“ Maybe I’m dead. The thought is not as scary as it probably should be. I’m so calm, so comfortable. The coffin lining is soft beneath me, and it’s fairly roomy; I’m touching the side with my right shoulder, but… — Lauren Henderson Copy Share Image
“In his comfortable coffin, face veiled in dark silk, eyes open or closed, Pan Loudermilk lies waiting, a player from a tribe never stilled so much as gathered, potential as potent as a knife in the scabbard, a poem in… — Kathe Koja Copy Share Image
