I am dying a thousand cruel and unusual deaths as fifty pairs of eyes take me in, size me up like something that should be hanging over a fireplace in a gentleman’s den.
I had thought Felicity dangerous a moment ago, when she felt powerful. I was wrong. Wounded and powerless, she is more dangerous than I could imagine.
All things are possible.
When I dream, I dream of him.
We’ve barley stepped into the bright glow of the realms when everything goes dark...
Do you think they missed him terribly when he fell? Did God cry over his lost angel, I wonder?
I am no longer content to be the scared, obedient schoolgirl. Who are you, a stranger, to tell me what I can and cannot do?
Around us the night creatures have their say. We are surrounded by a symphony of crickets and frogs. Neither of us feels the need to speak, and I suppose that is one of the qualities I find comforting in Kartik. We can be alone together.
How can my ankles and arms be obscene?
That’s what living in their world is-a big lie. An illusion where everyone looks the other way and pretends that nothing unpleasant exists at all, no goblins of the dark, no ghosts of the soul.
The night’s chilly breath tickles up my neck and finds my ear, whispering secrets only the wind knows.
Felicity and I watch the dancers moving as one. They spin about like the earth on it’s axis, enduring the dark, waiting for the sun.
My cholera’s acting up again.
The key holds the truth.
If God has nothing better to do than punish schoolgirls for a bit of tomfoolery, then I’ve no use for God.
A place to keep all your secrets.
You are working up to Mr. Fantastic Fiction levels of Zombie Expert, which is like playing Guitar Hero on some level that actually melts the guitar controller, burning your fingers with searing hot plastic till you scream in pain. Only with words. And zombies.
A gentle breeze catches in the branches then and I hear it, soft and low, a murmured prayer – Gem-ma, Gem-ma – and then the leaves bend down and trail delicate fingers across my cold cheeks.
The beast attempts a beautific look that could be mistaken for a bout of painful wind.
She’s no beauty, mate.