It’s not just a boat. In her distressed state, she can’t quite bring the word to her mind just yet, but it’s something much, much more than a boat.
She has distant memories of a normal life, a happy childhood, protected in the small but solid castle that stood behind her now. Those memories were faint and distant, though, bleached away by years of pain, inhuman torment and the even more inhuman solitude that had come with it.
“You look beautiful,” Mother said to me again, one final time, as she placed a tender kiss on my forehead and slipped out of my dressing room, closing the double doors behind her.
I stared at my reflection in the dressing mirror and tried to see what she saw. Surely, the woman staring back was stunning. The image of bridal perfection. Black hair beaded and braided. Lips tinted. Cheeks flushed dark with rouge. Hazel eyes darkly lined and shaded. A hanging gold tikka on my forehead, encrusted with dazzling amethysts that matched the royal violet of my silk sari to perfection.
Regal. Elegant. Practically divine. So why were my eyes so devoid of light? Why did I feel so empty inside?
“Because you don’t love him,” he said to me, appearing on the window ledge, as though he’d been there all along. “You have never loved him, Maya.” Continue reading
The salt breeze brushed at the hair over Malcolm’s eyes, and the damp sand beneath his feet gave way ever so slightly to his weight as he stepped carefully, heel to toe.
He’d been here eighty-seven times since he first saw her. He’d spent his days off walking the shore from early morning until late at night, and he came early in the morning most other days, when he could. His friends were starting to drift away from him, throwing around words like “antisocial,” and “miser,” but they didn’t understand.
The cove was small, and hard to get to if the tide was high. Most people didn’t bother. This was where he saw her, though, and it was the only place he could guess that he might see her again.
Meanwhile, he’d read up a bit. There were stories out there… myths. Not from here—not from Santa Barbara, California, where big black trees loomed right on the edges of cliffs overlooking the sea—but from older worlds, Ireland and Scotland and the like. Places where magic really meant to have existed.
Maybe she was lost.
Only I could see him for what he really was.
Inhuman, dazzling, with skin that shimmered like starlight and strands of hair as fine and smooth as silk. Long and lean, well toned, he had the body of an athlete.
And his eyes, oh his eyes were like a tumultuous storm of colors no human was ever meant to see. An ageless abyss of wisdom that had seen horrors and felt the losses of multiple eternities.
Here’s another little insight into my WIP, Jethro. The pairing behind this set of ten drabbles (and any others I put out, as a matter of fact) will have to be a secret, as they contain some spoilery bits, but I couldn’t resist writing about this pairing, because it’s just about my favorite one in the series… so enjoy! The first installment of drabbles is here.
The last time she saw him, he’d broken her heart. Not in the normal, guys-are-jerks way. He was a traitor, an enemy—a lie. Worst of all was knowing that she still loved him, despite everything. She didn’t know if she could ever love anyone else.
Not all years were the same length. She didn’t mean in terms of days, like leap years—some years were just longer. Everyone knew the years went faster the older you got. Her first ten years were long ones, spent on lonely, empty hope. Her years right now were moving fast, moments slipping through her fingers before she can catch hold of them, before she can make them solid and real.