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