The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

To even attempt it, liars must believe themselves to be cleverer than the person they’re lying to, an assumption he finds grotesquely insulting.

Nothing grows in this man but greed.

How lost do you have to be to let the devil lead you home?

Blackheath was the prison, but they were the shackles.
And the keys

The house is silent, all of its occupants dead

I became the thing I hated and made Annabelle into the thing I loved

What kind of mind makes theater of murder

The future isn’t a warning my friend—it’s a promise—and it won’t be broken by us. That’s the nature of the trap we’re caught in.”

After all, a race is hard to win if you’re afraid of reaching the finish line

Because eternity is dull