Asian Fantasy Quotes

“She gave off a little neigh when I reached to touch her cheek. I fell in love with her immediately.
"You like her more than me," Edan pouted.
"That's not hard to do." I petted her mane again; then offered Edan a small smile. "But thank you.”
― Elizabeth Lim, Spin the Dawn

“Even in the deepest winter and the driest desert, hope springs eternal.”
― Joyce Chua, Land of Sand and Song

“There are those who seek glory over peace. Never leave your back facing them.”
― Joyce Chua, Land of Sand and Song

“Blame the ones who deceive, not those who trust.”
― Joyce Chua, Kingdom of Blood and Gold

“To hell with destiny. It will not make a plaything of me.”
― Joyce Chua, Kingdom of Blood and Gold

“Through the Dethwold, behind the wall of sleep, there is a castle between worlds and a walkway of stars leading to it.”
― Peter Hackshaw, The Darkest Core

“Pubu embodied femininity--- a perfect powdered face, poppy-red lips, painted brows, and a pleasing form doused in patchouli and amber. Jingling jade and gold bracelets encircled slender white wrists. A pink lotus flower opened and reopened at the crown of her ink-black upswept hair. Mist and waterfall spray covered her low-cut pale blue silk gown while enchanting golden, white, and red goldfish swam along the fabric, bobbing in constant motion.”
― Roselle Lim, Celestial Banquet

“Pubu is the waterfall minor goddess and her familiar is the fantail goldfish. She is the only minor goddess, though it is rumored that two others have faded into memory. She prides herself in her unparalleled beauty and sharp mind. Though she has many mortal male admirers, she prefers immortal company. Her latest failed dalliance with Senlin left her in a precarious position for the upcoming banquet.

-- CONCERNING MINOR GODS, EIGHTH SCROLL, GREAT LIBRARY OF XIANLING”
― Roselle Lim, Celestial Banquet

“The frostbite berries should work. They'd been used before when dealing with volatile, fiery ingredients like dragon's breath fungus, firebird nests, and ruby treasure arowanas. The berries, which were harvested in the northern Nomad territory, were a common staple in their diet and a big export. The properties of the fruit neutralized the dangerous aspects of powerful ingredients in temperature and spice level.”
― Roselle Lim, Celestial Banquet

“Pubu had an ethereal quality that mortals lacked--- no blemishes, perfect features, a sparkling aura meant to bewitch and enchant, and perfume reminiscent of mist-covered tea roses against a refreshing waterfall, her namesake. The goldfish on her elaborate robes jumped into the air and dove back into the aquamarine silk with a splashing plop.”
― Roselle Lim, Celestial Banquet

“I present to you honey passion nectar with ethereal exploding white peach boba."
The rare nectar was another luxury courtesy of the Celestial Banquet. At the auction house, it would command at least three hundred silver coins by the jar. The taste was a perfect amount of sweetness tempered by a sharp tang. The nectar came from pink and blue tropical flowers found only on Mutyan soil. Perfume from its petals were a noble favorite on the Continent.
On the other side of the table, Songwon whispered to Pubu.
The goddess lifted her wrist and made a spinning motion with her index finger.
A golden ribbon of nectar flowed out of the bowl to hover above our heads and make a looping chain design, with one end dipping into the smaller bowl of the boba. The nectar took the shape of a stairway to carry a string of obedient pink boba upward into the suspended design. The air filled with the fragrance of the honey passion mingled with the soft scent of white peaches.
One by one, each of the boba exploded into tiny pink blooms like New Year's sparklers above the petal cups.”
― Roselle Lim, Celestial Banquet

“I poured the silvery whites over my broth and used my chopsticks to make a mass of shimmering ribbons until the sauce transformed into a galaxy of miniature birds. I split the pot into three tureens--- one for Indulgence, his dragon, and one for the Empress.
The garnishing sauce was done.
As for the omurice, it'd be far more elaborate. I piled the fried rice into two separate mountains, ready for their canopy of gold. The trick was to cook the omelet evenly and then twirl it onto the rice, making a beautiful swirled blanket on top. I made a spicy gravy to dribble over it to give it a shine, and the final garnish was minced spring onions. The emerald green contrasted against the golden omelet.”
― Roselle Lim, Celestial Banquet

“Soon enough, the narrow sidewalks fill with the riotous dead: ghosts with bony faces and iron needles for hair, ghosts with multiple heads, ghosts with stinking, bulbous growths that ooze pus or acid. Ghosts with pinprick mouths and distended bellies, whistling hideously as they beg for food they cannot eat. Ghosts who have taken on animal traits, with claws or gills or spikes. Ghosts who look normal, yet their flesh is lighter than mist. Ghosts who are pools of inhuman darkness, ghosts with exploded bodies or bleeding eyes, ghosts who swing from lampposts by their own viscera, ghosts whose heads detach or whose necks unwind like ribbons, ghosts heaving with diseases and scabs, beautiful ghosts with white hair and red dresses who scream like air raid sirens. Ghosts who look like little old ladies or fragile young children until you touch them on the shoulder and they turn around, ravenous of tooth and shrieking with demonic fury.

Ghosts, ghosts, ghosts everywhere.

Spirits flow and tumble and streak through alleys, over railings, up concrete steps, in gutters and in sewers, from rooftops and electrical lines, clawing or baying at warded windows and protected doorways, coming after the unlucky living to cause torment or even death.

It is malice, but undirected malice; the wild, flailing trauma of many thousands of lives cut short through mass-scale violence. When the ghosts cannot find humans to torment, they turn on each other, bigger ones shredding smaller ones. For these are the years of war and devastation, when the distressed dead far outnumber the peaceful dead, and threaten to outnumber the fearful living.”
― Sunyi Dean, The Girl with a Thousand Faces

“Mercy opened her eyes. Well, the one eye, anyway. The ceiling was dripping, the walls wet with moisture. The central drain was flooding, seawater welling up, the reek of brine overpowering the stench of blood and filth; a welcome change.

And Sea Sister was there. That monstrous, ocean-drenched young woman, wearing the same ragged clothes. As always. “You,” Mercy rasped, through burst lips. “You are the key to all of this. Help me understand. Why is any of this happening to me, and why is it happening now?”

Sea Sister drifted over. With every step she drew closer, the level of water rose a little in the room until it was almost knee-deep. Mercy floated on her back, unable to move, neck twisted to keep the monster in her sights.

When she was standing with her knees against Mercy’s shoulders, Sea Sister stopped and peered down. Water dripped from the ends of her hair. Pearly eyes did not blink.

“I’ve been examined by every exorcist in the city, and they all tell me I’m not haunted,” Mercy said, words slurred through her busted lips. “But even if you’re not haunting me, even if you’re just a dream, you carry my secrets. And on the other side of you are all the memories that I’ve lost. I need to know what’s so bad and wrong about my past.”
― Sunyi Dean, The Girl with a Thousand Faces

“I recall your birth, though you do not. I remember that humid, quiet evening in 1922, your Mami laboring in the privacy of her cramped Hong Kong harbor flat. The bed was too hot, so she took to the floor, damp cloths easing her backache. Soon after, infant-you had the shock of emerging to the world, and being lifted to her chest by hands that were warm and kind.

It was one of the few times that your mother was any sort of gentle.

If that sounds like a harsh indictment of her, it isn’t meant to be. Mami grew up with war and natural disaster, the way other children are raised with siblings. She has suffered much.

When you were born, she tried to put aside her disappointment, and never quite succeeded. She had hoped for a studious boy, but got a careless girl; she hoped for more children, yet no others arrived. All her expectations were therefore pinned on you, and no one child can live up to that.”
― Sunyi Dean, The Girl with a Thousand Faces

“Somewhere to the south of your tiny refuge, Hong Kong is currently surrendering to Japan this very afternoon. The history textbooks will refer to this day as Black Christmas.

Soon, troops will move in to establish martial law and subjugate the population. Soon, thousands of men will die in prisons and POW camps, while thousands of women will face rape and sexual slavery. Thousands more will starve because there is no food coming into the ports, while many will die screaming from torture.

I cannot help most of them, and my heart bleeds for this.

The darkest hours of your city are here, and they will last for three years, eight months. The legacy of pain they leave behind will last even longer. It is everything your parents feared would happen, and more.”
― Sunyi Dean, The Girl with a Thousand Faces

“Mami should know better; she does know better. A child of three is wise enough to steer clear from the embrace of ghosts, because the past is an endless ocean on which we can sail forever without returning home. And the past is the only place the dead can take you, the only thing a spirit offers: moments long gone, days turned to dust.

But her future is a cold, narrow place. Of course she wants to sail on that endless ocean of the past, wants to spend her days lost in re-creations of a place where she felt happy. Tomorrow holds less and less interest for your mother.”
― Sunyi Dean, The Girl with a Thousand Faces

“I’m here,” you call out, feet planted in the sand.

Beneath the water, she smiles wide in answer.

Step free of your shirt and trousers. Throw your hair into a tucked bun, tie it tight, and leap into the cool green sea with hands splayed and knees bent. As the currents swirl round, you reach out, taking her extended hand; she pulls you close and the pair of you cut through the water at her knifing, lurching speed.

You play tag games in the water most afternoons, which of course you cannot ever win, even when she closes her eyes and twists a hand behind her back. Still, it’s fun. She catches fish, caging them in her long-fingered hands so that you can see them up close. Sometimes urchins, too, and once an octopus. The octopus isn’t afraid, and wraps a tentacle thoughtfully around your wrist before jetting off.

Sea Sister is as dangerous as the ocean itself. Logically, you know this. She has those teeth for a reason, and once or twice—when meeting a shark in the open waters—she has snapped her jaws in their direction. None of them stick around; animals have enough sense to recognize death when they see it.

But also like the ocean, Sea Sister is magical and beautiful, and you can’t get enough of her. Of the two options—spending time with a monster, or spending time with ghosts—you know which you’d rather choose.

Sometimes, she peers through the tendrils of her dark, water-logged hair, and you glimpse how others might see her: lurking, cruel, dangerous. A twisted and hungry creature. Sometimes, she will dance by spinning through the water in a whirl of gaunt limbs, a sight as terrifying as it is fascinating.

Then she smiles, dives, cavorts, and there is only Sea Sister again. Fierce and fiercely lonely, savage and savagely beautiful. She belongs only to you; the light that dazzles your eyes alone.

And you know with every filament of your being that these are the good days, the bright hours and best moments of your life, and that their like will never come again.”
― Sunyi Dean, The Girl with a Thousand Faces

“In the ocean, no one can cry without drowning. Sorrow is silent beneath the waves.”
― Sunyi Dean, The Girl with a Thousand Faces