Eireann Thornton

“My dearest Miss Farthing, will you do me the unutterable honor of wearing this cheap bit of metal that will most likely turn your finger green, pretending to love and honor me as your husband for the purposes of subterfuge and stratagem?”
― Lisa Mantchev, Ticker

“And?” he murmurs.

“And . . . sapphire.” My voice fades into a whisper.

“For the angel of Joy.”

“Joy?” Magiano smiles, gently this time.

“Yes.” I look down, overwhelmed by sudden sadness.
“Because I can see so much of it in you.”
― Marie Lu, The Rose Society

“When are you putting me down?" he counters, no longer amused. "I mean, I've got an excellent view of your ass from here, but if you don't mind me staring -"
I drop him without thinking.
"Goddammit, Juliette - what the hell -"
"How's the view from down there?" I stand over his splayed body, arms crossed over my chest.
"I hate you.”
― Tahereh Mafi, Ignite Me

“Bah." Morpheus snags a paintbrush. "She should be draped in starlight and clouds, lace and softness. Nothing less should touch her skin." He points the bristles at Jeb. "I saw what you put Thomas in. You are not painting her into one of those goon suits. She is royalty. Dress her like royalty. Give her some glitter... some glitz. And a crown.”
― A.G. Howard, Ensnared