About Lia Mills: Lia Mills is an Irish writer. She writes novels, short stories and literary non-fiction. She has also worked on several public art commissions and as an arts consultant.
And while Luce dreamed below of the most glorious wings unfurling-the likes of which she'd never seen before-two angels in the rafters shook hands.
Luce blushed. "Then what kind of angel are you?" "I'm sort of in between gigs right now," Daniel said.
Do you think the Devil is real then?” she asked. If God wasn’t up in heaven answering a desperate mother’s prayers then maybe Satan didn’t exist either. “He is real,” Gabriel answered quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “I look him in ...
Happiness isn't something she spends much time thinking about. Survival, discomfort, hunger...these are the concerns that fill her days.
Shut up," Daniel said, but he said it softly and so tenderly that Luce suprised both of them by obeying. "I don't think you're stupid." He closed his eyes "I think you're the smartest person I know. And the kindest. And..." he swallowed, opening his ...
It made her want to stand up next to him and fight. Fight to stay alive long enough to live out her life next to him. Fight for the only thing she knew that was good enough, noble enough, powerful enough to be, worth risking everything. Love.
Grief made fools of us all. There was shock in it, but there could hardly be surprise.
My mind couldn't fit itself around the shape of his absence.
Trust is a good way to get oneself killed
He dipped her low and kissed her fiercely, as if he were angry, and each time his lips left hers, even just for half a second, the most parching thirst ran through her, making her cry out.
The high domed ceiling put me in mind of a skull, a brain, a mind. What did that make us, the readers?
The only way to survive eternity is to be able to appreciate each moment.
A splinter of pride got in under my breast-bone and lodged there.
