Once again, Harry cannot stop it from coming. Blackness spreads across his field of vision, thick and slow as treacle. Sleep has him—is toying with him. For a moment he resists, and then it takes him rushing under. […]
Cormac’s mother twice-cursed the day thauma opened a channel through them, though only one curse was the magical kind. The mundane one regularly seasoned Mother’s tongue: “Hellfire on the day engineers started greasing their gears with our blood.” […]
I jostle for position at an imaginary start line that stretches thousands of miles wide. Hydrogen clouds speed past my hull in long striations as I try to maintain my position. The winds reach over nine hundred miles an hour, and the already scorching temperatures begin to rise. […]
[Scholar’s note: the following is taken from interviews held between the 15th and 18th days of the Month of Swallows, in the 1115th year since the Libraerie’s founding. The researcher has attempted to hew as closely as possible to the supplicant’s words, with some minor editing and condensation for clarity. […]
The idea came to me late one afternoon as I pondered the naked cardboard at the heart of my last roll of toilet paper. Delivery would involve an unacceptable delay, and the thought of exposing myself to the outside world, for something as simple as toilet paper, filled me with a dread resolve. […]
You couldn’t help it. I know you couldn’t. You just had to do it. I jerked back when my temple exploded in pain, and blood flowed into my eyes and mouth, salty and warm. The other kids were screaming and sirens roared but you smiled into my eyes and I felt your essence and your touch. […]
