Christelle Dabos

In the dusk, through a corridor of crimson-turning clouds, the moon already stood out, like a china plate, against the mauve backcloth of the sky.

Here, before you, I predict that your husband’s will is going to shatter against yours

“You want to solve every problem on your own,” she continued in a choked voice, “even if it means using people like chess pieces, even if it means making yourself hated by the whole world.”

“And you, do you still hate me?”

“I don’t think so. Not anymore.”

“Good,” Thorn grunted between his teeth. “Because I’ve never made such an effort not to be hated by someone.”