You think you're different.” Her voice wavered, and she hated sounding so weak. “You think you're all so different,” she went on, louder this time. “You do everything to be different,” she spat. The silence of the table -of the whole cafeteria- was reclaimed in an instant. "But you're not," she said at last. "You are just like every. Body. Else
Kelly CreaghMots clés isobel
And if you ruin it I own your soul.
Kelly CreaghMots clés varen-nevermore
Isobel watched as Varen’s head turned slowly toward her father. She couldn’t exactly tell with the sunglasses, but she somehow knew that he had to be staring down the false Poe with one of his most penetrating “you are the essence of lameness” expressions.
Kelly CreaghMots clés varen-nevermore
Is it also true that you drank to excess?” Isobel asked, flipping to the next index card.
Poe scoffed at the question, his response simply “Nyeh.”
Varen’s head snapped so quickly toward her father that Isobel was surprised the sunglasses hadn’t flown off.
“Well, sometimes,” Poe corrected himself. Shifting, he stooped in his seat.
Varen’s stare remained.
“Often,” Poe growled, angling away, pulling his already tight jacket around himself even tighter.
Mots clés poe varen-nevermore
You're really a blond," she said, her tone just short of accusatory.
"And if you tell anyone, I will come to you in the night and smote your everlasting soul.”
Promise? Isobel turned back to the piano quickly, shocked that she'd almost uttered this aloud.
You, strange puzzle of a girl, are very lucky.
Kelly CreaghHe leaned down, far enough that the dark ends of his hair brushed feather-light against her face, caught in her lashes, She had just enough time to take in a breath, to blink, to part her lips before he took them with his own.
Time froze. Her heart ceased to beat. Her eyes fluttered shut.
The cool slip of the small metal loop pressed into her skin as he kissed her.
Urgent.
Gentle.
So slow.
Sweet, soft demolition.
He tasted of cloves and coffee. And of something else. A farawat essence, familiar and yet somehow foreign, too. Something sere and arid.
A little like some.
A little like decay
Ash.
Mots clés love kissing perfect ash
Isobel’s face burned. Her skin tingled where he’d touched her, with an almost imperceptible electricity that she couldn’t be sure if she was imagining. Like the tips of her fingers had somehow fallen asleep.
Kelly CreaghMots clés nevermore varen-nethers isobel-lanley
Besides," Gwen added, fluffing the dress folds, "this thing took forever, so you're wearing it."
"Wait you made this?" Isobel asked, distracted.
"Altered it," she admitted. She shrugged. "Half off at the Nearly New Shop. By the way, you owe me twenty-five dollars.
Mots clés gwen nevermore isobel
So, you let me get through that whole spiel, my entire tirade, but weren't going to let me have the dramatic walkaway, were you?
Kelly CreaghMots clés nevermore dramatic-moment
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