the bones of all thingsFive times they did not love each other:
Once upon a time, Armand Russo finds two fallen angels. They look so alike, they must be brother and sister. The girl is unconscious, a brutal head injury leaking blood onto paper-pale skin, but it’s the sight of the boy that catches Roo’s breath in his throat.
Beautiful, so beautiful that he can scarcely believe it: long golden hair streaming like sunlight and river-blue eyes drowning in tears as he begs his sister to wake up. There’s an incredible ache in Roo’s chest as he listens to the angel weep with fear and pain and loss, and Roo feels more clear-headed, more free than he has since escaping Purgatory because this is something that only he can understand, not the prince or the king that do not weep but hate.
So he approaches. His heart is in his throat, but it’s his heart, so he extends a hand, offering his help.
The angel looks at him, arms wrapped protectively around
PraetoriaOne night, I come home to find my brother crying.
“Why are you crying?” I demand, aghast. “Is something wrong?”
He doesn’t look at me, just smiles and shakes his head. “No, nothing’s wrong.” But the tears keep coming and I’m only five years old, so it confuses me.
“Are you sad?” I ask, a little naively, perhaps.
That elicits a shaky laugh, but there is no humor in his eyes. I’ve always thought my brother has the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen, colored as if by ghosts, and it troubles me now that they are clouded with an ugly, strange shade of sorrow.
But he just smiles and says, “Sometimes, we cry when we are happy, Micah,” and hugs me. We spend the rest of the night practicing swordfighting and he tucks me in to sleep with a wish for sweet dreams, and he distracts me so well that I never remember he doesn’t answer my question.
One day, I come home to find my brother crying.
the mind has mountainsLife is brief.
Fall in love, maidens,
before the crimson bloom
fades from your lips,
before the tides of passion
cool within you,
for those of you
who know no tomorrow.
My earliest memory is listening to my mother sing this song. My mother was a woman who was not beautiful except for when she sang, so she was always singing. I remember sitting at our kitchen table drawing childish pictures, enjoying her sweet soprano thrum through the walls of the house, glass shaking in the cabinet doors with her powerful vibrato.
I remember hating this song.
She always laughed when I told her. “I used to hate it too,” she said, which was really the worst answer possible to a child that wanted to learn.
“Then why do you always sing it?” I couldn’t understand the sudden tightness of her mouth.
“Well,” she said thoughtfully, picking me up and putting me on the counter. I took the large, brightly painted spoon from her and stirred the salad. “I think
SolifugaeIt starts when the man with a thousand bodies takes her from the tournament grounds, takes her from Micah, takes her from safety, and vaults her up so high into the sky that the Fae princess is afraid. She fights at first – fights, screams, kicks, and maybe she cries. But as warm tears course down her cheeks and Roo’s rough hands wipe them away, concern and care gleaming from eyes that are not his own, Souri realizes some things she’s never wanted to know.
One, that this man smells really good for a murderer on the run, how is that even possible
The world is beautiful. It’s a ridiculous observation to make at any point in time, most of all right now, but they’re soaring into the sun like true birds of paradise and the world lays sprawled and glittering with green and blue at her feet, and Souri realizes that it is, indeed, beautiful.
She just doesn't know why this is suddenly so important to her.
Maybe it's the warmth suffusing her
Micah's Bad Day“I'm sorry! How many times do I have to tell you?” Micah asked, cringing as he dodged yet another object flung by Jei Dun.
“You called me BIRD BOY, Micah! The hell's with that? You know...” Jei's shouting quieted down suddenly for a brief moment as the words caught in his throat. His arm fell, as did the look on his face. “...Micah, you know how much it hurts when people make fun of me because of that.”
Yes, Micah knew. And he felt terrible about it. “Look, I already said I was sorry... What more can I do?” He couldn't take back the words, that was for sure.
The look that suddenly came to Jei Jei's face made Micah kinda regret the words he'd just said, too. “Well...” Jei smirked, “if you really want to make it up to me...”
Micah didn't like where this was going. At all.
“I freaking hate you, Jei Jei...” Micah muttered under his breath, glad th
Impact Theory"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
It's a question Welknan schoolteachers ask their students every year, from the day the children enter school to the day the young adults leave. Answers are carefully catalogued and presented to the students at their graduation ceremony in a beautifully decorated scrapbook made by the teacher of each student, added to each year, growing with the child.
It's arguably a silly tradition, and perhaps even morbid to remind the adults of failed childhood dreams, but it's meant to inspire and the children love it, and it's something to do anyway.
Some kids stick to plain, safe answers- tailor, construction, banker, teacher, doctor. Others get imaginative- artist, musician, architect. Others still are painfully practical- shop assistant, office worker. Once in a while, a few are philosophical- "me" and "good" are common.
Rosalin is invariably of the plain variety, not because she isn't imaginative, practical, or philosophical (she is, at times), but be
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