"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Don't cast aspersions on my asparagus.
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Kizi knew that the suggestion that there was some sort of puzzle to solve, some sort of clue on the bookshelves, was insane. She was thinking maybe there'd be some sort of accidental lateral thinking benefits, or even just some cogent distraction, some form of help that could be found in the amassed literature-

No. That wasn't the truth. Kizi had once again been speaking without any real forethought. She'd just been letting words jumble out of her mouth. She nodded at Clarice's demurral, and continued speaking, hoping to serve as some kind of distraction from the pain. "Sure, sure, we can do whatever."

Kizi thought it was working, but she hadn't been looking at the wound. Too weak-stomached for that. She thought Bart was already rubbing the antiseptic on. When Clarice screamed, she realised she had been mistaken. It hadn't even begun. Kizi stepped forward, and had to resist the temptation to reach out and squeeze Clarice's hand. The bandage would drop if she did. And trail along the floor. Kizi was willing to guess that that wasn't sterile.

"Yeah, the pain's good! Well, not good. But it means it's working!" It was a platitude, empty and void of content. All Kizi could really manage right now.
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Kiziah Saraki
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Death Is The Only Freedom... · The Library