November 5th, 2004

Estie

Memsheepage.

Stolen from epicyclycal, the most recent link in a long chain of thievery:

If you happen to be working on some creative writing project, fanfiction or NaNoWriMo or what have you, post exactly one sentence from each of your current work(s) in progress in your journal. It should probably be your favorite or most intriguing sentence so far, but what you choose is entirely your discretion.

Most of them are two or three sentences. Deal.

I did eventually make it to the lab without losing control of the truck, and I felt only the faintest and briefest pangs of guilt as I hooked the parking pass I'd stolen from Azira's apartment over the rearview mirror. I'd been worried that the parking garage wards would refuse to accept her authorization, that a message would pop up saying "permit invalid, holder transfigured into horrifying creature of destruction," but apparently I was going to be the first person in the world to use the sluglike pace of the University Parking and Transportation Department for good instead of evil.

Most mystics take years to discover their connections to the Other Side, but Miss Odessa Hematite discovered her calling at three weeks of age.

It's not that I really have a paranoia about being followed, but I hate having headlights behind me on a deserted road. Because invariably those lights will start to flash - not the flicker of a bulb turning off and on, but the sudden darkness of a tree or a barricade passing between you and the light.
And if it's dark and you're more interested in the road, maybe you don't notice that there's not always a tree or a barricade behind you.

"I'm not used to children," she said, stating the obvious, "but I do know that a warm, dry place is good for all young things. It's too late to take you back to your warm, dry place tonight, so you'll have to settle for mine for the time being."
Emerald took the proffered hand and pulled herself up, hopping over a large root to stand by the crone. "Not fish," she said to herself.

"Even the god of second sight doiesn't believe every vision he sees. I of all people should know."

After years of staring at herself in the mirror, Rossalind can just barely identify which features came from which side of the family.