Vagrant (the Vagrant Trilogy)

4.5 stars out of 5, rounded up to 5.

A reader sits at her computer and ponders. She has read a tale of agony and wonder, was transported to a world more bleak than she had anticipated. Her return back into her own life, her own aging body, her bones weary, her eyes dimming and her hearing failing, leaves her silent, struck mute with awe.
She grasps for words that can express what she has just read, but they slip through her fingers, eluding her.
The tome she's just closed, or rather, the audiobook that has just uttered its last words, is hard to describe. It showed her a dystopian world, the aftermath of a war, lost. There is technology there, ranging from fabulously high tech to steampunk, sometimes gritty, grimy, plucked straight from Mengele's fevered dreams. And there's magic, wondrous and other-worldly, but viciously red and ravenous in its malice.
The woman wonders. Is this sci-fi? Is this fantasy. Her cat sits tucked in the crook of one arm, glaring at her fingers at the keyboard with hard yellow eyes. It isn't being petted, its human is neglecting it. The cat considers swiping a claw at those nimbly dancing fingers, but refrains. It is almost feeding time. It can wait.
A hand lifts from the keyboard, drifting up, almost of its own volition, fingers reaching out to the soft fur that demands to be stroked. A deep contented purr rises up from the bundle of fluff that lies almost hidden within the woman's cardigan.
Eyes grow heavy. She wants to rest and savor the tale of humanity in that raw, twisted, form. She wants to return to that silent man and his baby, even though she hates babies and would rather make a coat from their hides. This one was cute. This one's first words had the woman cry out with joy and uncontained mirth.
The tale has been hard on the woman, piercing her heart with infernal talons. She especially wept hot tears for the Hammer that Walks. It leaves her.... touched. Tainted. Irrevocably changed.
It has been some time that she had the pleasure of setting her yellowing teeth into language that has to be chewed before one can swallow it. She has been lulled into complacency by reading too many snacky fastfood books of late. The style had to be wrestled down in order to be digestable, but when she came out on top, victorious, she devoured all of it in glutunous bites.
Full lips crook into a smile. Pleasure dances in the moisture of her flicking tongue. She sighes. The purring fades into a contented slumber, claws sheathed again.

From the other side of the screen, green eyes fix on hers. A baby gurgles happy sounds.
The woman doesn't want to turn away. She has made friends for life and has locked those three into her heart. The will not be forgotten. They will be cherished for as long as she lives.

The woman doesn't have the words. She stops, lets her hands fall back to the bundle of peacefully breathing menace. They will understand. She can't stop now, she has to move on to the next book. Her heart skips a merry beat in eager anticipation. There is more to explore.