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John Wiswell Books

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“These were emotions she didn't know how to carry. There was the insult of having her death celebrated when she wasn't even dead. When she was, in fact, amidst them all right now, and only out here because they'd sent killers to fail in her home. But this? To be dying from the poison of those assassins, and while looking for emergency food to survive the injury, to be told by a drunk rich boy with inconvenient hair that she had never really existed? Now their songs made unkind sense to her. This revelry was a kind of fear, for hatred was the fear people let themselves enjoy. Never had she imagined such a thing. Humans were so creative in their disappointments.”

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Book:Someone You Can Build a Nest In
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“How Shesheshen wanted one of the hunters to stop this. For one of them to stand up for common sense, if not for the rights of a young damsel. A damsel who had offered them a perfectly good reason to get lost for a few weeks. But humans never stood up for the right thing. They stood around feeling uncomfortable, and later pretended that feeling uncomfortable meant they were virtuous. Now Malik stood to one side, only slightly obstructing Wulfyre's path. Surely he'd feel awful about this tomorrow when he was spending his blood money, before running of with his partner to the next kill. And they called her monstrous.”

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Book:Someone You Can Build a Nest In
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“There were no gods in the shrine she passed, at least not visible ones. Gods never showed themselves to humans even when they dumped miracles on them, which Shesheshen thought was wise. If humans got used to the presence of gods, they'd probably hunt them for profit and glory and other nonsense, just as they did to monsters. Gods were smart to keep a light touch.”

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“Homily professed her love by digging a second crossbow bolt of Shersheshin's body. It was so much clearer a declaration of affection than any of those speeches spun by poets or playwrights. And stuffed into the mouths of actors who pretended to be enamored. One could only pretend to love in language. True love was a woman sinking up to her elbows in her viscera.”

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Book:Someone You Can Build a Nest In
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