Nameless: The Darkness Comes
Nothing but rage.
“The little one?” he squeaked. He wriggled, his happiness an obscenity. My mouth tasted sour. “The pigtails, and starfish hands, and laugh like, mmm, bubbles? It had been so long since I had one so small around to play my games, someone to hide under her blankets and pray I don’t exist. But I do, you see. I sing songs, all night, comforting, about things that, mmm, crawl in the dirt and things that will eat her eyes, and when she cries for Mama Luna, no one comes. ‘We’re all alone,’ I tell her. ‘They’ve all abandoned you,’ and I open my mouth and catch her tears, and they are so sweet, so sweet, so sweet . . . ”
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