It's all a quilt of fairy tales with a patch here and there of truth.

She tastes like nectar and salt. Nectar and salt and apples. Pollen and stars and hinges. She tastes like fairy tales. Swan maiden at midnight. Cream on the tip of a fox’s tongue. She tastes like hope.

In all that was to happen, there would be that feeling of inevitability and rightness, and the sense that the universe was conspiring in it. It would be easy.

I am stardust gathered fleetingly into form.

Her courage was a guise. She wondered if courage always was, or if there were those who truly felt no fear.

I want to build spires in their minds and dance shadows through like marionettes, chased by whispers and hints of the unspeakable.

One world on its own is a strange enough seethe of coiling, unknowable veins of intention and chance, but two? Where two worlds mingle breath through rips in the sky, the strange becomes stranger, and many things may come to pass that few imaginations could encompass.