I knew from long experience that yūrei could take on shapes not their own in the course of settling unfinished earthly business.

I carefully blew a caramel bubble and made sure that it was inflated enough to serve as the tiger’s body.

One nerve cable was still in place, snaking from the gun into their skull.

Liras tried to remain at his workbench and finish the customer's wings, but the pain grew too much.

I wanted to ask her more questions, about the way the world was made, about death and dreams, but did not want to know the answers.

Magrat was right. This man stood at the heart of it.

I could not answer her. I had no memory of doing anything besides preparing the topaz.

My soul sunk beneath the platform planks and into a sturdy ox figurine with wisps of cooled caramel for its horns.

She would have run, but her legs betrayed her—a contraction, locking her in place, as frozen as the baby within her womb.