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The Faery Reel
FantasyCollections & AnthologiesDark FantasyFairy Tales, Folk Tales, Legends & MythologyFictionClassics
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542 trykte sider
- Oprindeligt udgivet
- 2020
- Udgivelsesår
- 2020
Citater
- Слава Хмелеваhar citeretfor 3 år siden
Though the sky was a peerless blue, there had been thunder since dawn. Low thunder, ground thunder, leaving an acrid odor in twists of gray gauze that the wind pushed across the fields. As if a hand had rubbed a rod of graphite against the horizon, sketching vertical shafts of ghost in the warming day - Слава Хмелеваhar citeretfor 3 år sidenI rubbed the salve onto my corneas so I’d have the power to stare through glamour, to a person’s insides. A faery can do that without any ointment, a human needs a lot of it, and a half-faery needs a thin coating. Usually there’s moss, puffed-up feathers, and spiders swinging on threads inside people, and one glimpse of that is enough to make anyone turn and sprint for her life.
- Слава Хмелеваhar citeretfor 3 år sidenMy faery mother, Aurora, liked to siphon the rich beauty out of milk, leaving us with just the whiteness.
Aurora would buy beads to string me bracelets, but she’d steal the brightness from the colors.
She sapped the juice out of papayas, the bite out of peppers.
What she robbed, worse than all that, was the strength from my father’s bones. Tonight I fried bean cakes with shrimp and sliced pineapple as tender as butter—he didn’t touch any of it. He claims that only the touch of my mother will save him. I scream that it’s been three years since she left us, and in faery time two months equal two hundred years, and you do the math, I’m weary of it, she’s a sprite, a firefly, a belch of swamp gas, an accordion made of sparks that you grasp in both hands and squeeze to hear music, but she explodes in your face. Aurora was born in water; the rain makes Papa wonder if she’s splintering into an army of needles hailing down on him.
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