.
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She long ago learned that if she waited and blinked and behaved like a pupil, eventually someone would lecture her on something.
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I still want to kiss you. To feel the life in you seize on the life in me. Raw and fresh and new.
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We all have someone we think shines so much more than we do that we are not even a moon to their sun, but a dead little rock floating in space next to their gold and their blaze.
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She wasn’t angry. You can’t get angry just because the world’s so much bigger than you and you’re stuck in it.
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War must always be done out of sight, or it shocks people and they stop immediately.
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She drank like a Czar and sang like a broken squeezebox and danced like the Sugarplum Fairy cutting loose at last
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Chicago at the time owned a lake the size of a sea, several advertising firms, at least six tribes of marauding criminals, healthy herds of sailors grazing free, the first Ferris wheel in all the world, and more wind than it could care for.
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The colours of the glass throw blue and green onto her wet cheeks. The sea wind picks up her hair violet electrics snap and sparkle between the strands.
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She must protect herself. There would be no one to do it for her. A plan started to prick up its ears inside her, slowly, but getting stronger.
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Death is not a checkmate…it is more like a carnival trick. You cannot win, no matter how you move your Queen.
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I could not say what creeps and whispers through the branches and down the threaded Road, but I hear it, and I am not afraid.
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All hands drowned, except the Red Hound of Mykenos, who bit the sea until it spit him back.
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I’ll put this in words you can understand: humans are hideous, pain-guzzling, pollution-spouting space monsters who might threaten our way of life.
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The worst thing in the world is having to go back to the dark you shook off.
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I have to do it myself. That's what a Queen does. She saves herself.
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On the other side of the jelly-glass docking hatch they could see, improbably, impossibly, a hyperactive red panda jumping up and down and waving his paws at them.
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When you are this hungry, you cannot even remember who you used to be, she whispered. Who you might have been, if not for the hunger.