My memory needed refreshing on technique.
Fesh will be so pleased. He said you would be back soon. The same as I can with him. He always brings a languid smile to her face. Wanderlust tickles her feet. And then, with a zip, she races away toward her mate. The sound of tiny wind chimes trails after her.
The Bang, the End Was Just the Beginning: An Epic Tale
Proximity effects the telepathic connection. I tie my slippers slowly. Not anymore. Not since I made my position clear.
I open the door, surprising a maid as she hurried from one place to another. Her eyes widen when she sees my bare face.
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I am a princess that will never be queen. A blighted daughter that will never become a mother. My brother was always the hero. After his marriage, he brought his wife to meet us. She delighted me, captivating me with her sometimes sardonic humor and unintentional disregard for our ways. I let myself into his rooms without hesitation. From the balcony off of his living quarters, I study the beautiful city formed from ancient stone by my ancestors.
Circles of color illuminate the streets as Fae use their magic in their daily life. Each Fae possesses a shade of magic unique to them, and a rainbow of spheres dance in the light from the spire at the center of the acropolis. The scented breeze whispers of the blooms of the bell-vines growing inside my walled garden. Moisture rises up from the ground to water all our living things. Cisterns never run dry, and fountains sparkle, draped in diamond-water cascades. Leaf clippings from the thick-trunked Mergone branch fall around my bare feet.
Our lightstay lamps are made from cultivated Mergone wood. One spell can light a home all night. The Mergone are carefully cultivated here. I wiggle my toes in the soft grasses and hum a tune the musicians played while I ate mid-day meal. A zephyr stirs the dress I wear. Royalty employs the best seamstresses, skilled in magically animating prints.
And this dress is one of my favorites, giving me hope in the possibility of a happiness beyond. The fabric spins with moving reproductions of galaxies from across the realms. The ancient hardwood is the crown of my garden, surrounded by a lush green carpet and blooms of all shapes and colors. Seesha zooms by my head and then settles on my shoulder, moving in quick little jerks as she studies our surroundings.
Seesha had always dreamed of living in the majestic tree. Just outside their tiny home, we put a glassed-in swing. When either of them sits in it, the globe glows as bright as a lightstay spell lamp.theattitudemarketing.com/wp-includes/83/canot-cellulare-spia.php
(PDF) The Dulce Book | Corleone Mihai - paistifkotgastri.ga
All over our kingdom, when a Fae sees a Hum-Fairy, they are welcomed, invited in, provided a home, but the opportunity to refuse or move at any time. They are a good omen. But their lives are their own, their presence counted a blessing, no matter how short their stay. Capturing a Hum-Fairy, removing their free choice, is an offense punishable by exile. It was his way of sharing his travels with me. I lower my hands and the shears disappear. Dark eyes stare out at me from beneath the lifted foliage wing.
A shimmer wraps around the tall, masculine figure.
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She gasps. And then something closes. Like a box snapped shut. A muscular man wrapped in robes, his face hidden behind a wrap of linen, bursts out and bolts across the promenade to the thick bell-vines that grow up and over the highest wall. At the base of the bulwark, he glances over his shoulder at me. Moments stretch into something longer, as he stares at me and I stare at him.
Be the night to my moon. I shake my head to banish the errant thought. When he looks away, I tug at my skirts, lifting the hems as I go. In his hand, a glass box swings at the end of a chain. He hooks the metal loop to a spot on his belt. Inside the cube, Seesha presses her tiny hands against her prison. They will exile you. My hands tingle with the surge of energy they hold. The only formulas I can call to mind are my shears and a cloudburst.
With one hand I send a fluffy cloud to weep on his head, hoping desperately that the moisture will make the creepers slick. With the other, I send the shears toward the vines above him. But the snipping is too late and his hands must be more calloused than mine. When I reach the bottom of the barrier, I hesitate and press my ear to the thick stone. Footsteps are running away, but Seesha makes no sound.
My heartbeat thunders in my ears like galloping pasture hounds. I bite my bottom lip. Seesha needs my help, but my veil is in my room. I refuse. Reasons, I have plenty. They will miss her, and she is my friend. I grasp the gnarled branch, ignoring the bite of rounded barbs in my tender skin, hauling myself up the twisted vines, avoiding the snipped ones.
The wall is as wide as my arm is long, and I climb atop to stare over the city, trying to catch sight of the kidnapper. I can see the dark hood on the man receding into the distance, amid wandering shoppers and pedestrians in food row. I look at the street below. I turn my back to the street, blow three short breaths, and begin the descent. Half way down the wall, I run out of length. Now I have no choice but to drop. And then I land in a puddle of reality as my ankles roll and the balls of my feet meet the street.
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