Keeper of Enchanted Rooms

Beauty is just like a book. Some will not bother to look beyond the cover; others will find the entire tome utterly captivating.

Have you ever wondered,” he followed up without missing a beat, “if we’re all characters in another’s book? If all of our actions, whims, thoughts, and desires are being controlled by some omniscient author?

Mr. Portendorfer: It would take a lifetime to read all of these books. Hulda: I suppose that depends on how fast of a reader you are compared to how long you intend to live.

Hers was a story he didn’t want to end. But how many pages would she let him turn? What was her ending—their ending—going to be like?

Just because magic is rare does not make it unreal,

I talked to Mrs. Larkin about cow. I would like cow.

Being useful made her feel good about herself, regardless of all the nonsense and trepidation going on in her life.

In truth, the anxiety in waiting for something was often worse than the thing itself.

help him make his point. “It was kind of cute, when I thought I was dealing with a half-sentient kitchen or armoire. It is utterly horrid that there is an actual walking spirit from the grave floating around, watching me dress, breathing down my neck, and dropping me into pits!

was fascinating that a person could just sit down and write an entire novel. That all of these words, and the pictures they painted, had only existed inside his head before he put them to paper. That he could create something from nothing.

Melancholy things always made for great fiction. The coddled and content seldom told good stories.

I’ve been lonely for a long time. Sure, I’ve had friends, colleagues, so I’m not isolated. But I still feel it. It’s the deep, lasting kind of loneliness. The hollow kind that settles in your bones.

He’d dug his graves for the loved ones torn away from him long ago, occasionally adding more soil to top them off.

Being able to talk aloud to someone who always agreed with you could do wonders for the soul.

The coddled and content seldom told good stories.

but melancholy things always made for great fiction. The coddled and content seldom told good stories.

Her body would never know the touch of a man or the weight of a child. She was an augurist, after all. Her talent lay in knowing the future.

Hulda was like picking up a book with no description, fanfare, or title and discovering it got better and better with each page turned.

Servitude is the best way for the unfortunate to rise in their station and procure good wages for themselves and their families.” Merritt chucked the sandwich cloth at the dirt. “You talk like a politician.” “You seem to enjoy pointing out my idiosyncrasies.

Propping his elbows on his knees, he dropped his head into his palms. Focused on his breathing. In, out. In, out. He sat like that for a long time, trying to tamp down the anger and the hurt. Just when he thought it was finally done, that he was finally cured, it came bubbling up again. Something always brought it up, and he hated it, because it never hurt any less, even so many years later.

Regret lightened the words and carried them like candle smoke.

Merritt glanced down and pinched the watch chain between his fingers. “And what did you think of it?” “Competence is a very apt name. I would have preferred it over Hulda, as a child.” He met her eyes again. “Truly?” She tilted her head to one side. “It would have given me something to aspire to.

Returning the watch, he closed the distance between them by two paces. Hulda’s heartbeat echoed in her ears. “Did you . . . like the book?” She pressed her thumb into her palm. “I admit I haven’t finished it yet.” “Oh?” “I was rather distracted by a scene that did not fit the narrative in the slightest.

all characters in another’s book? If all of our actions, whims, thoughts, and desires are being controlled by some omniscient author?

better with each page turned. He wanted to know how her story would read. He wanted to reach the denouement, the end. And he wanted to see if she had a sequel.

But Hulda was like picking up a book with no description, fanfare, or title and discovering it got better and