5
" He tried to make me work. With him,” he says truthfully, just as a war hero, the owner of a strong voice, should.
“You are wrong, Yuan,” Mee-Hae says, half-worried and half-angry, her voice suddenly quivering. “He wanted to make you work. With or without him.”
“I have to stop him,” the Monk says.
“Am I the bait? "
― Misba , The Oldest Dance (Wisdom Revolution, #2)
6
" It's a laughable lock—one that you would use only to guard a graveyard. Not that anyone would trouble themselves invading a timber hut in a mangrove forest farther away from the Bay of Bengal. Still, how can someone live with a lock like that? Made of ancient iron, reeking of rust. It would need a primordial key to be twisted and turned, going through several moments of mechanical trouble until the old lock opens. Good luck if you can do that without breaking the key.
Oh! The key … Well, the owner of the hut has left the key right beside the lock, including instructions. The Monk, Yuan Yagmur—revealing his muscled arms from under his wide, dark shawl—takes the note (the one with instructions):
Please, scan your CRAB first before touching the key. For your own safety.
From what, you ask? It’s a surprise.
Enter without scanning if you want to find out.
—Mee-Hae Ra
"
― Misba , The Oldest Dance (Wisdom Revolution, #2)
17
" KNEES FOLDED, SPREAD FAR APART from each other, parallel to the floor—like those of a monk sitting in a lotus pose and peacefully meditating. Except, she’s not meditating; she’s dancing, and she’s not at peace. Sweat forming, flowing down her neck and cleavage, dampening her vest. Her fingers gripping her waist. Only her toes touch the ground to kick off and defeat gravity for one moment, until she drops back to the floor on just her toes, making it a flawless leaping-footwork of Bharatanatyam—a traditional dance.
Well, nearly flawless.
Soon, her one hand releases her waist in the middle of the dance, breaking the perfection of the footwork. She brushes nothing in particular from her face as if she’s pushing away her blue strands of hair, but she is not. Her hair is tied into a ponytail reaching her waist. No loose strands of hair are annoying her that she’d need to touch her face. At least, not during a dance. "
― Misba , The Oldest Dance (Wisdom Revolution, #2)
20
" Kusha felt a tinge of pride, exponentially multiplied by her Low-Grade inferiority complex, reading this footnote. It worsened when ads started coming up on her HOME page after reading it. The ads had horrible titles:
Dream Youth For The Low Grades.
Alternate Longevity.
A Secret Pleasurable Way To Youth.
Get Your Dream Citizenship With Pleasing Pleasure Contract.
The last one is for non-citizens, of course. At least, she’s a citizen. But when Kusha discovered how many unevolved men and women enter such contracts just for citizenship, it made her face crease. As if she’d caught a nasty smell. For a moment, she even thought, she hated every High Grade in the world, including everyone in her adoptive family. Right now, standing in front of Meera, the hatred swells. "
― Misba , The Oldest Dance (Wisdom Revolution, #2)