Somethingdarkandholy Stories

A few of the wounds do not fade: they become permanent flowers etched in her skin.

Serefin was stuck in bed until he could see again through both eyes (doubtful) or he could at least see the fingers the doctor held up.

Malachiasz: it felt half-curse, half-blessing.

Malachiasz's dead: that much Nadya knows. After all, she has seen Serefin kill him, has heard his last words. Logically, she knows he is gone.

There is this prince - high above all and yet standing in the same footing as soldiers.

There are no gods, Serefin recites mentally, a mantra that accompanies his every step.

It's hard to doubt the word of the gods when they speak directly into one's brain.

There is blood in his mouth. He'll keep the taste for it.