She had no scent, no odour at all, only perhaps the faintest fragrance in her hair, like the clean fur of a cat that had been out on a chill moonlit night....The wrists, they were icy cold, dipped up from some lake within a piano of snow mountains, rinsed in liquid music, over and over, they burned ten freezing notes across my mouth. ~Tanith Lee (The Book of the Damned). #rediscoveringthejoyofhighfantasy
Posted on: Sat, 15 Jun 2013 02:51:11 +0000
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