Misplacement was their commonality; exile was their community.

Seanan McGuire, Mislaid in Parts Half-Known

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"Almost always" is very different from "always". Lives are lived and lost in "almost".

Seanan McGuire, Mislaid in Parts Half-Known

I carried their stories with me - Mary Ellen and Ann, Julia, Rachel and Mandy. They were less of a weight and more a reminder that the truth could be hard to hear, but was the only thing that brought us together.

Moïra Fowley-Doyle, All the Bad Apples

The landscape remembers. Pain stays on in places like this.

Moïra Fowley-Doyle, All the Bad Apples

Belief was a fraying rope bridge over a stormy sea. Strand by silver strand, I unraveled.

Moïra Fowley-Doyle, All the Bad Apples

There are things in life you hold, and there are things that hold you.

Moïra Fowley-Doyle, All the Bad Apples

"Do you think we carry them with us?" I asked. "All the stories of the past?"

Moïra Fowley-Doyle, All the Bad Apples

We do whatever we can to survive.

Moïra Fowley-Doyle, All the Bad Apples

This is what a curse does: It takes a truth and twists it. It punishes those who don't conform. It sets parameters of conformity so narrow that few can actually stick to them... We are all bad apples, Deena, plucked before we were ripe and ready, right off the family tree.

Moïra Fowley-Doyle, All the Bad Apples

You won't see us in the photographs. The history books. But the landscape remembers.

Moïra Fowley-Doyle, All the Bad Apples

"I thought you didn't believe in ghosts?" I asked him. "Not during daylight, I don't," Finn said. "Not at school, like, or at home. Not when we're watching some crappy horror film." Cale scratched a match to flame and my candle's wick caught. "But here?" Finn's voice went up about an octave. "In some old ruined cottage at twilight in the middle of fucking Sligo with you looking all possessed or some shit? Yeah. Yeah, I fucking believe in ghosts."

Moïra Fowley-Doyle, All the Bad Apples

Ida was clearly somebody whose father had taught her from the moment she showed up on his doorstep that she deserved respect. Somebody who could speak out, speak her truth without repercussions. Somebody not accustomed to secrets, or to shame. She might look like Mandy, but there was something straightforward about her that put her in direct contrast to her mother.

Moïra Fowley-Doyle, All the Bad Apples

To me, Mary Ellen's revenge on Gerald made sense. She knew she couldn't hold him to account, couldn't tell his family the truth. She knew it would be her word against his, and that he held all the power. So instead she did the only thing she knew would really hurt him. She couldn't have known that by destroying his prized possession, his precious apple tree sapling, she had cursed the lot of us.

Moïra Fowley-Doyle, All the Bad Apples

Ida heard the words "I'm sorry for your loss" so many times that the sentence was stripped of meaning.

Moïra Fowley-Doyle, All the Bad Apples

You know the kind. You'd know them a mile away. The ones who don't look like the others, don't act like the others. The ones who don't conform, don't follow the rules, don't go to church on Sunday. The ones who run away, make their own lives. The ones who drink too much, talk too much, don't work enough or at the right things. The ones who dress differently, love differently, think differently. Our family tree protects its good seeds, keeps them safe. But the bad apples get shown the door. Shunned, ignored, talked about in hushed whispers. They get pushed off the tree, breaking every branch on their way down. And once they've fallen, once they've been cast off the family tree, that's when the curse comes to them.

Moïra Fowley-Doyle, All the Bad Apples

Bad apples don't have history. They don't have roots. They just sit in the grass where they fell, rotting alone.

Moïra Fowley-Doyle, All the Bad Apples