Shall I tell you a story? A new and terrible one? A ghost story?"
The voice, a faint echo in the cave, belongs to Felicity. She turns around on the rock, faces us, wraps her arms across bent knees, hugging them close. "Are you ready? Shall I begin? Once upon a time there were four girls. One was pretty. One was clever. One charming, and one..." She glances at me. "One was mysterious. But they were all damaged, you see. Something not right about the lot of them. Bad blood. Big dreams. Oh, I left that part out. Sorry, that should have come before. They were all dreamers, these girls."
Felicity...," I start, because it's her and not the story that's beginning to frighten me.
You wanted a story, and I'm going to give you one." Lightning shoots across the cave walls, bathing half her face in light, the other in shadows. "One by one, night after night, the girls came together. And they sinned. Do you know what that sin was? No one? Pippa? Ann?"
Felicity." Pippa sounds anxious. "Let's go back and have a nice cup of tea. It's too cold out here."
Felicity's voice expands, fills the space around us, a bell tolling. "Their sin was that they believed. Believed they could be different. Special. They believed they could change what they were--damaged, unloved. Cast-off things. They would be alive, adored, needed. Necessary. But it wasn't true. This is a ghost story, remember? A tragedy."
The lightning's back, a big one, two, three of light that lets me see Felicity's face, slick with tears, nose running. "They were mislead. Betrayed by their own stupid hopes. Things couldn't be different for them, because they weren't special after all. So life took them, led them, and they went along, you see? They faded before their own eyes, till they were nothing more than living ghosts, haunting each other with what could be. What can't be.
He plants his feet stubbornly, adopting what he must think is an heroic post. He's just begging for a pigeon to fly by and relieve itself.
Libba BrayStichwörter: humor
To each his own magic.
Libba BrayI know I've done the right thing but I couldn't feel worse about it, and I suppose that is part of what it is to lead.
Libba BrayHow terrible it is to have no cares, no longings. I do not fit. I feel too deeply and want too much. As cages go, it is a gilded one, but I shall not live well in it or any cage, for that matter.
Libba BrayPlease do not strain yourself, Miss Doyle. I won't have my girls going cross-eyed in the name of art.
Libba BrayStichwörter: humor
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If you tell them what they want to hear, they don't bother to try to see.
Libba BrayDas Zitat auf Deutsch anzeigen
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And when I wake, the room is white with the morning sun. The light is so bright it hurts my eyes. But I don't dare close them. I won't. Instead, I try to adjust to the dawn, letting the tears fall where they may, because it is morning; it is morning, and there is so much to see.
Libba BrayI change the world, the world changes me.
Libba BrayStichwörter: inspirational world change gemma-doyle
Mawah meenon ne le plus poohlala," I say with an affected bow.
Libba BrayStichwörter: gemma-doyle the-sweet-far-thing
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