The message was both brief and startling.” She is a witch,” sprawled a bold, masculine hand, “Burn her.”
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This Textured Darkness, #70
“And where is the Shivelite girl?” the old nurse demanded. “To whom is she talking? I trust no one.”
This Textured Darkness, #68
Mirella was late, very late. The Queen tried to control her fear by primping before her mirror, but only a mess of things, scattering both pots and jewels.
This Textured Darkness, #65
They’d dubbed her “The Peasant Queen”.
Nonna and Susie con’t (A Harshbarger Mills Story)
“It’s not old stuff,” I explain. “They call it Appalachian crafts. The woman who sold that awful quilt made three hundred dollars. You know what she told me? Her dog whelped on it.”
This Textured Darkness, #60
She yearned to reach out and touch him. It was an innocent wish for she was still a maid, but the need was real.
This Textured Darkness, 58
Learning to work the twisted stairs was like learning a language.
This Textured Darkness, #55
Mirella had run the halls, feeling as though she owned everything in sight.
This Textured Darkness, #48
“Give Oren Hunter a room full of air and light. Fresh rushes and women to attend his bathing.”
This Textured Darkness, #44
From Oren’s palm a small bird flew out. Small as a bee, the three spotted falcon grew to its actual size as it winged it way above the crowd.
