I have you here, all around me. I sit in the Ice Garden to get a hint of this, this way that you make me feel. I felt it even before I knew who you were, and every time I think it could not possibly get any stronger, it does.
The rain increases and umbrellas sprout like mushrooms amongst the graves.
Unusual yet beautiful. Provocative while remaining elegant.
The sensation reminds him of the first snow of winter, for those first few hours when everything is blanketed in white, soft and quiet.
And there are really never endings, happy or otherwise.
All empires fall eventually. It is the way of things.
I have had affairs that lasted decades and others that lasted for hours. I have loved princesses and peasants. And I suppose they loved me, each in their way.
A woman I should like to think I know rather well and a woman I had always considered a mystery, are in fact the same person.
And then he tells her stories. Myths he learned from his instructor. Fantasies he created himself, inspired by bits and pieces of others read in archaic books with crackling spines.
Scent is often underestimated, when it can be the most evocative.
He turns and walks away, moving so quickly that the candle flames shiver with the motion of the air. “I miss you,” Isobel says as he leaves, but the sentiment is crushed by the clatter of the beaded curtain falling closed behind him.
I didn’t know your identity, but I had an impression of who my opponent was, being surrounded by things you made.
Before you leave, the fortune teller reminds you that the future is never set in stone.
Perhaps it is controlling the chaos within more than the chaos without.
I suppose there will never be a lack of things to say, of stories to be told and shared.
Kelly Link is inimitable. Her stories are like nothing else, dark yet sparkling with her unique brand of fairy dust. This is the most marvelous kind of trouble to get in.
Though I have seen a great deal of the sights, traveled a number of the available paths, there are always corners that remain unexplored, doors that remain unopened.
It’s helpful for me to get ideas – the physical action of painting. Sometimes it frees up your writer brain. It’s nice for me now that the writing has become a serious career that painting can become more like a hobby.
You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone’s soul.
I think I get some of my love of adult books that can be fun from Douglas Adams.