I should hate to be a regular girl with a sugar-plum voice. I should hate to have swan-like lashes, and a thick, sooty neck. I sound as though I’m joking, I know, but I should truly hate to be like Leanne, so charming and ordinary and stuffed with clichéd feelings. I’m glad I’m the ice maiden. Who wants to be crying over every stray dog? Not I.
Scratch my surface and what do you see? More surface.
My own mask stayed just where it ought. I’ve had lots of practice.
Franny BillingsleyYou don’t mind when he stares at you.” Cecil jerked his head toward Eldric.
"He doesn’t stare,” I said. “He looks.
Sometimes, of course, the sister’s the wicked one, not the stepmother.
Franny BillingsleyHow true, lamentably true. I’m sorry, Father. I do not love my neighbor as myself.
Franny BillingsleyThere’s such a thing as being irritatingly ethical,” said Eldric. “That’s you, right now.”
That’s a pleasant change. Witches are rarely accused of being irritatingly ethical.
“I’ve swigged.” I handed the bottle to Eldric. “Or is it swug?”
“Swug,” said Eldric. “It is in bad-boy circles, at least.” He swug. “It tastes much better outside church.”
“It’s the picnic principle,” I said. “Things taste better outdoors. And if it’s a forbidden thing, so much the better.
Mots clés ethics forbidden-things
Life and stories are alike in one way: They are full of hollows. The king and queen have no children: They have a child hollow. The girl has a wicked stepmother: She has a mother hollow. In a story, a baby comes along to fill the child hollow. But in life, the hollows continue empty.
Franny BillingsleyMots clés reality stories hollows
We laughed a lot and I grew warmer still, lovely and warm. I do realize that some of that warmth was due to the wine, but there was much more to it than that. There are two distinct aspects to Communion wine: one aspect is the wine itself, the other is the idea of communion. Wine is certainly warming, but communion is a great deal more so.
Franny BillingsleyMots clés laughter wine warmth
This is the difference between Eldric and me. Had it been my job to transform the garden, I would have removed the clothesline. Clotheslines always make me think of undergarments, and although I’ve never been to Japan, I don’t imagine a memory-whiff of undergarments is at all À la Japonaise.
Franny BillingsleyMots clés humor
Poor Cecil, consumed by a grande passion, only to be told to compress his love manifesto into a haiku. “I won’t try to excuse my behavior,” he said. “It was despicable.”
Or a limerick.
There once was a rotter named Cecil,
Whose Love Interest wished he could be still.
Oh well. Unlike some, at least, I’ve never pretended to be a poet.
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