66
" (From Danielle Raver's short story THE ENCHANTRESS)
Thick chains attached to the wall hold a metal collar and belt, restraining most of the tiger's movements. Open, bloody slashes cover his face and back, but he shows no loss of strength as he pulls on the chains and tries to rip the flesh of the surrounding humans with his deadly claws. Out of his reach, I kneel down before him, and his lightning-blue eyes cross my space for a moment.
“Get her out of there!” I hear from behind me.
“Numnerai,” I speak urgently to the tiger. “They will kill you!”
He growls and gnashes his teeth, but I sense he is responding to me.
“Great white tiger, your duty is to protect the prince. But how can you do that if they sink the end of a spear into your heart?” He looks at me for a longer moment. The fighters respond to this by growing still. In their desperation, they are overlooking my foolishness for a chance to save their fellows' lives. I crouch on my feet and begin to nudge closer to him. The tiger growls a warning, but does not slash out at me. “Think of the prince, protector of the palace. Right now he prays for you to live. "
― D.M. Raver , The Story Tellers' Anthology
72
" And one cold Tuesday in December, when Marie-Laure has been blind for over a year, her father walks her up rue Cuvier to the edge of the Jardin des Plantes." Here, ma chérie, is the path we take every morning. Through the cedars up ahead is the Grand Gallery." " I know, Papa." He picks her up and spins her around three times. " Now," he says, " you're going to take us home." Her mouth drops open." I want you to think of the model, Marie." " But I can't possibly!" " I'm one step behind you. I won't let anything happen. You have your cane. You know where you are." " I do not!" " You do." Exasperation. She cannot even say if the gardens are ahead or behind." Calm yourself, Marie. One centimeter at a time." " I'm far, Papa. Six blocks, at least." " Six blocks is exactly right. Use logic. Which way should we go first?" The world pivots and rumbles. Crows shout, brakes hiss, someone to her left bangs something metal with what might be a hammer. She shuffles forward until the tip of her cane floats in space. The edge of a curb? A pond, a staircase, a cliff? She turns ninety degrees. Three steps forward. Now her cane finds the base of a wall. " Papa?" " I'm here." Six paces seven paces eight. A roar of noise - an exterminator just leaving a house, pump bellowing - overtakes them. Twelve paces farther on, the bell tied around the handle of a shop door rings, and two women came out, jostling her as they pass.Marie-Laure drops her cane; she begins to cry. Her father lifts her, holds her to his narrow chest." It's so big," she whispers." You can do this, Marie." She cannot. "
75
" An ear-splitting screech pierced the silence, followed by another, striking his ears like metal against a hollow bell. The woosh woosh of wind being displaced brought Andrew’s attention skyward, and a glacial gust of paralyzing terror raced up his spine. The creature opened its mouth, and a blazing shaft of fire bellowed from above. Andrew barely had enough time to back beneath an awning for protection. Egnatious and Sebastian dove to the side while Firen sidestepped her impending doom, raising the katana in challenge.
The screeching returned, except now the howls were coming from every direction.
Firen’s chest heaved. “Did you see that?” she asked, her stormy eyes glinting with rapture and daring as she held her katana out, preparing for the next attack.
“Did I see the dragon?” Sebastian asked, hysteria dangerously rising to the surface. He stood and brushed himself off. “Yes, I bloody well did see that enormous, scaly, fire-breathing dragon. "
― Laura Kreitzer , Key of Pearl (Timeless, #4.5)
76
" When you go into the psych ward, you can’t have anything with you except colored pencils. You can’t have any electronics. If you have a drawstring on your pants, a belt, shoelaces, a hood, or extra-long fabric, your very clothes are ripped off your back. They search you with a metal detector like you’re a criminal, doing everything short of putting their hand up your butt. Before you go through those cold, automatic, barred doors, you know your life is not your own. This is especially true during the first week, while you stare at florescent lighting and wait impatiently for your meds to kick in. I wish I had remembered the psych ward prison cell a week ago. If I had, maybe I wouldn’t be wearing this hospital gown that they gave me until I can get more compliant clothes. "
― Jacquelyn Nicole Davis , Trace The Grace: A Memoir