Phantasma Quotes

I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The Genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.

In a different life, in a fair one, I would've kept you until my eternal soul withered away to dust

In all the darkness, in all the loneliness, you have been my one source of light,” he lamented as she began to come undone. “My soul will go to its grave with your name echoing in my mind.

My soul will go to its grave with your name echoing in my mind.

I will find a way to haunt you until every single one of your inner demons looks like me.

You came.” “You called,

I told you before that nothing would ever stop me from getting to you if you needed me, and that will remain true forevermore. I would tear the universe apart at its seams if I must.

and then you found me. Because it seems that’s what we do. We find each other.

The dark is for people who are too cowardly to face their actions in the light,

That’s not how things work, angel. Life is not measured in good or bad thoughts—it’s how you treat the world around you despite them.

You don’t need to fix yourself. You’re not broken. But it’s okay to get outside help if it gets too loud.

In a different life, in a fair one, I would’ve kept you until my eternal soul withered away to dust.

Please, darling, call me Sin.

That’s right,” he purred. “Just say the word, sweetheart. If you don’t ask me to touch you, I won’t.

A house of Devils is no place for an angel like you.

To those who’ve had to claw their way out of the dark and still choose to be a light in this world⁠— I’m proud of you.

In all the darkness, in all the loneliness, you have been my one source of light,

A shame, too. I feel robbed of my first time laying eyes on you.

I want to know everything. I want to see all the darkest corners of your mind.

I’d let you drag me to the depths of Hell right now if that would please you.

All the people who only do good deeds because of what that might gain them in the afterlife are no better than those who indulge in a little sin every once in a while.

That’s my good girl,

You’re doing such a good job,” he encouraged. “Eyes up for me, angel.

There are times that you’re afraid of yourself, but you’ll look a Devil right in the eye and insult them.

Soft hearts don’t survive here.” “What kinds of hearts do?” He leaned down until their eyes were level. “Hearts with teeth.” He reached out and gently gripped her chin in his hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb across her full, bottom lip. She was frozen in place. “C’mon, angel, show me your teeth.

Ophelia I… I am so fucking in love with you. I think I fell in love with you when you asked me how you could help me that first time we met. Prince of the Devils, and you wanted to save me. Maybe, somehow, I knew then that you could be the one to set me free. And I meant what I said that night, that you should hope we never met again, and I fucking hate that this is what it’s coming down to. But… every single second I’ve spent with you has reminded me what it’s like to be alive. And I would trade every other soul in the world if it meant I would get to keep you forever.

Never feel bad for bleeding, Ophelia. Her mother’s voice came back to her now. Bleeding means you’re alive.

Fall in love within Phantasma at your own risk.

You get so fucking wet for me,” he said, his voice becoming gruff as his own arousal grew. “I love how excited your body gets for me.” His grip on the back of her thighs tightened. “I know you want my cock inside of you, angel. Be a good girl and say the word.

There were two golden rules their mother had taught them about roaming New Orleans after dark: the first was that if the dark looks at you, you never look back. That was a surefire way to be caught by a Devil.

She tilted her head. “Is that all you want to do to me?” “Not even close,” he growled. “I’m going to devour your pussy and drink every sweet drop you give me. Then I’m going to fuck you until the only thing you can think or speak is my name. I’m going to make sure I bury myself so deep inside of you that neither of us will be able to tell where I end and you begin.

You don’t get it,” she whispered. “No one gets it. They only judge. The girl who has to tap on walls before she leaves a room—or everyone she’s ever talked to will die. The girl who can’t run a simple errand because a dark thought popped into her head that something catastrophic would happen if she left the house that day. Meanwhile, I’m just trying to satisfy the voice long enough to get a break from having to listen to every single sin I’ve ever committed on repeat.

if the dark looks at you, you never look back.

Death she was familiar with. Living would be the real challenge.

Incredible,” Blackwell echoed. “The audacity of men worth less than dirt.

I am not your angel, but I will be your nightmare.

Go home,” the stranger advised. “A house of Devils is no place for an angel like you.

When the Hell is this thing going to start so all of you can shut the fuck up?” the woman with the septum piercing muttered from her corner.

The problem with secrets was that they festered and tore open wounds that were starting to scab.

Because it seems that’s what we do. We find each other.

Firstly, let me reintroduce myself.” He dipped his head in a formal bow. “My name is Salemaestrus Erasmus Blackwell, Prince of the Devils. But you, angel, may call me Salem.

In a different life, in a fair one, I would’ve kept you until my eternal soul withered away to dust,” he vowed to her.

I told you, I’ll always come. I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner. I’m so fucking sorry.

I say this sincerely,” Ophelia spoke, curling a lip in disgust at Cade. “You need an exorcism.

A heart and a key would set me free,” it said. “But you should hope we do not meet again, angel.

All these things, realities full of phantasma, phantasmagoria full of realities, had eventually created in him an inner state of a kind that was almost indescribable.

October 23: Phantasma, the Devil’s Manor, arrives in New Orleans

What a phantasmagoria the mind is and meeting-place of dissemblables!” ― Virginia Woolf, Orlando

Das ist ein Fazit, in dem der Satz steht: Meine Rebellion war die Anpassung. Nicht an eine Erwartung, wie man in Deutschland als Migrant zu sein hatte, aber auch nicht bewusst dagegen. Mein Widerstreben richtete sich gegen die Fetischisierung von Herkunft und gegen das Phantasma nationaler Identität. Ich war für das Dazugehören. Überall, wo man mich haben und wo ich sein wollte. Kleinsten gemeinsamen Nenner finden: genügte.

Listen, if you need to punch a wall to relieve yourself from whatever insidious voice is in your head, I’m not going to judge you. That is one of the least strange things I’ve ever come across in Phantasma, I assure you.” He narrowed his eyes. “But letting yourself believe you’ve done something so sinful that you deserve to be in pain is another sentiment altogether. And if you’re upset about what may have happened to the others in that trial… taking care of yourself first is not a sin. You understand that, right?

Life is not measured in good or bad thoughts—it’s how you treat the world around you despite them. All the people who only do good deeds because of what that might gain them in the afterlife are no better than those who indulge in a little sin every once in a while.

The audacity of men worth less than dirt.

If only,” she whispered. “Besides, if all of my inner demons were destroyed, there wouldn’t be much left of me.

Souls that are dead cannot cross roses of red, her mother had always chanted.

Blackwell, Blackwell, Blackwell,

If you thought that was your threshold of pleasure—imagine being worshipped by the real thing.

told you before that nothing would ever stop me from getting to you if you needed me, and that will remain true forevermore. I would tear the universe apart at its seams if I must.

Yes,” he confirmed with amusement. “You can summon me any time you want. The morning. The afternoon. The middle of the night…

vulgar gesture

I can only imagine death is more kind than you.

The dark is for people who are too cowardly to face their actions in the light,” she automatically responded. It had been something her mother often said.

Ophelia, don’t⁠—” “I love you,” she whispered.

All her life, all she had wanted was peace. To be fixed. To not be a burden on those she loved most.

Tell me, Blackwell,” Genevieve said in a saccharine tone. Warning bells immediately sounded off in Ophelia’s head.

I’ve had a lover,” she interrupted before he could jump to any conclusions. “But he never made me do that.” “Then he was useless and a waste of your time,

You know what they say. Come to Hell—we may have Devils and Demons, but at least your hair won’t get frizzy.

As much as she hated to admit it, she craved confirmation when she did something well.

Are you sure you want me to tell you?” He shifted until their lips were practically touching. “Or would you like me to show you instead?

You are the closest thing I will ever get to experiencing heaven, and I’m not ready to let it go.

If there were ever a divine entity I'd worship," he murmured, "it'd be you." "My body, your alter," she offered.

taking care of yourself first is not a sin. You understand that, right?

She buried her face into the crook of his throat. “You came.” “You called,” he answered.

I want to know everything. I want to see all the darkest corners of your mind.” He tilted his face up to whisper his next words right into her ear. “I want to taste your sins.

I think you might be the closest to heaven I’ll ever get,” he whispered.

If there were ever a divine entity I’d worship,” he murmured, “it’d be you.

It is at night, especially when the moon is gibbous and waning, that I see the thing. I tried morphine; but the drug has given only transient surcease, and has drawn me into its clutches as a hopeless slave. So now I am to end it all, having written a full account for the information or the contemptuous amusement of my fellow-men. Often I ask myself if it could not all have been a pure phantasm—a mere freak of fever as I lay sun-stricken and raving in the open boat after my escape from the German man-of-war. This I ask myself, but ever does there come before me a hideously vivid vision in reply. I cannot think of the deep sea without shuddering at the nameless things that may at this very moment be crawling and floundering on its slimy bed, worshipping their ancient stone idols and carving their own detestable likenesses on submarine obelisks of water-soaked granite. I dream of a day when they may rise above the billows to drag down in their reeking talons the remnants of puny, war-exhausted mankind—of a day when the land shall sink, and the dark ocean floor shall ascend amidst universal pandemonium.

The thought of wasting another second when I will lose you forever in only three days has ruined me. You are the closest thing I will ever get to experiencing heaven, and I’m not ready to let it go.

Then Blackwell solidified himself completely. “Call her a name one more time,” he threatened, his tone bored but his eyes alight with mischief. “I dare you.” Cade gawked at the sight of Blackwell’s tall frame, but his expression quickly soured as he spat, “Incredible, even Demons have whores⁠—” Blackwell grabbed Cade’s wrist and twisted his arm until he screeched in agony. “Incredible,” Blackwell echoed. “The audacity of men worth less than dirt.

I can't stand it," he told her, his voice deepening as he fought for control of his emotions. "I can't fucking stand the thought of him -of anyone- pleasuring you except me. I'd rather cease to exist that know you've looked at anyone else the way you look at me when I'm touching you.

I like to say the idea of Phantasma came to me all at once, hitting me like a ton of bricks one cloudy afternoon in November 2021, but truly, my experience with obsessive-compulsive disorder has been building to this story for a very long time. During the process of brainstorming the sort of adult romance I wanted to debut with, I was going through a period where my obsessive-compulsive tendencies were flaring up more than usual and the voices in my head were getting a little too bold. To my friends, these compulsions were alarming little anecdotes over lunch—‘that sounds like a horror movie’ one of them said (affectionately)—which is funny because, to me, someone who has lived with OCD my entire life, it was just another day of being unfazed by the increasingly creative scenarios my mind likes to conjure. OCD has such a wide range of symptoms that it makes every person’s experience with it different. Unfortunately, it has also become a commonly misused term conflated with the idea of being overly neat and clean, when in reality a lot of people with OCD have much darker symptoms. In my experience this has made explaining the real effects of OCD very hard as well as making it more difficult for people to regard the condition seriously. It’s so important to me to convey, with the utmost sincerity, that I know people are not doing this to be malicious! Because of the misuse of the term, however, some of the ways this disorder is shown in this book may come off as exaggerated or dramatic—but the details of Ophelia’s OCD are drawn directly from experiences that I, or someone I know who shares my condition, have had first-hand. And it’s still only a fraction of the symptoms we live with daily. Ophelia’s story is a love letter to my journey of getting comfortable being in my own head (as well as my adoration for Gothic aesthetics and hot ghosts). And while her experience with OCD, my experience with OCD, might look a lot different to someone else’s, I hope that the same message rings clear: struggling with your mental health does not make you unworthy of love. And I hope the people you surround yourself with are the sort of people who know that, too.

You are exactly the person I’ve been waiting for.

That’s alright. I fucked his best friend on the back of the float as revenge.

motorcar.

They want to install more modern housing, maybe even a hotel or two for tourists.

Well, he clearly doesn’t have a brain if he threw away his opportunity with you,” Ophelia commented. Genevieve snorted. “That’s alright. I fucked his best friend on the back of the float as revenge.

Her compulsions were routine at this point. This was not her fault. It couldn’t be. She’d done everything perfectly.

foolishly overlooked the threat that her fellow contestants posed.

The competition’s insidious reputation continues to terrorize the continent, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. A place where nightmares roam free, but the dream of winning a magical prize keeps participants rolling in.

Something about it had always deeply embarrassed her. To be at the mercy of knocking on her headboard or wall or doing whatever other ridiculous tasks the voice demanded of her just so it would shut up and she could sleep without the ominous blanket of existential dread. “I was pleasing my inner demons,” she finally said, only half joking. “Anything I can do to vanquish them, so you can go to sleep?” he offered.

Ophelia.” His tone was firm now. “You don’t need to fix yourself. You’re not broken. But it’s okay to get outside help if it gets too loud.

In fact, the last time we saw each other, my fingers were in her⁠—” “Finish that sentence and I’ll fucking kill you,” Blackwell threatened.

Erasmus Blackwell, Prince of the Devils. But you, angel, may call me Salem.

So again. Who did that to you?

Actually, do tell. I’m desperate to know what sort of wicked fantasies live in your head.

It always destroys my curls,” Genevieve griped as if Ophelia

That’s not how things work, angel. Life is not measured in good or bad thoughts—it’s how you treat the world around you despite them. All the people who only do good deeds because of what that might gain them in the afterlife are no better than those who indulge in a little sin every once in a while.

After all, her mother had always warned her not to make deals with Devils, but never told her anything about making them with Ghosts…

His encouragement made her push herself harder. As much as she hated to admit it, she craved confirmation when she did something well. Something her mother hadn’t often bothered with.

In a different life, in a fair one, I would’ve kept you until my eternal soul withered away to dust,” he vowed to her. Then he was gone.

Who in the unholy fuck is knocking on peoples’ doors this early in the morning?