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Our love was a temporary madness, erupting like the prominent tidal waves that leaps giant, then subsides into the soft decay of the ocean. We were so entwined together, so wrapped up into each other's lives and love, that it was inconceivable that we would ever part. Because that was the kind of love that Trysten and I had. Something so unrelentless, and strong. Fearful! We had a love that was so restless, so urgent, so agitated. It was not the recitation of our promises of our eternal passion that we shared within the wild beating of our hearts, rather it was the desire that we had for one another in a most rapturous way. It was knowing that every special moment of the day was going to be well spent kissing each others lips, and loving each other in the most promiscuous of ways, and when we weren't kissing or loving, then imagining so. This was the truth of our love. We weren't just in love, rather we were what love was all about, and why it existed in the first place; and it burned through every cell of our body like a hot fire that could never be contained. (this is from my second book DESCEND - a mermaid series) ↗
You get up every morning then life happens to you. You just have to have the right stuff to get through it. ↗
One morning at the end of the two years, as I was writing a letter to his dictation, he came and bent over me, and said--"Jane, have you a glittering ornament round your neck?" I had a gold watch-chain: I answered "Yes." "And have you a pale blue dress on? I had. He informed me then, that for some time he had fancied the obscurity clouding one eye was becoming less dense; and that now he was sure of it. ↗
Ik riep: “Doornroosje! Je bent ternauwernood meer van belang! Ternauwernood… Nog net wel. Nog niet helemaal niet. “Ik houd ternauwernood oneindig veel pijnlijk nauwgezet en desalniettemin niet voor herhaling vatbaar nog net wel van jou”, zei ik. En niet lang daarna: “Ik houd ternauwernood oneindig veel op zijn minst overdadig en onomkeerbaar pijnlijk nauwgezet bijna achteloos en desalniettemin niet voor herhaling vatbaar nog net wel van jou.” “Van wie?” (riepen de denkbeeldige meeuwen) “Van wie? Van wie?” “Van Doornroosje”, zei ik, buiten adem. ↗
Oh, they'll never believe a woman could solve such puzzles. They'll just assume I'm humoring you by editing it myself and allowing you to put your name to it." She raised her eyebrows. "But you wouldn't be." He humphed. "They'll never hear me admit it." "I will," she said, a smile curving her lips. He shrugged. "They'll believe me, not you. ↗
At one point in the story, following a brazen daytime bank robbery, Electro is shown escaping from the authorities by climbing up the side of a building, as easily as Spider-Man . . . we see one observer exclaim, "Look!! That strangely-garbed man is racing up the side of the building!" A second man on the street picks up the narrative: "He's holding on to the iron beams in the building by means of electric rays—using them like a magnet!! Incredible!" There are three feelings inspired by this scene. The first is wonder as to why people rarely use the phrase "strangely-garbed" anymore. The second is nostalgia for the bygone era when pedestrians would routinely narrate events occurring in front of them, providing exposition for any casual bystander. And the third is pleasure at the realization that Electro's climbing this building is actually a physically plausible use of his powers. ↗
Bram stared into a pair of wide, dark eyes. Eyes that reflected a surprising glimmer of intelligence. This might be the rare female a man could reason with. "Now, then," he said. "We can do this the easy way, or we can make things difficult." With a soft snort, she turned her head. It was as if he'd ceased to exist. Bram shifted his weight to his good leg, feeling the stab to his pride. He was a lieutenant colonel in the British army, and at over six feet tall, he was said to cut an imposing figure. Typically, a pointed glance from his quarter would quell the slightest hint of disobedience. He was not accustomed to being ignored. "Listen sharp, now." He gave her ear a rough tweak and sank his voice to a low threat. "If you know what's good for you, you'll do as I say." Though she spoke not a word, her reply was clear: You can kiss my great wolly arse. Confounded sheep. ↗
A near half hour passed as Salvatore weaved his way through the winding tunnel, his steps slowing as he tilted back his head to sniff the air. The scent of cur was still strong, but he was beginning to pick up the distant scent of other curs, and…pure-blood. Female pureblood. Coming to a sharp halt, Salvatore savored the rich vanilla aroma that filled his senses. He loved the smell of women. Hell, he loved women. But this was different. It was intoxicating. “Cristo,” he breathed, his blood racing, an odd tightness coiling through his body, slowly draining his strength. Almost as if… No. It wasn’t possible. There hadn’t been a true Were mating for centuries. “Curs,” Levet said, moving to his side. “And a female pureblood.” “Si,” Salvatore muttered, distracted. “You think it’s a trap?” Salvatore swallowed a grim laugh. Hell, he hoped it was a trap. The alternative was enough to send any intelligent Were howling into the night. “There’s only one way to find out.” He moved forward, sensing the end of the tunnel just yards in front of him. “Salvatore?” Levet tugged on his pants. Salvatore shook him off. “What?” “You smell funny. Mon Dieu, are you…” With blinding speed, Salvatore grasped the gargoyle by one stunted horn and yanked him off his feet to glare into his ugly face. Until that moment, he hadn’t noticed the musky scent that clung to his skin. Merda. “One more word and you lose that tongue,” he snarled. “But…” “Do not screw with me.” “I do not intend to screw with anyone.” The gargoyle curled his lips in a mocking smile. “I am not the one in heat. ↗
The lesson learned: never take your loved ones for granted. And if you're ever lucky enough to find that one person in life who makes you love more than any other person could possible make you love, you treat every day together as if it were your last. You cherish every moment. ↗
