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Darrell Drake Biography

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“You aren’t falling apart. You’re well beyond that. You’re just rattling along now. Elven dolls doing what little you can to gather the pieces as they fall away. But you don’t know how to properly reattach them—a doll does not repair itself. So you hug those brittle fragments to your chest until you simply cannot hug anymore. Until you’ve had to leave so many behind that you no longer remember what it is you’re missing.”

LossDespairDepressionDefeatSurrenderMental IllnessGrievingFalling Apart
Book:Where Madness Roosts
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“Ashtadukht slumped and let the nightingale’s song flood her brain. She knew that empty tone, that defeated outlook; she knew it intimately. Even now, it burned in her as limply as a snuffed flame. Passion burned with unchecked verve, devoured its fuel, and sputtered out. Despair required no upkeep; it heaped barely-glowing coals in the back of your mind and fuelled itself.”

PassionDespairDepressionSurrenderResignation
Book:A Star-Reckoner's Lot
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“There is a duality to darkness known only to those who’ve been infected by its touch. Everyone knows the shadows: shallow, comfortable, mostly harmless places where one might nest for a night. But the depths of living pitch only visit the aristocracy of madmen and women who’ve unwittingly pledged fealty to the curse. For some, it outright ruins minds like a hound to fresh meat; for others, it wanes into the deepest parts of its less caustic sibling and waits for the time to strike, returning periodically through life like an incurable disease.”

DarknessMadnessInsanityShadowsDementiaManiaPsychosisLunacyWhere Madness RoostsAway With The FairiesBedlamite
Book:Where Madness Roosts
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“She could have rambled with all the fervor of a woman who had loved one entity for longer than most races live, and with the inviolable, unquestioned certainty found in dementia. There were references dated and sealed with meticulous care which she would have enthusiastically opened with the mirth of one proclaiming a lifetime of honors and awards. But that singular event was freshly disturbed; its pores still drifted on the faint zephyr of remembrance.”

LoveFantasyObsessionAdorationFanaticismDementiaArdorLimerence
Book:Everautumn
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“She set out for revenge, to run them through, to do what an elf, an elf must do.” The next verse was Merill’s to improvise. “Climbed that roost, alighted right there. Made mush of his head for the onlooker bears.” “A two-pronger her prize, a meat most rare. Do-gooders will pay. Do-gooders will fear.” “Ballad of the loneliest ones,” lamented Merill. “The loneliest ones,” said Almi. She accepted that title; they were the loneliest. The elf gloomed.”

SongGloomCrooningSinging Out Of TuneSingsongTirra Lirra
Book:Where Madness Roosts
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“She did not belong to the healthy group of widows and widowers who, after mourning, would nurture the seed of their grief into growing from loss—perhaps continuing the dreams of the lost, or learning to cherish alone the things they’d cherished together. She belonged instead to the sad lot who clung to grief, who nurtured it by never moving beyond it. They’d shelter it deep inside where the years padded it in saudade layers like some malignant pearl.”

LossGriefGrievingGrief And LossBereavementGrief QuotesWidowhoodWidowWidower
Book:A Star-Reckoner's Lot
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