Join 📚 Carla's Highlights
A batch of the best highlights from what Carla's read, .
The house feels fraught in the small hours, like it has a secret it won’t divulge.
Eggshells
Caitriona Lally
The room swam before me, its walls dissolving into a silvered dust of tiny stars.
The Nature of Monsters
Clare Clark
IT WAS THE PIVOTAL teaching of Pluthero Quexos, the most celebrated dramatist of the Second Dominion, that in any fiction, no matter how ambitious its scope or profound its theme, there was only ever room for three players. Between warring kings, a peacemaker; between adoring spouses, a seducer or a child. Between twins, the spirit of the womb. Between lovers, Death. Greater numbers might drift through the drama, of course—thousands in fact—but they could only ever be phantoms, agents, or, on rare occasions, reflections of the three real and self-willed beings who stood at the center. And even this essential trio would not remain intact; or so he taught. It would steadily diminish as the story unfolded, three becoming two, two becoming one, until the stage was left deserted.
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