My baba says the only society worth living in is one where everyone has access to food, shelter, clean water, and health services.

The magic itself was not evil. It was what you did with it, how you shaped the tools given to your use.

‘She’s not sick, but there’s no life in her. I don’t know what to do.’

Removing his spectacles, as he always did when he believed that serious matters were at hand, the old man said, ‘Poor child. Reality is poisoning her blood.’

The surface of love was a feeling, but beyond this thin layer, there was a fathomless, winding maze of caverns offering many paces to see and explore.

A very hyped short story for a detailed and heavy topic.

They are wired for survival, and perhaps expert at that function, but no other creature here possesses intelligence like mine.

I used to think that the Order as a society was broken, but watching you navigate it, knowing what they’ve done to you because of it, being away from it myself, showed me that it’s not broken. It’s working exactly as designed. A wheel, drenched in hate and control, churning.

Reader, I nearly fled. Cold iron holds no power over my kind, but we are quite repulsed by dull people.

It’s important, Ellie, that they feel we’re a very benevolent dictatorship. It means we can get away with more.

Your records show exceptional intelligence and mediocre results. It’s a comfortable place, mediocrity. Never pushing oneself to the limits to see what you can take. Never staring down your fears, never reaching into yourself to find that last bit of courage.

The final book of the Fallen Gods trilogy by Hannah Kaner.

Whatever he says, whatever he does, you need to remember that you are a brilliant, amazing person. You bend over backwards to please that man, and if he doesn't appreciate you, if he doesn't realize how special you are, then you just have to do whatever you need to do to protect your heart.

She came to us as any apocalypse does: slowly at first, and then all at once.

It occurred to him that a spell to make one’s enemies into idiots via the power of breasts might be immensely helpful. Then again, it might not be a spell. It might have only been the breasts.

“Pain isn’t a competition,” I assure him. “There’s always enough to go around.”

And what was a home but somewhere you wouldn’t have to feel quite so alone.

How to apologize for wanting some word, some story, some beautiful thing for my own?