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...wings—-vast shimmering wings, their reach so great they swept the walls on either side of the alley, each feather like the wind-tugged lick of a candle flame.
Laini Taylor
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Laini Taylor
Age: 53
Born: 1971
Born: December 11
Author
Novelist
Writer
Chico
California
Reach
Swept
Wall
Feathers
Wind
Flame
Tugged
Side
Candle
Shimmering
Either
Walls
Lick
Sides
Flames
Alley
Great
Vast
Feather
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Wings
Alleys
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And I've found that since you can't electrify yourself like a fence, the next best thing is to have murderer's eyes.
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Thank you, but we respectfully decline your overture, being more enjoyably occupied at present.
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It was funny, she thought, but her smile turned wistful because she had nobody to tell.
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It was as if she had emitted a pulse of radiation that reached him even where he stood, and it bathed him and it burned him.
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We dreamed together of the world remade.
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You have only to begin, Lir. Mercy breeds mercy as slaughter breeds slaughter. We can’t expect the world to be better than we make it.
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But he is pretty. God, I hope he's not an asshole. Do you think there's any chance he's both non-orifice and single? I mean, seriously. What are the chances?
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She stabbed him in the armpit, deep, and he dropped his sword. And died. So that's what is feels like, she thought as her boldness gave away to trembling. It feels awful.
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How could you tell if your instincts were just hope in disguise, and if your hope was really desperation parading as possibility?
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When it turned out that he could, Karou dropped to her knees to genuflect. Gods of math and physics, she intoned, I accept your gift of this clever fair-haired boy
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It was interesting the way a small hate could grow inside a big hate and take it over.
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Oh, gross. Your stomach is full of butterfly barf!
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The goblins want girls who dream so hard about being pretty their yearning leaves a palpable trail, a scent goblins can follow like sharks on a soft bloom of blood. The girls with hungry eyes who pray each night to wake up as someone else. Urgent, unkissed, wishful girls. Like Kizzy.
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Jael returned the lazy smile. You're not my type. Well, you're not anybody's type, said Hazael. No, wait. I take it back. My sword says she'd like to know you better.
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A pause came between them, and it was so full of Akiva that Karou imagined she could smell him.
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The thing he wished for most was a thing he had never wished for at all, not until he had discovered her. And it came true that night, and many nights after. A brief and shining span of happiness, it was the pivot point around which his whole life spun.
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It seemed she was in a cathedral—if, that is, the earth itself were to dream a cathedral into being over thousands of years of water weeping through stone.
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To a new generation of butterflies, hopefully less stupid than last. Maybe they were burgeoning even now in fat little cocoons. Or maybe not.
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Don't I deserve to finally be free of you?
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