Deya Quotes

She often wondered how many people felt this way, spellbound by words, wishing to be tucked inside a book and forgotten there. How many people were hoping to find their story inside, desperate to understand. And yet Deya still felt alone in the end, no matter how many books she read, no matter how many tales she told herself.

And yet even as she heard this old voice in her head, she could still feel the shift that had just occurred inside her. The old voice was no longer strong enough to hold her back—Deya knew this now. She knew this voice that she had always taken as the absolute truth was actually the very thing preventing her from achieving everything she wanted. The voice was the lie, and all the things she wanted for herself were the truth, perhaps the most important truth in the world. And because of this she had to stand up for herself. She had to fight. She had to. The fight was worth everything if it meant finally having a voice.

But what if I don't want to get married?' Deya had asked. 'Why does my entire life have to revolve around a man?

Sarah paused for a moment then said, "I don't care about being happy." Deya's surprise must have been written across her face because Sarah continued, "Too often being happy means being passive or playing it safe. There's no skill required in happiness, no strength of character, nothing extraordinary. It's discontent that drives creation the most—passion, desire, defiance. Revolutions don't come from a place of happiness. If anything, I think it's sadness, or discontent at least, that's at the root of everything beautiful.

She hadn't realized it meant marrying a man she barely knew, nor that marriage was the beginning and end of her life's purpose. It was only as she grew older that Deya had truly realized her place in her community. She had learned that there was a certain way she had to live, certain rules she had to follow, and that, as a woman, she would never have a legitimate claim over her own life.

Deya felt a rainbow bloom inside her.

But you barely know him,' Deya said now, the words slipping from her. Naeema looked at her, startled. 'Of course I know him!' she said. 'We've been talking on the phone for almost four months now.

Isra felt a sense of failure rising in her. She had tried her best to shelter her daughters from her sadness, they way she wished Mama had sheltered her...Sadness was like a cancer, she thought, a presence that staked its claim so quietly you might not even notice it until it was too late. She hoped her...daughters didn't see. Maybe Deya could even forget...Isra could still learn to be a good mother. Maybe she could still save them. Maybe it wasn't too late.

Deya walks between the library bookshelves now. They are thick and tall, each one twice as wide as her. She thinks about the stories stacked across the shelves, leaning against one another like burdened bodies, supporting the worlds within each other. There must be hundreds of them, thousands even. Maybe her story is in here somewhere. Maybe she will finally find it. She runs her fingers along the hardcover spines, inhales the smell of old paper, searching. But then it hits her, like falling into water. I can tell my own story now, she thinks. And then she does.

don’t care about being happy.” Deya’s surprise must have been written across her face because Sarah continued, “Too often being happy means being passive or playing it safe. There’s no skill required in happiness, no strength of character, nothing extraordinary. Its discontent that drives creation the most—passion,

If you believe Isra—a Palestinian immigrant, with no job or education and four children to look after, and who didn’t even speak English well—if you believe she had a choice, then that speaks volumes about the amount of choice a bright, educated Arab American girl like yourself has.” Sarah shot Deya a playful smile. “Don’t you think?

She often wondered how many people felt this way, spellbound by words, wishing to be tucked inside a book and forgotten there. How many people were hoping to find their story inside, desperate to understand. And yet Deya still felt alone in the end, no matter how many books read, no matter how many tales she told herself. All her life she'd searched for a story to help her understand who she was and where she belonged.

Sarah wanted to tell her the truth-- Deya did not doubt that. Surely Sarah had decided to be honest when she reached out to her. Only Deya didn't believe Sarah would give up the truth so easily. Not yet. She would have to wait until Sarah was ready. What choice did she have? In her head she likened it to reading. You had to finish a story to know all the answers, and life was no different. Nothing was ever handed to you from the start.

She had not yet understood what it meant to become a woman. She hadn’t realized it meant marrying a man she barely knew, nor that marriage was the beginning and end of her life’s purpose. It was only as she grew older that Deya had truly understood her place in her community. She had learned that there was a certain way she had to live, certain rules she had to follow, and that, as a woman, she would never have a legitimate claim over her own life.

Sarah paused for a moment then said, 'I don't care about being happy.' Deya's surprise must have been written across her face because Sarah continued, 'Too often being happy means being passive or playing it safe. There's no skill required in happiness, no strength of character, nothing extraordinary. It's discontent that drives creation the most-- passion, desire, defiance. Revolutions don't come from a place of happiness. If anything, I think it's sadness, or discontent at least, that's at the root of everything beautiful.

Deya started at her, her face twisted, unreadable. Fareeda knew her granddaughter could never understand how shame could grow and morph and swallow someone until she had no choice but to pass it along so that she wasn't forced to bear it alone. She searched for the right words now, but there were none that could explain it. Deep down she knew what she had done-- that she had pushed everyone away, that all she could do now was wait for the day when God would snatch her off this earth. She hoped it would be quick. What was the point in living, really, when you were life her-- a fist of loneliness clenched around an empty heart?

She could see the judgment brewing in their eyes. She could feel them observing how scared she was standing there, how unassuredly she moved, the garb she wore, and deciding instantly that they knew everything about her. Surely she was the victim of an oppressive culture, or the enforcer of a barbaric tradition. She was likely uneducated, uncivilized, a nobody. Perhaps she was even an extremist, a terrorist. An entire race of culture and experiences diluted into a single story. The trouble was, regardless of what they saw, or how little they thought of her, in her own eyes Deya didn’t see herself much better. She was a soul torn down the middle, broken in two. Straddled and limited. Here or there, it didn’t matter. She didn’t belong.

But she had learned about love through books, knew enough of it to recognize its absence in her life. Everywhere she looked, she was blinded by other forms of love, as if God were taunting her. From her bedroom window, she’d watch mothers pushing strollers, or children hanging from their father’s shoulders, or lovers holding hands. At doctors’ offices, she’d flip through magazines to find families smiling wildly, couples embracing, even women photographed alone, their bright faces shining with self-love. When she’d watch soap operas with her grandmother, love was the anchor, the glue that seemingly held the whole world together. And when she flipped through American channels when her grandparents weren’t looking, again love was the center of every show, while she, Deya, was left dangling on her own, longing for something other than her sisters to hold on to. As much as she loved them, it never felt like enough. But what did love even mean? Love was Isra staring dully out the window, refusing to look at her; love was Adam barely home; love was Fareeda’s endless attempts to marry her off, to rid herself of a burden; love was a family who never visited, not even on holidays. And maybe that was her problem. Maybe that’s why she always felt disconnected from her classmates, why she couldn’t see the world the way they did, couldn’t believe in their version of love. It was because they had mothers and fathers who wanted them, because they were coddled in a blanket of familial love, because they had never celebrated a birthday alone. It was because they had cried in someone’s arms after a bad day, had known the comforts of the words “I love you” growing up. It was because they’d been loved in their lives that they believed in love, saw it surely for themselves in their futures, even in places it clearly wasn’t.

Yaşamayı zor, meşakkatli, sıkıntılı kılan şeylerin başında, hayatın ayrılık üzerine kurulmuş olması yatıyor. Ayrılık da aslında kaybetmek demek. Her türden kaybediş. Sevdiğini, malını mülkünü, şanını şöhretini, sağlığını... Ayrılık, yani kaybetmek iki şekilde yaşanıyor. Bir ayrılık yaşadığımızda, bir şeyleri kaybettiğimizde hüzünleniyoruz. Hüzün, yitimin ve kaybetmenin duygusu. Bir de,'ya kaybedersem, ya olursa' şeklinde özetlenebilecek, bir olasılık olarak hissedilen kaybetme duygusu var ki bu durumda yaşadığımız şey de kaygı. Kaygı, kaybetme, ayrılma ihtimalinin duygusu. İnsanın daha olmamış olan yani aslında olmayan bir durum için, 'ya olursa' diye kaygılanması bana çok garip gelirdi, bunu hiç anlayamazdım. Sonra sen, insanın neredeyse hayatının çoğunu geçirdiği yerin muhayyile olduğunu söylediğinde anlayabildim ancak. Yani kaybetme, ayrılık kaygılarımızı, gerçek dünyada değil muhayyilemizde yaşıyoruz.

Amidst the shattered pieces of a broken life, may you find the strength to gather fragments of hope and forge a mosaic of resilience.

Within the monotony of a seemingly dull life, lies the canvas of possibilities, waiting for the vibrant strokes of your passions to turn it into a masterpiece of excitement.

That’s a really good way to look at things,” I chuckled. “How did your transmuting go?” Deya sent me a mischievous smile that made her violet eyes gleam. “I ate another griffin!

Not too bad,” Dragir replied, and he ran his hand over one of the glaives he’d given me. “My father is stepping down from his position as head of our House, so I will be taking his place very soon.” “No shit?” I asked. “I hope his health isn’t declining again.” “No, he is more energetic than ever,” Dragir informed me with a wry look. “With Deya gone, he seems to have found a new passion in his life. Now, he spends all day behaving like a tyrant. Even the warriors avoid going near him. I suggested he spend some time at the caves by the sea to recollect himself, and he barred me from my own home for opening my mouth. It is of no concern, though. I prefer the caves anyways.” “Shit,” I muttered. “He’s pretty pissed at me then?” “Yes and no.” The elf shrugged

Dragir finished his goblet and reached to refill my own. “I’m not going to gut you,” he said, and his tone was almost conversational as he continued. “I prefer slicing the neck, to be honest. It’s more fun.” I considered this. “I like blowing their faces off,” I admitted. “The rifle is pretty fun in that way. Don’t tell Deya, though, she shocks kind of easily. I told her I go for quick and painless, which is usually true but … Nalnora seems to play by different rules.

Miss Deya,” the leader finally said, and his tone was the condescending sort I’d only heard people use with children. “You come from a simpler way of living, I know, and although your father certainly has the best intentions, I must alert you to the fact that this is an inexcusable arrangement. You cannot expect a halfling to protect you. You cannot trust their kind. This creature will likely turn on you, and if it does not, you will certainly lose much esteem here in the capital to be seen in this sort of … company.” My pulse kicked up a notch as one of the sons sneered at Aurora, but Deya seemed unphased by the leader’s speech. “It’s very generous of you to consider my reputation as carefully as you do your own,” she assured him, “however I would not dismiss Miss Solana for anything.” The elven beauty wound her slender arm around Aurora’s affectionately. “Miss Solana absolutely loves burning men alive for me. She’s irreplaceable.” Deya sent a sweet smile to the three sons, and I tried not to laugh at the expression on their faces.

You think about having sex with me while you murder people?” I clarified as we returned to the market. The Baroness shrugged. “Between tasks, yes. I spent over an hour stalking a young lord around Serin, so I had little else to think about.” “I see,” I muttered. “And what happened?” “You pinned me on my knees like the first time you fucked me at the Oculus, and every time I moaned for more, you choked me a little tighter. It was fantastic.” My eyebrows shot up as I quickly glanced around. “Okay, I meant what happened after you stalked the lord, but good to know I need to choke you more often.” “Oh,” the Baroness chuckled. “I killed him, of course. The poor man took an unexpected fall into the canal, and it didn’t seem to matter how much I prodded him with a post, he just stayed beneath the surface until there was nothing to be done.” “Fucking hell,” I snorted a I steered us to a less crowded part of the lane. “What did he do to deserve that?” “I don’t know, I didn’t listen to the man who paid me to do it,” Nulena sighed. “I was too annoyed during our meeting because he kept staring at my breasts every three seconds. So, I decided to go back and kill him once I finished with the lord. He certainly wasn’t staring at my breasts after I gouged his eyes out with a broken ink bottle and shoved a letter opener through his neck.” I took a steadying breath while I tried not to envision any of this. “Well, I’m glad you had a nice time at work.” “I did,” Nulena purred as she sent me a glittering smile. “Not the most satisfying endeavors, but I’m making do with what I have. The best part is the ink bottle man owned seven of the markets in Serin, and no one will find where I hung his body for at least three days. Shipments will be missed, wages will be disrupted, and we can only hope lives are lost over an inheritance battle. The filthy swine had eleven children. Can you believe the gall of him? I did find a moment to steal several nice things for Deya from a line of carriages at the castle, though, and only two footmen died in the process.” “That’s sweet,” I chuckled. “Out of curiosity, where did you hang the ink man’s body?” Nulena sent me a devious grin as we crossed my bridge. “At the sacred garden of the gods, of course. Right above the ceremonial altar.” “Nulena,” I groaned. “Come on, it’s funny!” the Baroness laughed. “The next ritual gathering is in three days, and thanks to me, it will be supremely uncomfortable.” “Alright, but don’t be surprised if the gods end up smiting you for this one,” I mumbled

Mason has more land than Aeris,” Deya informed them, and Cayla’s cheeks flushed on the spot. “Does he?” the princess asked breathlessly as I snuck another finger inside of her. “Twice as much,” Deya assured her. “We could build a palace on this much land.” “We could have our own dungeon to torture our enemies with this much land,” Aurora added, and all four women looked at me expectantly. “I mean … I don’t fucking care,” I chuckled. “Anything you want. Sure.

How’d it go?” I asked as I quickly closed the gap between us, and I knelt in front of her to rub her arms since they were covered in goosebumps. “Is everything alright?” “Yeah.” I nodded. “Okay … did you see anything suspicious?” “No.” Now, I cocked a brow and straightened up a bit. “Are you still Deya?” “Uh-huh,” the elf replied, and she forced a smile. “Just … it was fine. All fine. Nothing important. I’m fine.” “Are you sure? Because you seem kind of--” “I saw my brother having sex, and I can’t unsee it,” Deya blurted out, and my brows shot up. “Oh! That’s … shit,” I managed. “Yeahhh,” she sang, and her voice went up several uncomfortable octaves. “I think it was with Rhys’ wife, too, so … there’s that.” “With Aliasa?” I chuckled. “Damn! Dragir, you dog.” Deya furrowed her brows, though, and I immediately sobered as best as I could. “I mean damn, what a dog. That’s … rude.” “Let’s just move on,” Deya suggested. I nodded. “Definitely.

Defender Solana stays with me,” she told him sweetly. “You keep her like a pet,” Luir said. “How adorable.” I half-expected Aurora to light his silver hair on fire right then, but she sent the leader a coy smile as she pulled Deya from his arm. “Meow … ” she murmured.

Still … if Dragir took much more time making up his mind, I’d probably plant my fist through his arrogant face. I had begun to seriously entertain the idea when the leaves rustled at the edge of the house, and the beautiful elven woman emerged. Dragir flicked his eyes to her. “Go inside, Deya,” he growled. Deya held her violet eyes steadily with his own as she slowly came to his side, and she rested her hand on his shoulder as she spoke softly. Her words were in Elvish, but they sounded tender and sincere, and her brother’s face finally lost its hostile edge. His gaze drifted to the ground as he listened, and when Deya finished speaking, she waited patiently for a long moment before Dragir gave a small nod. Deya turned her violet eyes to me, and my heart kicked an extra beat as her beauty caught me off guard again. “We accept,” Deya said. “Thank you for your kindness. It means the world to us.” I only nodded in response, because I’d lost track of where my mouth connected to my brain. Then the elven woman raised her pale hand and gestured for us to follow her around the side of the house. We moved to join her, but Dragir’s hand snapped out at the last second, and he locked his grip around Aurora’s elbow. “Not her,” he growled. And that was my limit. “Alright,” I sighed, just before I planted my fist in the stubborn elf’s face.

Then I turned my attention to lining an entire wall from floor to ceiling with mounted targets made of softened stone, and I couldn’t really remember what Aeris looked like, so I started on a vaguely robed and irritating figure. When I topped it off with elf ears, though, I remembered the time a few idiot mages offered to use Deya’s ears for target practice, and I decided to reform the whole thing into a giant life-like penis instead. Just for the sake of seeing how my women would react.

Get over here,” I groaned, and Deya pranced over with a glittering smile so I could wrap her in my arms. “Out of all the realms or universes with elves in them, you are the absolute best elf. And the best dragon. I want you to know that.” Deya giggled at the praise, but then she looked a little self-conscious as she bit at the corner of her lip. “Even though I eat griffins and sphynxes?” the elf asked. “Well … what you do in your dragon time is … we don’t have to talk about those things,” I said with a shrug.

My women screeched while Deya reared up and roared with fury, and I crashed to the ground before I whipped around and saw both ogres yanking the dog back and forth to try to get a bite in. Before any of us could save Ruela, though, another pained yowl rent the air, and my blood turned to ice. Then one of the ogres staggered back while he clutched his oozing wrist, and I’d only just furrowed my brow in confusion when Ruela tore the second ogre’s jugular out. My jaw dropped as I watched the wolfish beast rip his face off next, and as soon as the ogre hit the ground, she lunged to clamp her jaws in the other ogre’s bulging gut. Blood splattered across the ground while she ripped into the giant green beast with a vengeance, and the nearby ogres could only stand by and stare while Ruela mauled both of her attackers until their insides were on the outside, and their faces were shredded pits with mushed brains in the middle. When it was all done, I finally remembered to blink again, and Ruela snorted some green flesh from her nose before she shook herself off, stepped in the ogre’s guts, and retrieved her severed deer head. Then the wolfish beast trotted toward the mansion with her tail held high, and every ogre turned toward me in silent, furious shock. “Okay,” I muttered as I got up on wobbly legs, and I nodded like everything was still under control. “So… now you know not to eat my dog, but let’s lay out a few more ground rules before I head out.

Mason, I need you,” Shoshanne whimpered into my ear, and she forced my fingers into her taut pussy. “Will you tie me down and make me beg for it? Please?” “No, tie me down first,” Deya moaned. “I’ll let you do anything you want to me and more. Wouldn’t you like that?” “Aaalfreeeed!” I bellowed. “Code red! Code red!

Oh, don’t worry about that,” Shoshanne replied. “I had Alfred write out his burger recipe for Raynor, and now that both pubs are serving up Flynt Burgers, the mages are delivering them every few hours for Deya. I’ve instructed them to alternate the toppings so she gets a good balance of various nutrients, too, and this should help cut her cravings down to one griffin per day by my estimate.” I chuckled when I caught Deya’s giant eye roll. “Remind me to bother you about your appetite as soon as you’re pregnant,” the elf mumbled through her next bite. Shoshanne pursed her lips. “I am simply trying to ensure--” “Leave her alone,” Aurora sighed. “She’s been eating whatever she likes for weeks, and not only is she absolutely glowing, but her little bump is getting cuter every day.” “A cute bump does not equate to a healthy bump,” Shoshanne preached. “Mason’s babies should be handled with the utmost care, and I for one do not believe eating like a dragon is what Mason’s babies should--” “Clearly Mason’s baby likes burgers and hunting for fresh kills,” Cayla interrupted. “You wouldn’t tell Mason he can’t eat what he wants, so how can you tell an adorable little baby who probably looks just like him, but with pink hair and silver eyes, that they’re not allowed to make us eat--” “Ladies, let’s be friendly about food,” I suggested. “There’s no judgement here, alright? If Deya wants five burgers, then she gets five burgers. Same goes for the rest of you once you have equally cute belly bumps.

We should make bigger rockets,” Aurora decided, and Cayla and Deya gasped in agreement while the three women looped their arms together ahead of me. “Huge molten Halcyan explosives big enough to destroy a whole village.” “A whole town!” Deya giggled. “No, a whole capital,” Cayla moaned. I furrowed my brow in confusion. “What capital are we needing to destroy?” My women didn’t bother answering, though, as they trudged ahead with their plotting, and the more lavish their ideas got, the stiffer Shoshanne’s steps became while I dragged her along by her hand. “A rocket so big, we could launch it over twenty fields and obliterate an entire region!” Aurora gushed. “We can call them Flynt Blasters,” Cayla mused. “No, call them Mason’s Secret Rockets of Doom!” Deya laughed. “Doom is a good word.” “Doom Blasters,” Aurora chuckled. “Now you’re just being childish,” Cayla sighed. “We want them to sound fierce so our enemies quiver in fear when they hear what’s coming for them. A name as powerful as Mason is.” “Semen Blasters?” Deya offered, and even Shoshanne had to giggle at that one.

Oh good,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “Well then … h-how was your trip?” Aurora snorted as Cayla tried to hide her grin behind Deya’s back. “It was nice,” I admitted. “The ogres were pretty awesome, and no one tried to eat any of us, so that was cool.” “You can’t be serious?” Temin scoffed. “No, it’s true,” I assured him. “We feasted, we drank, we killed the bad guys. It was fun.