BD Allen

Do you like your politics cooked? The Vericanti Republic is cooked. "Their fingers were deep in the Guilds, as well. As for the Lower House: they called it the Shit House for a reason—festivals and sanitation did not ensure alliances, to Magaritte’s mind."

It's not easy trying to maintain your dignity when you're avoiding yourself. "Magaritte lifted the porcelain cup to her lips. She cradled it awkwardly in her palm with her fingers splayed, one through the handle. She tipped it up with her other fingers, misjudging the angle. She dribbled espresso down her chin."

"Within the Sanctuary, beyond the poppies blossoming bright as paper flowers, through the stone doors, on a slab, there was a silence stitching together the minutes like a maid with her darning. Mago Tenente Magaritte Aseni sat in an antechamber of Death, waiting for her father."

A lovely read. "The real me, the best me—Alfonso—has returned, bitches."