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mourning them...

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To her, death is a stillness. It is the space between a thousand moments. It’s leaving the warmth of a fireside, out into a winter’s day, just before the cold itself truly seeps in. It is the heartbeat between calling to her power and the triumphant rush of its answer in those early days when she took classes in the Little Palace, when her only goal had been to impress her instructors. It's an unanswered anticipation, when all her life, and lives, have been furiously looking ahead, in hope of achieving something that will be enough.   It isn’t a very good death, but it is hers. And there is an indignity in having it snatched away. For that pain and loss to be unraveled and unmade, discarded wherever things that have not happened might go, with all her other deaths, and gains, and losses. Versions of Zoya that never broke with the Darkling, who did but could not set aside pride to join Alina instead, who fled the country rather than be caught up in a civil war, all collected in an ever-growing heap of overwritten lives.

— Unmaking the Heart of the World by goblins_riddles_frocks