The mountain was listening very closely, watching the wind blow faint tendrils of her hair, catching the warmth of her breath.
Lady Percivalia sat motionless for as long as she could so that she could savor the thrill.
Dollies were the chore of my life: winding them, mending gears, and keeping good care of their pricier parts which pleasured the men.
Pirates of the highest tier raided poetry itself.
“If it was the last skin you wore,” he said, “would you take it?”
I wake to find another finger gone.
My hands were reading the elaborate carvings on the fireplace when I heard two halting footsteps behind me.
His eyes, shining yellow in the night, were the ones I remembered from the day I had lost my heart.