In the eyes of this man, she saw loss and despair, as she saw in all creatures. But this loss was different. It wasn’t the loss of a beloved, it was the loss of being.

She scans the corridor, wondering if anyone else is deep in conversation about composers whose only fans are other musicians.

There is an ugliness about him—not in his features, but in his lackluster gaze.

THE FELIX WAS BORN A THING of beauty, and despair, as is its nature, only made her more beautiful.

FOR CREATURES SO NATURALLY FEARFUL, humans had a knack for wandering into danger.