It is easy to kill with a bow, girl. How easy it is to release the bowstring and think, it is not I, it is the arrow. The blood of that boy is not on my hands. The arrow killed him, not I. But the arrow does not dream anything in the night.
If I’d known then what I know now about fairy lore, I would have told my mother to burn that damned pillow and get those cursed teeth as far away from me as possible. Fairies and spirits aren’t generally known for altruism and charity, and a fairy bargain – even one so simple as trading a coin for a tooth – is a dangerous thing.
People like to invent monsters and monstrosities. Then they seem less monstrous themselves.
The town kept its secrets, and the Marsten House brooded over it like a ruined king.
He understood that the ghost existed first and foremost within his own head. That maybe ghosts always haunted minds, not places. If he wanted to take a shot at it, he’d have to turn the barrel against his own temple.
Plenty of humans were monstrous, and plenty of monsters knew how to play at being human.
There was a song in this forest, too, but it was a savage song, whispering of madness and tearing and rage.
No wonder men did not want women to wear bloomers. What could women accomplish if they did not have to continually mind their skirts, keep them from dragging in the mud or getting trampled on the steps of an omnibus? If they had pockets! With pockets, women could conquer the world!
You have written of these ‘’companions’’ as you call them. You say you were afraid of them. But do you know what really scares us? It is not things that go bump – or even hiss- in the night. Our fears are much closer than that. We are afraid of the things inside us.
When you predict the future, when you do so strongly and you cling to it, how much of that future do you then cause to happen?
My insane love for anthologies can be easily explained by the fact that I love the short story form, and by the fact that I love various accounts on a certain topic, in this case fairies.
Any decent human being, witch or otherwise, has the capacity to do good in this world. It’s merely a case of whether one chooses to do so.
It is said that far from the world of man, lies a cruel and mysterious forest. It lures in lost travelers with the promise of safety, only to devour them for all eternity.
That’s the secret to performance: conviction. The right note played tentatively still misses its mark, but play boldly and no one will question you. If one believes there is truth in art – and I do – then it’s troubling how similar the skill of performing is to lying. Maybe lying is itself a kind of art.
Notions of day and night no longer have any sense here. Only our brief moments of slumber allow us to mark our progress. As if everything in this world seemed continuous, permanent. For while there’s no cycle to form a rhythm in this subterranean universe, nothing here remains identical very long
Do as you will, but harm no one. What you give will be returned to you threefold. Fall in love whenever you can. Know that the only remedy for love is to love more
Demons are present in the world of men even when no image of them can be found. Their presence is asserted as a suggestion, a manner. They can be sensed in the curve of a line, in a heady fragrance, in the subtleties of certain colors.
There are many different types of beginnings. And who’s to say we haven’t imagined our lives up to this point? Who’s to say we haven’t been propelled into this world from a parallel universe?