A mortal had woven it, a man who, having caught sight of the Seelie queen, had spent the remainder of his short life weaving depictions of her. He had died of starvation, raw, red fingers staining the final tapestry.

I would remain nearer you for what time there is." "Gone in one faerie sigh," she quoted. Leather-clad fingers brushed over her short hair, rested on her cheek. "I can hold my breath.

The easiest lies to tell are the ones you want to be true.

Pet the cat dude," says Sam. "She brought you a present. She wants you to tell her how badass she is." "You are a tiny tiny killing machine." Daneca coos. "What's she doing?" I ask. "Purring!" says Daneca. She sounds delighted. "Good kitty. Who's an amazing killing machine? That's right. You are! You are a brutal brutal tiny lion! Yes, you are.

She knew what it felt like to tremble like that before touching someone -- desire so acute that it became despair.

A man may daydream of how he would spend a million dollars, but playing the same game with a billion dollars sours the fantasy. There are too many possibilities. The house he once wished for with all his heart is suddenly too small. The travel, too cheap. He wanted to visit an island. Now he contemplates buying one.

I need you to be happy. I need one of us to be happy.