Sometimes in life, from out of a myriad of prosaic decisions like what to eat and where to sleep and how to dress, a true crossroads is revealed. In these moments, when the fog of...

The police seemed to think I killed her, which is crazy, because I loved her like a thousand drops of blood dripping down a dagger.

He drew the dagger and laid it on the table between them; a length of dragonbone and Valyrian steel, as sharp as the difference between right and wrong, between true and false, between life and...

Ha!” She leans down, her hair falling around us like a shimmering silver curtain.

He sharpened his flaws and disappointments into daggers.

Both of the items were used in an attempted murder, but hers was a dagger, and mine was a baby’s rubber bottle nipple. That was the last time I took a stab at love.

Fear of change was a weakness

Vengeance was one hell of a roommate.