It is shallow, but it is glowing. A shimmering, shifting light cascades up through the surface of the water. A soft radiance, enough to illuminate the pool and the stones that sit at the bottom.
Each of us has our own path, Mr Rawlins. Symbols are for interpretation, not definition.
To find a key, you have to understand the lock.
As he watches her in the flickering light, it strikes Bailey suddenly that she is a fair deal older than she appears, and that the same is likely true of Marco. It is like realizing someone in a photograph is no longer the same age as they were when it was taken, and they seem farther away because of it.
Magic. This is not Magic. This is the way the world is, only very few people take the time to stop and note it. Look around you- no one has even an inkling of the things that are possible in this world, and what’s worse is that none of them would listen if you attempted to enlighten them. They want to believe that magic is nothing but clever deception, because to think it real would keep them up at night, afraid of their own existence.
You are no longer quite certain which side of the fence is a dream.
He tells her things he’s never told anyone. About the man who broke his heart in such a long, drawn out process that he couldn’t discern hurt from love and how whenever he tries to sort out how it feels now, long after the end of it the feeling is just a void.
He reads histories and mythologies and fairy tales, wondering why it seems that only girls are ever swept away from their mundane lives on farms by knights or princes or wolves.
It’s as if there is love and loss at the same time, together in a kind of beautiful pain.
A show without an audience is nothing, after all. In the response of the audience, that is where the power of performance lives.
Be brave,” she says. “Be bold. Be loud. Never change for anyone but yourself.
I do not like being left in the dark. I am not particularly fond of believing in impossible things.
The woman laughs harder and the girl smiles. Making a witch laugh feels like a lucky sort of thing.
Fate still owes me a dance.
Devotion is for acolytes. Worthiness for guardians. Keepers must have spirit and keep it aloft.
A subtle sweetness at the edges of the cold.
Most cats will do anything if you ask them nicely.
Secrets have power, and that power diminishes when they are shared, so they are best kept and kept well.
It’s nothing I can clearly see as good or bad, but it is... intense.” Isobel pushes the cards around a bit, Le Bateleur and La Papessa surrounded by fire-tinged wands and watery cups. The crackle of the fire next to them mingles with the rain pattering against the windows. “It almost contradicts itself,” she says after a moment. “It’s as if there is love and loss at the same time, together in a kind of beautiful pain.
Figs that drip with honey, sugar blown into curls and flowers.