Asia

“Dusk had fallen. Outside the lanterns in the garden were being lit, a string of stars strewn across the grounds. She had missed this room, who Nikolai became in this room, the man who for a moment might let the mantle of king fall away, who trusted her enough to close his eyes and fall in to dreams as she stood watch. She needed to get back to the Little Palace, check on Princess Ehri, talk to Tamar, forge a plan. But this might be the last time she saw him this way.

At last she rose and turned down the lights.

"Don't go," he said, still half asleep.

"I have to bathe. I smell like a forest fire."

"You smell like wildflowers. You always do. What can I say to make you stay?" His words trailed off in to a drowsy mumble as he fell back asleep.

Tell me it's more than war and worry that makes you speak those words. Tell me what they would mean if you weren't a king and I weren't a soldier. But she didn't want to hear any of that, not really. Sweet words and grand declarations were for other people, other lives.

She brushed the hair back from his face, planted a kiss on his forehead. "I would stay forever if I could," she whispered. He wouldn't remember anyway.”
― Leigh Bardugo, Rule of Wolves

“Hands- there were hands on my shoulders, shaking me, squeezing me. I thrashed against them, screaming, screaming-

'FEYRE.'

The voice was at once the night and the dawn and the stars and the earth, and every inch of my body calmed at the primal dominance in it.

'Open your eyes,' the voice ordered.

I did.

My throat was raw, my mouth full of ash, my face soaked and sticky, and Rhysand- Rhysand was hovering above me, his eyes wide.

'It was a dream,' he said, his breathing as hard as mine.

The moonlight trickling through the windows illuminated the dark lines of swirling tattoos down his arm, his shoulders, across his sculpted chest. Like the ones I bore on my arm. He scanned my face. 'A dream,' he said again.

Velaris. I was in Velaris, at his house. And I had- my dream-

The sheets, the blankets were ripped. Shredded. But not with a knife. And that ashy, smoky taste coating my mouth...

My hand was unnervingly steady as I lifted it to find my fingers ending in simmering embers. Living claws of flame that had sliced through my bed linens like they were cauterising wounds-”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“Hello,' he said, almost shyly, as he approached the table. He was barefoot and shirtless, and adorably tousled, with golden hair falling over sparkly eyes that looked as if they were still waking up.

'Hi.' Her voice came out oddly shy as well, which only seemed to make Jacks smile.

'You didn't have to sneak out of bed,' he said.

'I didn't sneak.'

'Then why didn't you stay?' He casually slid in to the seat beside her and turned to her with a wolfish grin. It was a smile like a fairytale, part villain, part hero, part impossible ever after.

She couldn't bear how much she loved it.

But then she remembered the stone. She imagined she'd feel differently if it was in an iron box, and she feared that Jacks would, too. That he wouldn't be looking at her as if he wanted to devour her instead of the breakfast.

'Tomorrow, I won't let you leave so easily.' His eyes flashed with mischief, and he stole a bite of her toast.

The gesture was so simple and so comfortable, and all she could think was that it would be so easy to stay here. 'I thought you said it was just one night.'

'I thought you never believed what I said.' He shook his head reproachfully and tugged her on to his lap.

'Jacks-' Evangeline put a hand against his chest. She could feel his heart was pounding, which surprised her. On the outside, he looked so casual and careless, but now she imagined he felt as nervous as she did. It made her want to pull him closer, to press her head in to his shoulder and tell him all the things that she was trying not to feel.

She wrapped her arms around his neck , and for a second she held tight. She held him as if he was hers and she was his, and there was nothing else between them. No curses. No lies. No past wounds or mistakes. She held him as if there was only now, as if nothing else mattered but this moment. Then she let him go. She shoved off his laps with clumsy arms and even clumsier legs that stumbled as she tried to step back.

'Evangeline... what's wrong?' A line creased between his brows.

'This isn't real, Jacks. You and I, we're under the influence of the mirth stone.'

'You think you would only feel this way about me because of a rock?' Jacks' mouth clamped shut. For a moment he looked angry, but she looked in his eyes, all she could see was hurt.”
― Stephanie Garber, The Ballad of Never After

“Then we looked back and saw where the clear line of Dracula’s castle cut the sky; for we were so deep under the hill whereon it was set that the angle of perspective of the Carpathian mountains was far below it. We saw it in all its grandeur, perched a thousand feet on the summit of a sheer precipice, and with seemingly a great gap between it and the steep of the adjacent mountain on any side. There was something wild and uncanny about the place. We could hear the distant howling of wolves. They were far off, but the sound, even though coming muffled through the deadening snowfall, was full of terror.”
― Bram Stoker