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If he never grew past the height of four feet nine, observers claimed, it was primarily because he didn’t try. And of course he ate poorly, and slept little, and worked himself to the brink of collapse—and may even, on one or two occasions, have crossed over into that murky indefinable terrain known to the impoverished of imagination as madness. But he soon righted himself, and returned. For there was not his kingdom, there his splendid mind had no dominion.
Bellefleur
Joyce Carol Oates
Maybe all American families play the togetherness game—the one where you talk about sports and dine on casseroles (in the Pacific Northwest, it’s gluten-free and organic), fight about politics and act like you have meaningful relationships when you’re actually dying of loneliness.
The alien intelligences that lived beyond the mausoleums of the real had trusted her with their knowledge so that she might lay a road of blood out for them, where they could sit enthroned and dictate the nature of magic from here to the end of the world.
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