Hollow Heathens Quotes

She was everything I wasn’t, yet looked at me—to me—as if we were stitched by the same string.

Yet, still, I fell in love with the moon. And she, too, fell in love with me.

You believe you’re gazing at the stars, when, in all reality, the entire galaxy is gazing at you.

Acceptance is a ten-letter prison we’re all eager to be locked in

To be a mortician was a calling. And there was beauty after death, like a wilted rose, petals stiff and fragile. Timeless and enchanting. A casted spell and oldest tale. Stories frozen in time within the ruins.

So, I kissed the night, got lost in his sky and suspended in his time. I kissed the darkness too, as if it was all I knew because it was a part of him.

I didn’t know how much pain I was capable of feeling until I lost again.

I was certain all these things he was made of were the very parts missing in me.

Monsters could have hearts too, and the truth was, we had a heart just like every other living thing. But we couldn’t let anyone get close enough to feel it, see it, take it, shape it.

My god, Fallon, I’m in love with you. Always have been! And I’m certain that I loved you a thousand times before as I do now, and I hope to love you a thousand times again. That’s it! That’s all there is to it.

Heart failure. The organ I would follow anywhere, without question, without reasoning. When lost or confused, it was our hearts we were told to trust completely. The speaker of desires, deliverer of feelings, and giver of hope. Yet it still had the audacity to fail us, like I had almost failed Gramps, if the town would have let me.

For a fleeting moment, horror satisfies whatever it is inside me that starves to be filled, faced, or forgotten.

My wretched soul would choose yours in this life and each one hereafter––because, without you, I am certain a monster is what would become of me.

It wasn’t until after you were dead when people started to listen.

It was October, after all. And October was poetry all in its own, where dying leaves were the flowers, and the chill nibbled your flesh like a lover’s bite.

Hate me, moon girl. Hate me like the rest of them. Hate me as I hate me. Because if you don’t, one of us will kill you, and it will probably be me.

He was all backward, wearing his soul like skin—and his soul was beautiful. Not beautiful like a rose but beautiful like a Black Velvet petunia.

And the cruelest is love. Long after death, love has the power to turn us all into the darkest of monsters.

The eyes who saw me as more man than mask—more human than Heathen. And my heart ran freely, reminding me that there was still space in my chest for something other than darkness.

There was beauty after death, like a wilted rose, petals stiff and fragile. Timeless and enchanting. A casted spell and oldest tale. Stories frozen in time within the ruins.

Everyone tells you how to live your life, but no one tells you how to walk away from the life you love when it starts to hurt.

You wanted me to be real? Well, here you have it. I want you, and the rest doesn’t matter.

I fell in love anyway, and they would all laugh. They could not see her beauty. No one would believe me if I said the moon breathed life into me, that it was here, inside her, where I found myself again.

with Julian, I loved life because he made me feel undead. The girl who looked like a ghost, talked to ghosts, raised by ghosts, he made this girl feel like something worth looking at, someone who was wanted.

Why was it that I felt so happy, yet so miserable? That to be able to think and go about my day after the night we’d shared, and the way he’d left, oh! it felt like walking on an ivory moon with a dark cloud looming close behind.

They said you couldn’t know the moon, touch it, kiss it, make love to it. You could only watch from the dark trenches of the earth, admire it from afar. Yet, still, I fell in love with the moon. And she, too, fell in love with me.

Do not fall in love with the moon, they said. I fell in love anyway, and they would all laugh. They could not see her beauty. No one would believe me if I said the moon breathed life into me, that it was here, inside her, where I found myself again. They wouldn’t be able to understand. And no one could ever love her as deeply as I did. No one else was made for it, and those who were like me weren’t brave enough. No ordinary being was created to fall in love with the moon, only that of the aberrant. The strange. They said you couldn’t know the moon, touch it, kiss it, make love to it. You could only watch from the dark trenches of the earth, admire it from afar. Yet, still, I fell in love with the moon. And she, too, fell in love with me.

Heart failure. The organ I would follow anywhere—without question, without reasoning. When lost or confused, it was our hearts we were told to trust completely. The speaker of desires, deliverer of feelings, and giver of hope. Yet it still had the audacity to fail us.

I don’t like feeling like I’m someone’s possession, Locke.” “I don’t see you as a possession,” I replied. “I see you as mine. Mine to protect, mine to care for, mine to make sure you never have to work as hard as you do. The days of you working multiple jobs are over.” I glanced over at her, but then returned my focus to the road. “If you truly enjoy the jobs, that would be different. Do you?” “Well… no. I don’t.

See how cruel the whites look. Their lips are thin, their noses sharp, their faces furrowed and dis­torted by folds. Their eyes have a staring expression; they are always seeking something. What are they seeking? The whites always want something; they are always uneasy and restless. We do not know what they want. We do not understand them. We think that they are mad." I asked him why he thought the whites were all mad. "They say that they think with their heads," he replied. "Why of course. What do you think with?" I asked him in surprise. "We think here," he said, indicating his heart. I fell into a long meditation. For the first time in my life, so it seemed to me, someone had drawn for me a picture of the real white man. It was as though until now I had seen nothing but sentimental, prettified color prints. This Indian had struck our vulnerable spot, unveiled a truth to which we are blind. I felt rising within me like a shapeless mist something unknown and yet deeply familiar. And out of this mist, image upon image detached itself: first Roman legions smashing into the cities of Gaul, and the keenly incised features of Julius Caesar, Scipio Africanus, and Pompey. I saw the Roman eagle on the North Sea and on the banks of the White Nile. Then I saw St. Augus­tine transmitting the Christian creed to the Britons on the tips of Roman lances, and Charlemagne's most glorious forced con­versions of the heathen; then the pillaging and murdering bands of the Crusading armies. With a secret stab I realized the hol­lowness of that old romanticism about the Crusades. Then fol­lowed Columbus, Cortes, and the other conquistadors who with fire, sword, torture, and Christianity came down upon even these remote pueblos dreaming peacefully in the Sun, their Father. I saw, too, the peoples of the Pacific islands decimated by firewater, syphilis, and scarlet fever carried in the clothes the missionaries forced on them. It was enough. What we from our point of view call coloniza­tion, missions to the heathen, spread of civilization, etc., has another face - the face of a bird of prey seeking with cruel in­tentness for distant quarry - a face worthy of a race of pirates and highwaymen. All the eagles and other predatory creatures that adorn our coats of arms seem to me apt psychological representatives of our true nature.

I believe this world is filled with nothing of the normal, that we are all monsters and freaks. And if my beliefs are true, we can come out of our hiding places and find one another. I believe something more hideous and cruel than us has put us there, in the dark corners of our minds. Something that isn’t normal itself, for normal is the lie to keep all the monsters and freaks tamed.

At the start of spring, for her, Bellamy would pluck the first flower popping up through the blankets of snow from the forest floor, then howl with the full moon, maddened with emotion he would later realize was love.

What’s coming?” “The living part.” I pushed past her, ran faster. I ran until my legs almost buckled. I ran until my sight became hazy. I filled my lungs with as much air as they could handle as I ran past the pain, unafraid of what was on the other side. Fallon ran beside me—my girl, both stubborn and relentless. And after a few minutes, we broke through to our second wind. I knew she felt it too when a smile stretched across her face. “This is what I believe in.

The sunrise came as if it had missed the sky

Oh come on Tess, I would’ve killed to have a mac and cheese bar at my wedding,” William says and looks over at Jenna who’s about to say something. No doubt something sassy about Will’s wedding. “Don’t even say a word you heathen,” Will says, pointing at Jenna. “Heathen? I’m not a heathen? The spawn of Satan maybe, but a heathen? Give me some credit William.

Boys should know never to take a coffee from the hands of a female … unless they were warming it up.

Highs and lows and hollows, again, on repeat, all for him. All for a human who couldn’t learn to love himself the way I loved him.

When lost or confused, it was our hearts we were told to trust completely. The speaker of desires, deliverer of feelings, and giver of hope. Yet it still had the audacity to fail us.

Boys should know never to take a coffee from the hands of a female…unless they were warming it up.

When the moon has struck you, it’s called lunaticus … and you struck me. Hard.

I’ve tried to ignore it, but I can’t. No matter what they say, you were always mine, and you always will be.

Only you have the power to determine your fate.

Milo was quick to speak up. “Two orders of hotcakes and.

but h seemed

CHAPTER 3 FALLON

Kioni and I walked through the pumpkin patch as pies and crumbles swelled in the air, everyone in wool coats and snug hats to cover their ears. Leaves tumbled from stubborn branches. Each one fell as if plucked by an invisible hand, Fall’s version of a snow globe.

Sirius leaned over and reached into her dress pocket, pulled out a silver chain with a pendant attached. ‘Until forever,’ whispered she, slipping the necklace around his neck.

I want to be wherever your mind takes you.I smiled sheepishly. – You're already there.

No dawn, no day, no nightfall. A space-time, where we only heard the anticipating thudding of our hearts. Like Wicked Death Wish.

The shape of her smile colored the nightmares in the sky, and I couldn’t bear to touch her without shaking, without seeing her as anything other than a rare girl who had a celestial stamp in all her details.

I stood there for a long time, watching the girl who looked as if she had the moon tucked under her heart and the galaxy woven into her soul. Her white hair spilled over her pillow, pale skin against the white sheets. We didn’t make sense. We were so different, but still all the same. Nightmares and dreamscapes—the epitome of us.

I would go to him, and I would love him. All of him. Over and over … on repeat. Because I was certain all these things he was made of were the very parts missing in me.

her beauty. No one would believe me if I said the moon breathed life into me, that it was here, inside her, where I found myself again.

It was true, I had a love simmering inside me. This thing I felt for her, perhaps it was strong enough to tear apart a coven, a town. Maybe even bring a Heathen to its knees. But I had a darkness inside me too. It became a passenger inside my skin, moving leisurely within me like an evil spirit. And if I could not indulge in the one, I’d be overtaken by the other.

I fell in love anyway, and they would all laugh. They could not see her beauty. No one would believe me if I said the moon breathed life into me, that it was here, inside her, where I found myself again. They wouldn’t be able to understand. And no one could ever love her as deeply as I did. No one else was made for it, and those who were like me weren’t brave enough. No ordinary being was created to fall in love with the moon, only that of the aberrant. The strange. They said you couldn’t know the moon, touch it, kiss it, make love to it. You could only watch from the dark trenches of the earth, admire it from afar.

I didn’t want her to be exposed to that kind of debauchery, to be corrupted by the darkness that lurked in the shadows of this club.

I wasn’t so naïve as to believe she was a virgin, but she most definitely wasn’t experienced in anything besides a vanilla-flavored dick from time to time. The Vault was completely out of her league.

He was the one who had been warning me about danger. But if he only knew that the real danger was me. Me and my poisonous thoughts.

owning The Vault had only fueled my desire more. I owned a playground where every fantasy could be met with parties and people like me could quench our every thirst.

I had done a lot of bad things in my life. But these thoughts… nothing I’d ever done was as bad as this. She was still a damn kid. Legal age or not, this girl was no match for me. Angelic. Perfect. She had no business being pursued by the damn devil.

I realized that the chase had truly begun. His mask made of bone said it all. He was a beast. Primal. And I knew one thing. Run. These were the rules. I’d run, he’d chase, and then when he caught me, he could do with me however he chose.

Though he was a man simply in costume, there was nothing less animalistic in how he presented himself. I knew this was part of The Hunt. I knew this was the ritual. But actually seeing it. Actually feeling it… Run.

The beast in the stag mask said nothing, demanded nothing. Instead, he lowered his head, his antlers grazing my cheek in a way that was both threatening and strangely erotic. There was a dark energy that both repelled and attracted. I shuddered, unsure of whether to be afraid or aroused. The thought of resistance never even occurred to me. It was all part of the ritual, right? This was The Hunt.

My body ached in all the right places, and my soul felt alive. I hadn’t felt so revived and exhilarated in maybe forever.

There’s no turning back, Storee,” he whispered to me, his lips finding my ear. “You thought I was protective and overbearing before… Now you’re going to see what it means when you’re truly mine.

I don’t like feeling like I’m someone’s possession, Locke.” “I don’t see you as a possession,” I replied. “I see you as mine. Mine to protect, mine to care for, mine to make sure you never have to work as hard as you do.

being your woman doesn’t mean I have to give up my freedom or my identity,” Storee replied, her voice growing firmer. “I want to be with you, Locke, but I won’t lose myself in the process.” “I don’t want you to lose yourself,” I said, my tone softening. “I want to help you find yourself.

Heathens was the party of all parties. Hedonism. Animalistic desires. Primal urges.

Storee was like a deer, a beautiful, fragile creature that had no idea what was coming for her. But unlike a deer, she wanted this. She craved it. Otherwise she wouldn’t have put the red light on. The primal urge was deep inside her. She needed this. And so did I.

maybe a part of me was happy that he didn’t just let me go. Maybe I wanted a man to fight for me so I didn’t have to always be the fighter.

I should have known better than to think Locke would just let me leave and not follow me home. And maybe a part of me was happy that he didn’t just let me go. Maybe I wanted a man to fight for me so I didn’t have to always be the fighter.

I wanted to be the man who burned down the world for you to keep you safe.” I leaned in, my lips brushing against his. “You didn’t need to. I held the match myself.

I see you. All of you. And nothing you’ve done or could ever do would change that. You’re not just purity and white. You’re complex, and flawed, and beautiful. And I love every inch of you.

I see your struggles, your pain, your courage. I see the strength it takes for you to face each day. The independence in you, the need to be your own person. But I see the softness in your heart and the fire in your soul. I see the darkness, but I also see the light.

I need you to see me, Locke. Really see me.” “I do. Trust me on that. All I do is watch you, and that will never stop.” I nodded. “Maybe. From afar. But you don’t really see me. You see the woman you want to see. You see purity, white, and nothing but good. But I’m laced with shadows.

I don’t need you. But I choose you,

He’s in a bone mask, he chases, you run, and when it finally happens… it’s animalistic. Primal. It was the first time I ever really felt alive. Blood was pumping through me, electricity even. I felt like a different person to be honest. I felt alive. I felt empowered. And I want to feel that way all the time. And I want you to feel that way too.

One night to experience the unknown. One night to leave behind everything and everyone you ever knew, to feel free, to feel alive.

I came into the room and saw Locke sitting there—in my usual chair—and I knew I was a goner, that whatever gurgles of feeling I’d had for any boys before were no more than emotional indigestion. Locke Hartwell was all man, and I instantly became hooked. This man had reached out and grabbed a hold of my barely beating heart and made me feel alive, made me feel like I could do anything.

Storee Brooks was a young woman who always spoke her mind. Although she barely reached my shoulder in height, her dark, wild curls gave away just how spirited and fiery she could be. Untamed.

Locke Hartwell. My father’s best friend, and my honorary guardian since his death.

I tried to keep my distance, to remind myself that she was my dead friend’s daughter. But at the same time, I had an obligation to watch over her and keep her safe. I was her guardian whether she liked it or not.

Her body was built for sin.

The Vault was a sanctuary for those who lived on the fringes of society, those who pushed past the boundaries of the norm. It was a place where they could live out every fantasy and feed every hunger. And we delivered. The Vault was Heathens Hollow. Heathens Hollow was The Vault.

We saw a place where people could come and explore their wildest desires without judgment or shame. A place for rich and powerful assholes with a kinky taste in the bedroom just like us.

I had been harboring a horrid secret throughout my late adolescence until now, one that I fully intended to take to the grave with me. I was in love with my father’s best friend. It hadn’t happened gradually, either. I had been introduced to Locke when he was invited to dinner one night, and I had lost my heart to him on first sight when I was just eighteen.

I’ll keep my cock in you all the time. I’ll fuck you whenever I want.

I wasn’t some teenager, desperate to get my first piece of ass,

Crayton was capable of forming such beautiful phrases like “Hollow hearts fill dangerous minds” or “Beware of the broken. They know how to survive.” My favorite being “The heaviest crowns will fall from heaven”.

L’amore è la fantasia di uno sciocco e l’incubo di un mostro.

Tutti ti dicono come vivere la tua vita, ma nessuno ti dice mai come allontanarti dalla vita che ami quando inizia a farti male.

You’re making me a better person, Fallon Morgan. Don’t ever leave Weeping Hollow.

Sei l’unica persona che mi ha guardato in faccia che non ho ucciso. Sei sopravvissuta, e non ha senso. Nessuno è mai sopravvissuto a me prima d’ora.

Mi aveva lasciata con un avvertimento, con un desiderio, con la richiesta di rimanere fuori dal bosco. E io sarei rimasta fuori dal bosco, ma sapevo che lui non sarebbe rimasto fuori dalla mia mente.

Julian era nella mia testa. Era ovunque e da nessuna parte. Non potevo sfuggirgli.

Indossava la sua anima come una pelle e questa era stupenda. Non bella come una rosa, ma bella come una petunia di velluto nero.

I Cantini erano noti per la loro brutale onestà e affidabilità, e vivevano secondo la Legge del Ritorno: qualsiasi energia una persona avesse immesso nel mondo, positiva o negativa, le sarebbe stata restituita tre volte.

Mi fidavo di Beck, ma i sentimenti erano già abbastanza difficili da affrontare nella sicurezza del mio cranio. Non potevo immaginare di dirli ad alta voce e di consegnarli al mondo, ai boschi sempre in ascolto.

Gli spiriti sentono solo le emozioni fameliche che li divorano.

So che sei sveglia, figlia della luna.