As he looked at me, he seemed to send a message of his own: that he would still fight for me, that he would fight until he collapsed to keep them from taking me.
Richelle MeadMy God, Sage. Your eyes. How have I never noticed them?" That uncomfortable feeling was spreading over me again. "What about them?" "The color," he breathed. "When you stand in the light. They're amazing... like molten gold. I could paint those..." He reached toward me but then pulled back. "They're beautiful. You're beautiful.
Richelle MeadLife and death were so unpredictable. So close to each other. We existed moment to moment, never knowing who would be the next to leave the world. I was still in it, barely, and as I looked up from the ashes, everything around me seemed so sweet and so beautiful. The trees. The stars. The moon. I was alive -- and I was glad I was.
Richelle MeadRose once told me about this poem sheโd read. There was this line, โIf your eyes werenโt open, you wouldnโt know the difference between dreaming and waking.โ You know what Iโm afraid of? That someday, even with my eyes open, I still wonโt know.
Richelle MeadWhere are we going?" asked Victor. "If I'm allowed to ask." I squirmed around in my seat so that I could look him in the eye. "That's what you're going to tell us. As hard as it is to believe, we didn't do all that just because we missed your pleasant company." "That is hard to believe.
Richelle Mead