In the heavens the stars sparkled with relief but the moon was full of sorrow.
Drowning him in sweetness.
He has been given sweetness when he expected salt.
Zachary glances over his shoulder and the cat is following him but when he looks it stops and licks a paw nonchalantly as though it is not following him at all and just happens to be heading in the same direction.
The sound of his name on her tongue is even more intoxicating than he had imagined, and he leans in to taste it.
The sensation of a cat brushing past his legs is so genuine that he looks down expecting to see it, but there is nothing on the floor.
The Queen of the Bees has been waiting for you Tales hidden within to be told Bring her a key that has never been forged And another made only of gold.
The place on your back.” Dorian puts a hand up to his shoulder, touching the topmost edge of the very elaborate, very real tattoo that covers his back. The branches of a tree, the canopy of a forest of cherry blossoms, star-sparkling with lanterns and lights though all of that is background for the centerpiece: a tree stump covered in books dripping with honey under a beehive with an owl sitting atop it, wearing a crown.
There are so many things she wants to say, things she feared she would never have the opportunity to tell him again. Only one seems truly important. “I love you,” she says.
I have spent a great deal of my life struggling to keep myself in control... to know myself inside and out, everything kept in perfect order. I lose that when I’m with you.
It has never crossed Bailey’s mind that he could do such things himself, but having been told as much so simply and directly, it seems strangely achievable.
He stands for some time in the spot where he found Celia hours before, scrutinizing the familiar bookshelves and the wall of stained glass. He cannot guess what she might have been doing. And he does not notice the eyes staring at him from the shadows.
He spends almost every night there, and during the day he sits in his rented flat or at the pub with a glass of wine and a journal and he writes about it. Pages and pages of observations, recounting his experiences, mostly so he will not forget them but also to capture something of the circus on paper, something he can hold on to.
I’m only doing it for you,” Marco says. “The rest of them will see me as they always have.
Nothing but a dreamer, longing for something he does not understand.
He is having a heated argument with the voice inside his head about whether or not his mother will know if he dies because maternal intuition and also fortune teller when the door behind him opens.
Alone in their town house, Tara wanders absently. She abandons half-read novels on chairs and tables. The invitations from Mme. Padva to join her for tea or accompany her to the ballet are politely declined. She turns all of the mirrors in the house to face the walls. Those she cannot manage to turn she covers with sheets so they sit like ghosts in empty rooms. She has trouble sleeping.
She tells you facts you already knew. Information you might have guessed. Possibilities you cannot.
But I remember the people who look at me the way you do.
He takes his mug and his cupcakes and sits in front of the fire again. The cat stretches and comes to sit with him, sniffing at the cupcakes and licking frosting from his fingertips. Zachary doesn’t remember falling asleep. He wakes curled up in front of the dying fire on a pile of pillows, the Persian cat nestled into his arm.