Honest to god, I don't know why I'm kidding myself about this book. I'm probably not fooling any of you. I'm never going to finish it, because what I read was terrible and what I read was over half of it, and it was so bad that even though I'd gotten entrenched that far into it I still couldn't force myself to turn another solitary page. 
 What this book wants you to know: 
 1. Nothing 
 This book will not impact your life in any way. And I mean any way: it won't even entertain you. It's like the eleventh song on a techno album. Bland as shit. If you like your porridge sugarless, then by all means, knock yourself out. But this book and its parchment sky and breasts on a platter can honestly just stay the hell away from me. 
 It's at its worst when it tries to be witty; when it tries to convince you that the male lead is quirky and sexy and not just a series of really painful cringes just waiting to happen. This one time, I was on the train, and it was packed - like, shoulder-to-shoulder. My stomach was feeling weird and I let one go, and it might have been silent, but it was fucking deadly. It was like God's eleventh plague had descended on that train car. It was like the gates of hell had opened and let out the stench of the rotting damned as Charon ferried them to and fro across the Acheron. I honestly was surprised that no one called the cops with accusations of bioterrorism. And the girl standing beside me, who was looking down at her phone, just stiffened, and the people talking in front of me went quiet. I stared at my shoes, and I swear to high heaven, I have never prayed before. I have never fucking prayed before, but in that moment I was begging for a miracle. 
 Disperse, I begged. Please, everyone get off at the next stop. Please, let the air dissipate, or at least let everyone blame it on the dude standing next to me who is very pointedly staring out the window and trying not to touch me with his elbow. 
 That's not as embarrassing as this book. Seriously, I'd rather have everyone on the train think I just shit my pants than drag my eyes across another speck of Ignifex's agonizing "wit". The dude is about as entertaining as that graaaaaaaah sound your stomach makes before you ruin a bunch of tourists' day. 
 Detox, ILY.