“What must it be like? To meet someone, to forge a connection, all in the span of one golden afternoon—only to find out that for her, each passing minute was a year. Each second, an hour. She would be dead… — Margaret Rogerson Copy Share Image
“I quite like eggs,” I replied firmly, well aware that the enchantments he described would all turn strange and sour, even deadly, in the… — Margaret Rogerson Copy Share Image
“Why do we desire, above all other things, that which has the greatest power to destroy us?” — Margaret Rogerson Copy Share Image
“They looked like a pair of cupids who had decided they liked shooting people with real arrows better. They were horrible. I loved them… — Margaret Rogerson Copy Share Image
“I didn’t want to listen to Rook offering me roses whose perfume would make me forget all my childhood memories, or diamonds that would… — Margaret Rogerson Copy Share Image
“I wondered if my head and heart would ever reconcile, or whether I'd just cursed myself to relive this moment for the rest of… — Margaret Rogerson Copy Share Image
“Walking along a blade’s edge was only fun until the blade stopped being a metaphor.” — Margaret Rogerson Copy Share Image
“Frankly, I had no idea how anyone knew if they were in love in the first place. Was there ever a single thread a… — Margaret Rogerson Copy Share Image
“When terrible things have happened to you, sometimes the promise of something good can be just as frightening.” — Margaret Rogerson Copy Share Image
“You are empty,” I said, my throat working, “and cruel.” “Ah. Yes, now that is true. Would you like to know the greatest secret… — Margaret Rogerson Copy Share Image
“But isn’t absurdity part of being human? We aren’t ageless creatures who watch centuries pass from afar. Our worlds are small, our lives are… — Margaret Rogerson Copy Share Image
“What must it be like? To meet someone, to forge a connection, all in the span of one golden afternoon—only to find out that… — Margaret Rogerson Copy Share Image
“Yet no matter what they were doing, everyone in the forest waited with an indrawn breath, waiting for the taste of autumn, the smell… — Margaret Rogerson Copy Share Image
