He didn't say anything more, just waited for me to tell him what I'd been thinking. It was pure speculation, and I was opening myself up to ridicule by saying anything at all. I sat on the stool and realized that I had my loyalties, too.
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And she arose from her deathbed in a gossamer gown, with eyes the color of starlight and hair as black as the night. And those who were her captors trembled, for the scent of death and madness emanated from her soul, and yet she was not dead. She moved like the spiders that creep in the treetops, and none could look away. Taking her first captor in hand, she fed deep and ravenous. And so it was that Myst, Queen of the Indigo Court, was born from the blood of the dead.
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Welcome to the house of Gray and Graves where we never lie still and death is only the beginning..
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We come together, we create our families, we chose our mates out of the desire to form a life together. Love takes many forms, wears many faces, but when it's real, when it touches your heart, you will know it and--with hope--embrace it. Love is stronger than hate, love is stronger than anger. Love is stronger than all artificial divisions that exist n our world.
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That alone would be Eddie's triumph in all this; that she had taught the kelpie suffering.
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Unseelie dreams make unseelie fae.
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Walking out into the night with a water fey was all kinds of stupid. Heck, Kelpies eat people. They may not play with their food as creatively as the Each Uisge, but dead is dead.
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His hair was shorter than I remembered, tawny in this half-light, the tousled edges casually framing the clean, commanding lines of his face. His mouth, normally so stern was relaxed now and as I stared a slight sweet smile touched his lips, its curve softening the straight strong lines of his nose and brow. Finally, inevitably, I met his eyes and felt a connection that seared straight through me, down through my soles and away. Those eyes, darker than mine, the darkest blue, dark and as impenetrable as glaciers. Tonight he was real, so very real that my heart thumped, my blood sang, my legs shook.
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Down the hill I went, and then,I forgot the ways of men, For night-scents, heady and damp and coolWakened ecstasy
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She was never going to get used to how much the Faeries seem to stare at her, as if dissecting her and examining the little pieces inside her like a science project.~Ever Fire: A Dark Faerie Tale #2
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This letter is written on the skin of one of the water sprites who drowned your parents.''Ick!' I cried, and dropped the letter on the kitchen table.
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Perhaps her only legacy would be that she had known something immortal, and while eternity may still belong to God alone, not all things were enslaved by time.
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Your American fairytales end that way.? Real fairytales end in blood or tears.
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She had been nothing but a beloved bauble passed from a mother to a son, a decoration of vanity, devoid of identity.
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I was going to fight vampires, and my name wasn't Buffy--I was so screwed.
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