This was the same hair that Amar had cut a length of and wrapped a bracelet from its strands, slid it onto his wrist and proclaimed it the finest piece of jewelry he had known.

Soon, only the ground will know my secrets.

Heroes always made do.

For sometimes, when we take the deadliest aim, we are nothing if not reckless.

The callousness that had saved me so often had destroyed me too.

This was the court of Bharata, a city like a bone spur – tacked on like an afterthought. Its demons were different: harem wives with jewels in their hair hair and hate in their heart, courtiers with mouths full of lies, a father who knew me only as a colored stone around his neck. Those were the monsters I knew. My world didn’t have room for more.

An unguarded gaze can spill a thousand secrets.

You are the Daughter of Death,” hissed Aru. “You don’t walk into a telephone pole because of a boy.

They may have covered their lips with silk, but their words were unseathed daggers.

I take inspiration where I can, and devour it in one piece like I’m starving. Not because I think it’s something fleeting that will never return but because I think the best inspiration is the kind that makes you feel urgent. Like you’re racing against yourself to get a story on the page while you still remember what that magic feels like.