“I hear the voices every spring,” Mirella insisted. “It leads me to the Spring Calling of Spirits.”
Tag: This Textured Darkness
This Textured Darkness, #61
There was no disguising the dew on her feet or the altered expression in her eyes.
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, #59
She could now run up the twisted stairs as easily as a skilled musician played a harp.
This Textured Darkness, #57
There are twenty one steps above, each designed to break a leg or crack a skull.
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, #51
Fresco’s eyes, described by the poet’s as limpid pools, were now surprisingly alert.
This Textured Darkness, #49
The crowd was a river of confusion, pushing Mirella where she didn’t want to go.
This Textured Darkness, #48
“Give Oren Hunter a room full of air and light. Fresh rushes and women to attend his bathing.”
