#parlaey

›      BOOK  ASKS   ,

3.    what is your favourite genre?

fiction,   but beyond that,   i don’t think i have a favorite??    i read just about everything and anything that piques my interest.    i do think i tend to go for some form of fantasy,   crime,   science - fiction?    i know the genre i very rarely dive into is romance as the prominent driver,   it’s just    ................ mmmmmmmmmmmm not for me <3

6.    what books have you read in the last month?

the last month?    haven’t read anything LMAOOOO i’m in a bit of a slump.    i mean,   not really a slump i’ve just been preoccupied with watching new shows atm.    so back in april i finished portrait of a thief.   which.    mmmmm (:    but i’m currently getting ( trying ) through:   gods of jade and shadow,   dream thieves,   this is how you lose the time war,   the secret history.

20.    what are things you look for in a book?

(    *   @parlaey​ said:     be careful what company you keep    ).

bloodstains mark the walls around them,   streaks and trails creating a path towards the outer layers of the building.    the memories of the first night flash before her    :    agonizing screams,   guttural signals of hunger and carnage as ivories tear away at sunken flesh.    luckily it was only a handful.    luckily the two of them had already seen it before.    now self - proclaimed protectors of the complex,   they build their safe - haven.       “  it’s only been three days but the fact that most of the residents are still in denial is getting on my nerves.  ”         she finally speaks after what felt like hours of silence,   dedicated focus as the two of them scoured the building for unlocked exits and sliding doors.    she was pinning a blanket over one of the larger glass entrances,   tugging on the handle once more to ensure it’d been secured.    it could be easier,   she thinks,   had she taken the offer to work more closely with the government.    away from the source,   away from the beacon of violence and uncertainty.    but she felt a semblance of responsibility,   in stubbornness         —         she could do more where she could see it unfold,   face the monstrosities head - on instead of a second - hand report.

the wound at her collarbone still remained the same         —       a deep and muted red,   unhealing     ...     yet uninfected.    it could change any moment,   she was told.   but for now it bore the mark of a woman just barely escaping death,   escaping the madness.    a secret to be kept.         “  the pin is weak.  ”         she finally grumbles,   head craning to face him.    the pin wasn’t the problem,   but she isn’t eager to admit she needs help.    not nearly tall enough to get it where she wants to,   she raises the corner of the blanket expectedly,   brow arching at him.    it’s unspoken    :    save me the embarrassment and do it for me.

dunyasha believed it was the saint’s grace that had brought her to ketterdam.   she had traveled across the darkest of lands,  and through the harshest of fjerdan winters,  following what could only be described as a   gut instinct   that fuelled her every wayward step.   the true sea hadn’t been kind to her.   her stomach had turned at every roll of the waves and sleep was a brief gift.   but despite her challenges,  she had made it to kerch in one piece.   it was the common tale of   every prophet   who had been sent on their holy pilgrimage.   wrought with trials and tribulations,   they would all complete their fateful journey to where they were destined to be.   where fate had written the end of their story and the beginning of another.   it was in the streets that smelled of rot and decay that dunyasha knew she was   meant to make them holy.

clad in white,  she stood out amongst bodies of black coated merchants and gaudy coloured gangsters.   it felt picturesque to see her reflection staring back at her hauntingly just outside the crow club’s   inky windows.   a burly man at the door eyed her and she wondered if it was lust or fear that trailed his gaze so slowly up her stature.   may the saint’s have mercy on him,  may they cleanse his soul.   she never lowered her own sights,  the proper thing to do.   instead,  with chin held skywards she stepped into the lion’s den.   the sound of coins dropping against flat surfaces rang loud in her ears,  reverberating through her bones.   gamblers and cheats  –  for the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils.   quick prayers were whispered under her breath,  and through the crowd she found her mark.   pekka’s orders had been simple:  kill the wraith.   but dunyasha was no murderer,   she was a messenger.   and a messenger was not senseless,  but calculating.   the wraith had her laundry list of sins and dunyasha was determined to pry out her confessions.