She could now run up the twisted stairs as easily as a skilled musician played a harp.
Category: fiction
This Textured Darkness, 58
Learning to work the twisted stairs was like learning a language.
Intro to “Nonna” (A Harshbarger Mills Story)
The King, alive on a hot pink tee shirt, lives again. Of the four poses, this one is his favorite. This is the way he would look, Reuben decided, if he were a star.
This Textured Darkness, #57
There are twenty one steps above, each designed to break a leg or crack a skull.
This Textured Darkness, #56
Releasing the gonfalon, Mirella had managed to take two steps before falling flat.
This Textured Darkness, #55
Mirella had run the halls, feeling as though she owned everything in sight.
This Textured Darkness, 54
The Red Robes were watching the crowd. If she were caught using the secret passageway, no excuse would spare her.
This Textured Darkness, #53
“Ah, the little Shivelite girl,’ Lord Birknell sounded sympathetic while peering down her bodice. “May I be of assistance?”
This Textured Darkness, #52
“I must find my handkerchief. I lost it in the press of the crowd.” Mirella said.
“You’ve got a secret,” Bresca’s eyes narrowed.
This Textured Darkness, #51
Fresco’s eyes, described by the poet’s as limpid pools, were now surprisingly alert.
