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A review by rain_e
Sixth Of A Soul by Viyana Morrigan
1.0
DNF'd at 40%. This book- I wouldn't even classify this as a book- this collection of self indulgent, unedited, horrendous attempt at storytelling- has no plot and absolutely no structure. The characters are about as deep as a drop of water and even at nearly the halfway point NOTHING happens! If you would consider a bunch of huge growly (ugh) men having to constantly control themselves (and failing) from keeping their hands off of Amethyst (of course she has one of those kinds of names) and off of each other (not in the fun way), good storytelling, then I guess you're in for a treat. Someone is always threatening someone else. Someone always keeps getting growled at (ugh). Someone always ends up almost losing control of their super special powers around our sparkly, vanilla-sweet, gemstone given human form and regretting it deeply whilst the others loom in threatening fashion over the errant male. The reader is told, at least once, on every page that none of the male love (lust?) interests care about anything that is not Amethyst, not even siblings or allies or best friends whom they've known for nearly all their lives. Case in point-
"Ambrose walked into the room then, and I remembered my loyalty to him. I’d sworn it to him years ago, and yet. The one I had towards her outshined that by seemingly a mile, because I knew then that I would easily hurt him to protect her.
Easily.
I owed this man my life, but her? She’d managed to own me in the little time she’d been here.
Own my very fucking soul."
And over and over and over again with miniscule readjustments. Thank goodness I don't own a physical copy of this work, because I would have dented my poor blameless walls with it, many times over.
"Ambrose walked into the room then, and I remembered my loyalty to him. I’d sworn it to him years ago, and yet. The one I had towards her outshined that by seemingly a mile, because I knew then that I would easily hurt him to protect her.
Easily.
I owed this man my life, but her? She’d managed to own me in the little time she’d been here.
Own my very fucking soul."
And over and over and over again with miniscule readjustments. Thank goodness I don't own a physical copy of this work, because I would have dented my poor blameless walls with it, many times over.