3 Quotes by Michelle Connor

A short, quick gasp escapes her trembling lips, spots dancing in her vision. Hunching until she is small, silent the scream remains, as blackness and pain hold her prisoner against her father’s rage

On the crest of a hill, under an inky black sky, Valhalla stands in all her splendour. Spears hold up a roof made from battle-worn shields. They're scratched and gouged, blood glistening in nicks and groves. Magic makes the impossible, possible. The Hall of the Slain. Gloriously strange and macabre.

Tempestuous in her sorrow, the wind unrestrained squalls, as from charcoal clouds above, tears from heaven begin to fall.