“It is always the same story: children go out to play, a safe distance from the deep forest, and then one or more fail to return.”
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“On her desk is a glowing thing, and I don’t know what it is. It makes my eyes prickle. It’s as if a flame was perfectly circular- it has a pinpoint nexus so deeply, breathtakingly black I can’t look at it, shreds and filaments of light shifting across it in a delicate orbit; so painfully delicate, so beautiful, like oil on water on fire, given exploding luminance – all white gold; edged with colors I have never seen before.”
“Devour your soul?” I scoffed, hoping that he may perceive it as amusement passing through my form. “Arthur, that’s such an archaic concept, and frankly, inefficient. The energy output from ‘soul devouring’ is negligible, and the clean-up is a lot of work. No, I’m here because my transit request was misfiled. And, now, thanks to your rather… enthusiastic reaction, I’m likely to be subjected to further administrative penalties.”
“Your daughter is fair, like doodh malai. My Usman had to fall in love with that dark witch. Aah, my wretched luck,” she wipes the sewage-green goo trickling down her eyes. It sticks and spreads across her cheeks. “What have I done to deserve all this? All that is left is for lightning to strike me at this moment.”
“Screams were part of the natural soundscape of this Bazaar, this odd blink of a place that sat squat and sprawling beneath the sewers of Crimson City. Here, the holy gloss of the City’s lacy streets was absent. Here, the glistening towers and benevolent gods gave way to smugglers who sold pestilence and madams who entrapped demons.”