Steven Luna

“I dreamed once after he died that Lord Goodsleep came to me in the night on a stallion made of storm clouds,” she admitted. “He was monstrously large, with a pair of shining golden scissors in his hand, and he approached me while I slept and snipped me wide open from my neck to my navel, as if my skin were made of muslin. Then he took a pair of iron tongs and lifted out my heart—it was a crystalline globe, just a lovely thing, really, throwing dazzling sparks all over the sky like a magic lamp.” Fergal’s eyes lit. “How wonderful.” “He rolled it around in his fingers as if he were inspecting a plum… then he laid it on an anvil and smashed it with a silver hammer—not enough to turn it to dust, just enough to leave jagged edges upon it all the way around. Then he pushed it back inside of me with no concern whatsoever for my anguish, and he stitched me up tightly, so that when I woke, I would possess a pain that could never be dissolved.”
― Steven Luna, Keepers