#matteo cerilli

And fear was a hell of a drug. Fear turned to violence, and violence to pity, and pity to guilt strong enough to hand the keys over. Where there was guilt for mere existence, there was control.

His voice is like an angry animal, crouching ahead of the den.

Putting someone on a pedestal is the same as putting them in a cage.

[He] could feel spatters of panic burning into him like sparks off a grindstone, feel exhaustion swarming out to pull at his bones.

A momentary strike of emotion speared across her face like a gunshot.

Science and logic are well and good, but there's something magical about things you can't see coming. Call it superstition, or call it chaos, or call it wonderment. Every time you feed it, it grows more beautiful.

It's a voice so pretty and strange that I think most folks would walk into the woods for it.

He slowed, feeling the beginnings of some distant emotion trying to crawl for him.