She felt... less. She felt tamped down. Dim. More faint. Feint. Feigned. Fain.
Lovely as the moon: not flawless, perhaps, but perfect.
There is a great difference between being fearless and being brave.
She knew the true shape of the world. All else was shadow and the sound of distant drums.
But no. It didn’t suit him. She should have known. He was not a one for fastening. For holding closed. Neither was he dark. Oh no. He was emberant. Incarnadine. He was bright with better bright beneath, like copper-gilded gold.
You did not want things for yourself. That made you small.
Stories don’t need to be new to bring you joy. Some stories are like familiar friends. Some are dependable as bread.
Each of us has two minds: a waking mind and a sleeping mind. Our waking mind is what thinks and talks and reasons. But the sleeping mind is more powerful. It sees deeply to the heart of things. It is the part of us that dreams. It remembers everything. It gives us intuition. Your waking mind does not understand the nature of names. Your sleeping mind does. It already knows many things that your waking mind does not.
It was shivery and scant. Scared. Skint. But just around the edges it was still scintillant.
But he was coming. He would be here soon, all sweet and brave and shattered and kind. He would come carrying and clever-fingered and oh so unaware of oh so many things. He was rough against the world, but even so...
I should have been bolder and kissed her at the end. I should have been more cautious. I had talked too much. I had said too little.
So yes. It had flaws, but what does that matter when it comes to matters of the heart? We love what we love. Reason does not enter into it. In many ways, unwise love is the truest love. Anyone can love a thing because. That’s as easy as putting a penny in your pocket. But to love something despite. To know the flaws and love them too. That is rare and pure and perfect.
She laughed so sweet and loud and long it sounded like a bell, a harp, a song.
Travel is the great leveler, the great teacher, bitter as medicine, crueler than mirror-glass. A long stretch of road will teach you more about yourself than a hundred years of quiet introspection.
I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day.
Oh no. He was emberant. Incarnadine. He was bright with better bright beneath, like copper-gilded gold.
Over the last month I had pulled a woman from a blazing inferno. I had called fire and lighting down on assassins and escaped to safety. I had even killed something that could have been either a dragon or a demon, depending on your point of view. But there in that room was the first time I actually felt like any sort of hero. If you are looking for a reason for the man I would eventually become, if you are looking for a beginning, look there.
She knew if you weren’t always stepping lightly as a bird the whole world came apart to crush you. Like a house of cards. Like a bottle against stones.
Oh yes. It was well worth it, doing things the proper way.
She was a greedy thing sometimes. Wanting for herself. Twisting the world all out of proper shape. Pushing everything about with the weight of her desire.