They are twilight creatures, beings of dawn and dusk, of standing between one thing and another, of not quite and almost, of borderlands and shadows.
In Faerie, there are no fish sticks, no ketchup, no television.
We may not die from age, but we grow weary with it.
I want to have some reaction. I want to tremble or feel nauseated. I want to be the person who begins to weep. I want to be anyone but the person I am, who looks around to be sure no one saw, who wipes off my knife in the dirt, wipes off my hand on his clothes, and gets out of there before the guards come.
Three is an odd configuration of sisters. There’s always one on the outside.
I kissed him on the mouth, and then I threatened to kiss him some more if he didn’t do exactly what I wanted.
He hates you. Even if he wants you, he hates you. Maybe he hates you the more for it.
You love him, too, I think. You’ve loved him since before you were a prisoner of the Undersea. You loved him when you agreed to marry him. Once this is over, I will find the bravery to tell him.
I don’t want to be a vampire’ she told herself. But in her dreams, she kind of did.
For a moment,” he says, “I wondered if it wasn’t you shooting bolts at me.” I make a face at him. “And what made you decide it wasn’t?” He grins up at me. “They missed.
Love is a noble cause. How can anything done in the service of a noble cause be wrong?
If you want my advice,” he says slowly, “love doesn’t grow well, fed on pain. Grant me that I know that at least.
Kiss me until I am sick of it.
Someone tries to betray the High King, murder. Someone gives you a harsh look, murder. Someone disrespects you, murder. Someone ruins your laundry, murder.
I can feel the moment he gives in and gives up, pulling me to him despite the threat of the knife. He kisses me hard, with a kind of devouring desperation, fingers digging into my hair. Our mouths slide together, teeth over lips over tongues. Desire hits me like a kick to the stomach. It’s like fighting, except what we’re fighting for is to crawl inside each other’s skin.
I have heard that for mortals, the feeling of falling in love is very like the feeling of fear. Your heart beats fast. Your senses are heightened. You grow light-headed, maybe even dizzy.
We all want stupid things. That doesn’t mean we should have them.
I hope Cardan misses me.
His song began to change. It grew softer, sweeter, like the morning after a long cry, when your head still hurt but your heart was no longer broken.
I’m not a monster, I’d told her, back when I said I would never hurt Oak. But maybe being a monster was my calling.