By Carissa Broadbent

You know a book is good when you start underlying full sentences on the prologue.

This book, as every other that she writes, breaks your souls, chews you up and leaves you fraying. They are not a light reading.

In times of great darkness, humans crawl to light like flies to the gleaming silver of a spider’s silk. These are the souls that gods feast upon. No one loves you more than someone who has no one else.

And there was nothing more dangerous than a sin that felt right. Nothing.

“This isn’t what love should feel like.” It isn’t? I almost said. Because this was what I was taught that love was – something you hurt for, something you bled for.