G Dragon Quotes

Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.

Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed.

I already explained this. I don’t like you. True, I don’t like most people, but I especially dislike you. I could start my own religion based on how much I dislike you.

Are you in great physical pain, or is that your thinking expression?

Now. Now, Annwyl. No need to curtsy. A simple nod of your head and absolute worship will be more than enough.

The more truly we can see life as a fairytale, the more clearly the tale resolves itself into war with the dragon who is wasting fairyland.

Fairy tales do not give the child his first idea of bogey. What fairy tales give the child is his first clear idea of the possible defeat of bogey. The baby has known the dragon intimately ever since he had an imagination. What the fairy tale provides for him is a St. George to kill the dragon.

Dagmar knew there were worse things in this world than pretending to be a caring, demure woman. For instance, actually being a caring, demure woman.

Really, Fearghus. You need to stop asking me to let you kill our family.

And Annwyl. Remember what I told you." "Protect my right side?" "No." "Feint with my left?" "No." "Nice ass?" "No!" His growl of annoyance only elicited a sweet chuckle from his woman. "Watch my rage, heart of my heart?" "Condescending cow.

I’m Queen Rhiannon, but you can call me Queen Rhiannon.

It was those damn wool socks. He didn’t realize he loved her until she told him about out-negotiating a god of war—the most haggle-loving of the gods—with socks!

She started it,” Briec stated before holding his “perfect” daughter out to Talaith and announcing, “She looks to need nourishment. Unleash your breasts for her.

You want me to be honest with you?” Vigholf snapped. “You want me to tell you why I have my hungry face as you call it? Because of you. Because I’m hungry for you. If there’s anything I want to eat—it’s you.” Rhona stepped back, hands on hips, and accused, “You cannibalistic bastard!”

Well? What do you think? I think you’re the most amazing female I’ve ever met. And I would like to fuck you all night long. Bend over. What do I think about what? She sighed. Typical male.

What are we doing with him?" Briec asked eagerly. "Are we throwing him out a window? Let's throw him out a window! Or off the roof!

I have little doubt that when St. George had killed the dragon he was heartily afraid of the princess.

I’ve grown ridiculously fond of you, and I’m not sure I can ever forgive you for that.” -Rhona

They say dragons never truly die. No matter how many times you kill them.

I’m off duty, cousin, which by Cadwaladr law means I can beat you ugly.

Your cold, inflexible heart makes me burn to be inside you.” “Charmer.

A dragon's heart burns fiercely, even in the face of evil.

Fighting her smile, his sister reached over and ran her hand through his hair. “That, my sweet brother, is called heartbreak.” He glanced down at his chest. “Will that be a physical deformity?

Los cuentos de hadas superan la realidad no porque nos digan que los dragones existen, sino porque nos dicen que pueden ser vencidos.

We can't sit around discussing pure evil without tea and biscuits, Iz. It's just not done.

How long should a dragon of my stature be expected to survive without a warm, willing pussy at my disposal?

It means she's amazing - and terrifying. Annwyl kills without question, rules with an iron fist, and has little patience for anyone. She can be cruel , she can be loving, she can be heartless, and she can care too much... I can't explain Annwyl

I’ll go talk to them,” Annwyl said. But she cracked her knuckles. “Right now.” Izzy cut in front of Annwyl, forced a smile. “Why don’t I talk to them? Daddy listens to me.” “You want my sword?” Izzy blinked. Hard. “No. I don’t think that’s necessary. To talk to my father and uncles that I adore.” “You want me warhammer then?

I don’t like this,” his brother told him as they walked down the stairs. “You don’t like anything. I’ve heard you complain about the air.” “It irritates me when it whistles.

And then what are your plans?” Annwyl frowned. “My plans?” “Yes. Your plans. You take your brother’s head, your troops are waiting. What is the next thing that you do?” Annwyl just stared at him. He realized in that instant that the girl had no plans. None. No grand schemes of controlling the world. No plots to destroy any other empires. Not even the plan to have a celebratory dinner. “Annwyl, you’ll be queen. You’ll have to do something.” “But I don’t want to be queen.” Her body shook with panic, and he could hear it in her voice. “You take his head, you’ll have little choice.” “What the hell am I supposed to do as queen?” “Well . .you could try ruling.” “That sounds awfully complicated.

Take deep slow breaths,” it told her. “It will calm you.” Calm her? Slow breaths? Instead she sucked in a breath to tell it to go to hell, but ended up sending her late-night snack spewing across the dragon’s foot. Staring down, it muttered, “Oh, that’s just vile.” Talaith’s eyes narrowed and suddenly she found her voice. “And yet, I feel remarkably better,” she sneered.

Fearghus entered what he now considered her chamber, but immediately ducked the book flung at his head. Clearly she’d been waiting for him. And she was not happy. “He’s the one supposed to be helping me,” she roared at him. “Did you just throw a book at me? In my own den?” “Yes. And I’d throw it again!” Fearghus scratched his head in confusion. He’d never met a human brave enough—or stupid enough, depending on your point of view—to challenge him. “But,” he croaked out, amazed, “I’m a dragon.” “And I have tits. It means nothing to me!

You bastard! Let me down!" "Not on your life, beauty." The godlen claw gripped her tighter. "You get hurt, he'll kill me. Now quiet. I'm trying not to vomit." --Gwenvael to Annwyl

How’s your father?” “How do you think he is? You stabbed him in the foot.” “I would have aimed for his heart, but I wasn’t sure he actually had one. Do any of you have one?

A bored Gwenvael is an entire town destroyed accidently.

Gwenvael looked down at his body. Horrified, he sat up. “What is this? What’s happened to me?” “Calm down. It’ll heal quick enough, I’m sure.” “Heal? I’m hideous!” “You’re alive.” “Hideously alive!” He covered her face with his hands. “Don’t look at me! Look away!” “Stop it!” She pulled at his hands. “Have you lost your mind?” Gwenvael dropped back to the bed, turned his face toward the wall. “You know what this means, don’t you?” “Gwenvael—” “I’ll have to live alone, at the top of a castle somewhere. I’ll hide from the daylight and only come out at night.” “Please stop this.” “I’ll be alone but not for long because you’ll all want me more. You’ll lust for the beautiful warrior I once was and pity the hideous creature I’ve become. Most importantly, you’ll want to soothe my pain.” He looked at her again. “Don’t you want to soothe my pain? Right now? Without that dress on?” “No. I do not.” Dagmar tried to stand, and Gwenvael caught her hand, pulling her back down. “You can’t leave me. I’m tortured and brooding. You need to show me how much you adore me so I can learn to love myself again.” “You’ve never stopped loving yourself.” “Because I’m amazing.

Hysterical laughter. Why did he keep hearing hysterical laughter? Fearghus opened one eye to stare at his two siblings. The were practically falling over each other they were laughing so hard. They woke him up from a sound sleep for this? "What?" His current mood wouldn't allow for this. And definitely wouldn't allow for him. Gwenvael choked out an answer. "She braided your hair, brother." "Like a horse's mane," his sister added.

Normally, I’d lie and connive and do whatever necessary to make you take me into the south.” “But …” More tears began to flow. “But that thing …” “Thing? What thing?” “That thing … in one’s head … that tells you when something would be wrong to do. It won’t let me do it.” Feeling a sudden high level of annoyance, Gwenvael carefully asked, “Do you mean your … conscience?” Her tears turned into hysterical sobs, and she went down on her side, her head dropping into his lap. “Dagmar! Everyone has a conscience.” “I don’t!” “Of course you do.” “I’m a politician, Gwenvael! Of course, I don’t have a conscience. At least I didn’t. Now I’m cursed with one. And it’s your fault!” Somehow he knew that last bit would happen.

The feeling to bury one’s head in a ditch can be an overwhelming one, but Annwyl fought it all the same.

Dagmar faced the Iron, quickly bowed her head. “King Gaius, I’m sorry about the confusion. I’m Dagmar Reinholdt, Vassal of Garbhán Isle and Battle Lord—” “And my piece of ass!” Gwenvael announced from the other end of the table while he dropped into one of the chairs. “So keep your grubby Sovereign claws off her.

Gods, Annwyl. What’s wrong?” Morfyd demanded. Green eyes turned to them and Annwyl sneered, “Nothing. I just wanted the two of you to shut up. You’re going to make us look bad in front of the barbarian!

Do you not listen to our daily meetings about the state of your lands?” “Of course I don’t. They’re dead boring.” “Not everything can involve bloodshed, Annwyl.” “Can’t you come get me when there is bloodshed? Otherwise just leave me alone to read.

My Perfect, Perfect Daughters

But there simply was no grey area for him. There was only black, white, and annoying.

Husband?” “Aye. Husband.” “The slow-witted one that’s been following you? I thought he was your servant.

She’d left him. Without a word. Without a thought. She’d left him and now he had feelings. For that alone, he’d never forgive her.

Did you see the way she ran out of here? Like I had the plague or something." "Who? The witch?" "Aye." "And this bothers you because..." "Well...it's rude." "Uh huh." Brastias growled at his second in command. "Shut up.

A man cannot deserve adventures; he cannot earn dragons and hippogriffs.

His affection for the human grew steadily by the day. Sometimes by the minute. And it wasn’t simply her beauty, but her utter lack of fear of everything and anything except her brother. She didn’t fear dying. She didn’t fear battle. And, most importantly, she didn’t fear Fearghus. She touched him. Ran her hands across his scales and through his mane. But it was when he covered her up with the fur and she sighed his name in her sleep, that he lost his heart.

Rhiannon readied her speech. The speech she’d given more than once over the years to Éibhear and, when they were much younger, to her older sons. The one that included things like: “I’m sure your father didn’t mean that.” “Of course your father loves you.” “No. He didn’t try to sell your egg to the highest human bidder.” “And of course, he never tried to kill you while you slept!

Feeling her strength return right along with her annoyance, Dagmar stepped back and raised her foot, slamming it down on the tip. “Ow! Evil barbarian viper!” He rose on his hind legs, his front claws grasping his tail. “You are aware this is attached to me?” “Yes. That’s how I knew it was taking liberties!

Dagmar tried to stand, and Gwenvael caught her hand, pulling her back down. "You can't leave me. I'm tortured and brooding. You need to show me how much you adore me so I can learn to love myself again." "You've never stopped loving yourself." "Because I'm amazing.

Now if you gentlemen,” she looked at Briec, “and whatever you are, will excuse me.

As he was forced to tell his father more than once, “I said I’d fight for my mother’s throne. I never said I’d die for it.” Then he’d add, simply to annoy the old bastard into one of his frothy temper tantrums, “Don’t you think I’m too pretty to die?

You won’t be expecting forever, Annwyl. And once the twins are here, you’ll be as violently cruel and madly bloodthirsty as you always were.” “Now you’re just trying to make me feel better.” “Is it working?” “A little.

So, Lord Dragon, what are your plans for this evening?" He adjusted his body awkwardly and the end of his dealy tail landed gently in her lap. "Well, I thought we could do that thing again." "That thing?" Annwyl desperately fought a smile as she ran her hand across the scaled tip. Its very edge shaped like an arrowhead and as sharp. She briefly wondered if teh dragon ever needed to sharpen it with a stone. "Do youmean talking?" "Yes. Yes. Whatever it is.

Is there ever a time you’re not an arrogant bastard?” “Is there ever a time you’re not a difficult bitch?” “No.” “Then I guess that makes us perfectly matched, now doesn’t it?

My friends, it is wise to nourish the soul, otherwise you will breed dragons and devils in your heart.

I didn't know dragons had hair. It's like a horse's mane." Fearghus snapped. To Morfyd's surprise, Annwyl didn't shy away from her brother and scurry across the room. Instead, she laughed, leaning closer against his body. "No need to get testy. I was merely implying that your kind was really meant to be beasts of burden for us humans. Just like horses. And centaurs." "Oh, is that all? Well, I apologize, Lady Annwyl. I thought you were saying something insulting.

Fairy tales, then, are not responsible for producing in children fear, or any of the shapes of fear; fairy tales do not give the child the idea of the evil or the ugly; that is in the child already, because it is in the world already. Fairy tales do not give the child his first idea of bogey. What fairy tales give the child is his first clear idea of the possible defeat of bogey. The baby has known the dragon intimately ever since he had an imagination. What the fairy tale provides for him is a St. George to kill the dragon. Exactly what the fairy tale does is this: it accustoms him for a series of clear pictures to the idea that these limitless terrors had a limit, that these shapeless enemies have enemies in the knights of God, that there is something in the universe more mystical than darkness, and stronger than strong fear.

She wasn’t part of it,” Addolgar cut in. “And she saved my life.” “Who cares about your life?” Bercelak demanded. Addolgar was silent for a moment before he replied, “I do.” Braith studied the dragon who sat next to her. “You had to think about that reply?” “Wanted to make sure it wasn’t a trick question, didn’t I?

Adjusting her frames, Dagmar said, “It’s time for you to stop talking.” “I don’t want to.” “But you will stop talking.” “We’re on my territory now, Beast. You can’t strut around here and pretend you rule all—” “Quiet.” “But—” She raised her right forefinger. “She—” Dagmar raised that damn forefinger higher. “It’s just—” Now she brandished both forefingers. “Stop.” He gave Dagmar his best pout, which she completely ignored, turning her back on him to again face Annwyl. “Think there might be some place private we can talk, my lady?” Gwenvael’s mouth dropped open. “Did you just dismiss—” Dagmar held up that damn forefinger again but didn’t even bother to look at him when she did. Annwyl’s grin was wide and bright. A smile Gwenvael hadn’t seen from her in far too long. “Right this way, Lady Dagmar.” “Thank you.” Dagmar brusquely snapped her fingers at Gwenvael. “And don’t forget to bring my bags up once I get a room, Defiler.” Annwyl fairly glowed as she followed Dagmar from the room, her smile growing by the second. Gwenvael faced his sister. “It’s Ruiner, which is a vast difference.So get it right!” he yelled at the empty doorway.

He looked like you ripped his heart out of his chest, threw it to the ground, and stomped all over it while singing a jaunty tune.” Annwyl shrugged at Morfyd’s bemused expression. “I might have seen that look before on his brother.” “Perhaps when you stabbed our father?” Annwyl laughed. “No. Then he just looked proud.

As soon as they grow that genitalia, intelligence goes right out the window and we’re left with this thing that just wants to stick it in any hole.

I won’t tolerate her hurting you, my son. I’ll kill the bitch first.” “Weren’t you the one who tried to cut father’s throat before he Claimed you?” "He deserved it,

With a sigh, Fearghus went and stood in front of her. “You are a mad bitch, Annwyl the Bloody.” “What other woman would put up with you, Fearghus the Destroyer?

Oh, gods. Not the flying!” “I heard you mounted my sister well enough.” “I want you never to make that statement again.

You’re too much of a pain in the ass to be pitied.

The men watched as Annwyl the Bloody took a stand against something from their darkest nightmares. Too afraid to fight, but too terrified for their leader to run away. And then Brastias saw the girl do something he would never forget. She kicked the beast. Right in the knee. Brastias and Danelin exchanged glances. “Well, you always thought she was insane,” Brastias offered. “I didn’t think I was right.” “You lying toe-rag!” she yelled up at him. “Let me explain.” “Go to hell!” “Annwyl.” “No!

You can stick your questions up your ass.” He slammed his tail in front of her. “I don’t think I heard you, little witch.” “You heard me just fine and stop threatening me with that thing!” She kicked his tail. By the gods, she was absolutely adorable!

(Ragnar just came back from the war.) Then Keita the Viper spun around and ran into his arms, hugging him tight. "This is all your fault!" she accused. "What is?" "How much I missed you! And I was shockingly worried about you. I actually cared if you were hurt or had been damaged in some way. She leaned back, squinted up at him. "You weren't, were you? Damaged?" "Not so that I won't heal." "Good." She rested her head on his chest. "Believe it or not, I don't know what I'd have done if something happened to you." Keita abruptly pulled back from him and punched him in the chest. "What have you done to me, foreigner? Well, let me make it plain that you'll not trap me in your evil web of amazing sex and unconditional love! I'm stronger than that!" And Ragnar sighed...loudly.

Talaith leaned forward, studied her youngest daughter. “You think you’re evil?” “Pure evil,” Izzy clarified, which got her a rather vicious glare from Rhi. An expression Dagmar had never thought the young, perpetually smiling or sobbing girl was capable of. “Why would you think you’re evil?” “It’s a feeling I have.” “No. Someone told her.” Rhi glowered at her sister. “I never said that.” “You didn’t have to,” Izzy shot back. “I know you.” “Well, who told her that?” Talaith demanded. And, as one, they all turned and looked at Gwenvael. He blinked, sat up straight. “I would never say such a thing to my dear sweet niece!” “You said it to me,” Talwyn snapped. “That’s because you’re not my dear sweet niece. You’re the rude little cow who threw a knife at my head.” “I wasn’t aiming for you. I was aiming for Mum.” “She’s right,” Annwyl admitted. “I just ducked behind you.” She shrugged. “Sorry.

Brastias. My friend.” Uh-oh, this couldn’t be good. “Do you lie to me?” “Uh . . . no.” “See? That’s a lie!

Dagmar turned when she felt a tug on her sleeve, a human male standing next to her. “Yes?” “Yeah, how much for the blonde?” Dagmar blinked, glanced back at Gwenvael and the three girls before asking, “Pardon?” “The blonde. How much for the blonde? The bigger one. Just for an hour or so?” Of course. Dagmar would never be one of the whores … she must be selling the whores. “Five coppers for an hour,” she replied. “Any more than that and it’ll cost you.” “An hour will do.” He reached into his pocket and handed her five copper pieces. She dropped them into her satchel, tapped Gwenvael on the shoulder, and said, “He’s bought you for an hour of sex. Enjoy.

He sneered at his father. “He’ll live. I’m going after her.” “What?” His sister stood up in front of her brother. “Fearghus, don’t. She’s angry. Very angry. She impaled your father . . . twice. Give her some time to calm down.

Of course you don’t trust Braith. You don’t trust anybody,” Ghleanna reminded their brother. “You don’t trust the air.” “Because it tends to become unseasonably chilly when I’d prefer it to be warm. It’s as if it does it on purpose.

To be honest, Briec doesn’t consider fights with humans as battles. I think he sees that more as hunting. Or a snack that runs.

He smiled at her. “Now, are you going to thank me properly?” “I said ‘thank you.’ That’s considered in some cultures as thanking you properly.” “I was hoping for a little more than that.” She studied him for a long moment before she nodded. “All right.” She scooted down a bit on the bed, pulled her gown up high on her thighs, and relaxed back into the mattress. “If you could make it quick before the food gets here, that would be great.” Gwenvael felt a small twitch beneath his eye. He often got something similar right on his eyelid but only when he had to deal with his father. Apparently a new one had developed that belonged only to Lady Dagmar. “That’s not what I meant.” “I hope you’re not expecting me to get on my knees because I don’t think the healer—” “No!” Good gods, this woman! “That’s not what I meant, either.” “That’s always what men mean when they ask to be thanked properly.” “Your world frightens me. I want us to be clear on that.” He leaned over and grabbed her waist, lifting her until her back again rested on the propped-up pillows. “I’m unclear as to what you want, then.” “A kiss,” he said, pulling her dress back down to her ankles. “A simple kiss.

Um … I am Annwyl.” “Annwyl. Annwyl. I do not know an Annwyl. So, are you my dinner?” “No.” It took a step back. “No. I’m not dinner. Let’s never say that again. I am Annwyl of the Dark Plains.” The queen stared at it. “Annwyl of Garbhán Isle?” Still nothing. It sighed. “Annwyl the Bloody.” “You are Annwyl the Bloody?” It looked slightly defeated. “Yes.” “You are awfully tiny to be Annwyl the Bloody.” “I’m taller than most men.” “That simply does not impress me.

You wanted hatchlings.” “I know. I just didn’t want those hatchlings. Personally, I blame your father.” Bercelak’s eyes grew wide. “Excuse me?” On a burst of laughter, she exclaimed, “Well that came out horribly wrong!

A small fireball hit him in the face. He again looked at his sister, smoke still curling out from her human nostrils. "What brat?" "I said she'll want to return to her men as soon as she can." "I know." His sister smiled up at him. "And will you be ready for that, idiot?" "It's Lord Idiot to you." Fearghus rested his head on his crossed forearms. "And yes, brat. I will be.

I’m your uncle?” Oh. So that’s what was bothering him. Izzy could have done a lot of things at this moment to assuage Eibhear’s annoyance. A lot of things. She didn’t do any of them. Instead she said, “Well…you are my uncle.” She brushed a bit of nonexistent dirt off his bare shoulder. “And I was your ward until years later when you finally had your vile, dirty uncle way with me.” ”Izzy.

What’s going on?” “Nothing.” She coughed, and released Talaith’s hand. “Except you have some powerful enemies.” “Tell me what I don’t know, witch.” “Powerful enemies who are gods.” For a moment, Annwyl was shocked beyond all reason…then she shrugged. “Now that I think of it—I don’t know why I would be surprised.

Briec removed his clothes and slipped into bed with her, wrapping his arms around her waist and snuggling her from behind. “Izzy?” “That’s just ridiculous,” he growled. She glanced at him over her shoulder. “It could have been worse. I could have said Gwenvael.” “And forced me to kill my own brother.

He sighed. A year since he’d left her the morning after the final battle with her brother. A year since he’d held her in his arms. A year since he’d kissed her. A year since he’d buried his head between her thighs. A year since she’d punched him in the face.

You are, however, surprisingly light of touch.” “Pardon?” “The way you’re holding my hand. I always thought you’d be more of a mauler. Like a diseased wolf chewing the knuckles off me fist.” “That’s very nice.” “Not really.” “I was being sarcastic.” “Oh. I see. Where are we?

Just as we all like love tales because there is an instinct of sex, we all like astonishing tales because they touch the nerve of the ancient instinct of astonishment. This is proved by the fact that when we are very young children we do not need fairy tales: we only need tales. Mere life is interesting enough. A child of seven is excited by being told that Tommy opened a door and saw a dragon. But a child of three is excited by being told that Tommy opened a door. Boys like romantic tales; but babies like realistic tales -- because they find them romantic. In fact, a baby is about the only person, I should think, to whom a modern realistic novel could be read without boring him.

There was even a story passed among the queen’s court that when freshly hatched, Rhiannon bit her mother on the neck when she tried to cuddle her new daughter. But Rhiannon didn’t believe that for one second. True, she believed she bit her mother, but she didn’t believe her mother had tried to cuddle her.

Annwyl?” Ragnar repeated, suddenly remembering that Keita had said the same name before they’d burst out of the woods. “This is Annwyl?” Ragnar looked the woman over, from her absurdly large feet to the top of her unkempt head. “This?” This human who had more muscles than seemed necessary for any royal and watched him and his kin with what he could only term as the mad eyes of a diseased animal.

It wasn’t the first time he’d run for his life. And it most likely would not be the last. In the past few decades, though, he’d mostly run from angry fathers who’d found him where they felt he should not be. Or he’d run from town guards—sent by angry fathers who’d found him where they felt he should not be.

This wasn’t what she expected. Never, in her wildest dreams. This... this was the Blood Queen of Garbhán Isle? Scourge of the Madron lands? Destroyer of Villages? Demon Killer of Women and Children? She who had blood pacts with the darkest of gods? This was Annwyl the Bloody? Talaith watched, fascinated, as Annwyl held onto Morfyd the Witch’s wrists. Morfyd — the Black Witch of Despair, Killer of the Innocent, Annihilator of Souls, and all around Mad Witch of Garbhán Isle or so she was called on the Madron lands — had actually tried to sneak up on Annwyl to put ointment on the nasty wound the queen had across her face. But as soon as the warrior saw her, she squealed and grabbed hold of her. Now Annwyl lay on her back, Morfyd over her, trying her best to get Annwyl to stop being a ten year old. “If you just let me—” “No! Get that centaur shit away from me, you demon bitch!” “Annwyl, I’m not letting you go home to my brother looking like that. You look horrific.” “He’ll have to love me in spite of it. Now get off!” ... “Ow!” “Crybaby.” No, this isn’t what Talaith expected. Annwyl the Blood Queen was supposed to be a vicious, uncaring warrior bent on revenge and power. She let her elite guard rape and and pillage wherever they went, and she used babies as target practice while their mothers watched in horror. That’s what she was supposed to be and that’s what Talaith expected to find. Instead, she found Annwyl. Just Annwyl. A warrior who spent most of her resting time reading or mooning over her consort. She was silly, charming, very funny, and fiercely protective of everyone. Her elite guard, all handpicked by Annwyl, were sweet, vicious fighters and blindingly loyal to their queen.

She heard Brannie call out to her, but she ignored her as well and kept going. Kept going with visions of a bloody and limb-missing Éibhear dancing through her head. Gods! What if they cut off his wings? Or removed his scales? Oh, by the gods, what if they shaved his head? What if they shaved his head? Nooooo!

He stopped before opening the door and faced her. "You'll leave the window open for me and you'll be naked. When I come back, I'll take what I want from you, as many times as I want to." He grinned; it was pure and raw and astonishingly beautiful. "Understand me Lady Dagmar?" She shook her head. "No. You'll have to explain it to me." "I will. Even if I have to tie you to bed and explain it to you again and again and again." He looked over one more time. "And don't play with yourself after I'm gone. Don't want you wearing my pussy out before I've had a chance to use it." With his hand on the door, Gwenvael rewarded her with the warmest smile she'd seen from anyone. "Besides, you look so beautiful when you come, I don't want to miss a second of it.

Sulien held up the broken spear, one piece in each hand. “A warhammer did this?” “You saw that hammer the Lightning almost hit Addolgar with. And that’s not even the one he uses during battles. That one is bloody huge. Nearly as big as the bastard’s head.” Her father chuckled and stepped around her. “The only purpose of this spear was to protect you—and it did. Its job is now done.” He started to throw the pieces into a bin he kept for trash. “Don’t you dare throw that out.” “Why not? It’s broken, and repairing it would be useless. It’l only break again.” “But you made it for me.” “You cling to what is meaningless, child. Just like your mother sometimes, only with her it’s mostly grudges.

When the alchemist speaks of Mercurius, on the face of it he means quicksilver (mercury), but inwardly he means the world-creating spirit concealed or imprisoned in matter. The dragon is probably the oldest pictoral symbol in alchemy of which we have documentary evidence. It appears as the Ouroboros, the tail-eater, in the Codex Marcianus, which dates from the tenth or eleventh century, together with the legend ‘the One, the All’. Time and again the alchemists reiterate that the opus proceeds from the one and leads back to the one, that it is a sort of circle like a dragon biting its own tail. For this reason the opus was often called circulare (circular) or else rota (the wheel). Mercurius stands at the beginning and end of the work: he is the prima materia, the caput corvi, the nigredo; as dragon he devours himself and as dragon he dies, to rise again in the lapis. He is the play of colours in the cauda pavonis and the division into the four elements. He is the hermaphrodite that was in the beginning, that splits into the classical brother-sister duality and is reunited in the coniunctio, to appear once again at the end in the radiant form of the lumen novum, the stone. He is metallic yet liquid, matter yet spirit, cold yet fiery, poison and yet healing draught - a symbol uniting all the opposites.

I felt in my bones; first, that this world does not explain itself. It may be a miracle with a supernatural explanation; it may be a conjuring trick, with a natural explanation. But the explanation of the conjuring trick, if it is to satisfy me, will have to be better than the natural explanations I have heard. The thing is magic, true or false. Second, I came to feel as if magic must have a meaning, and meaning must have some one to mean it. There was something personal in the world, as in a work of art; whatever it meant it meant violently. Third, I thought this purpose beautiful in its old design, in spite of its defects, such as dragons.

Braith opened her eyes and screamed at what hovered above her, “Gods! Death comes for me!” The horrifying face of death curled its lip at her and growled, “Well, that’s charmin’.” Death sat back in its chair, hands resting on its knees. “This face is not me fault, ya know?” Death looked off, thought a moment. Its finger traced one of the deep gouges across its jaw. “This one actually is kind of me fault.” She pointed at the other side of her face, where part of her chin was missing. “And this one. A bit of barney at the pub.” ... “That was not death,” he whispered. “That was our Great-Aunt Brigida.” “Brigida? Brigida the Foul?” He nodded. “I thought she was dead.” Addolgar shook his head and whispered, “She just won’t die.

He didn’t even apologize as he sat up, staring down at her. Was he angry? She guessed not when he began to speak to his erection. “I know. I can’t believe she left us like this either. Cruel wench, isn’t she?” After the long, frightening, horrible day she had, this was not remotely how she expected to end it. And, against her will, she smiled. “Look. Now she’s laughing at us.” Desperately fighting a bout of laughter, she ordered, “Stop talking to it.” He shrugged. “Well you won’t talk to him…and he’s feeling awfully lonely. And I think you hurt his feelings.” Then he made it bounce twice in agreement. Talaith covered her face and sighed. What exactly did her mother tell her the seven signs of madness were? Well, a dragon talking to his own shaft had to be one of them.

Princess Keita,” the dragon began, “this is Elina Shestakova of the Black Bear Riders of the Midnight Mountains of Despair in the Far Reaches of the Steppes of the Outerplains.” He faced Elina and, smiling, said, “And Elina Shestakova of the Black Bear Riders of the Midnight Mountains of Despair in the Far Reaches of the Steppes of the Outerplains, this is Keita the Viper: Princess of the Royal House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar, Second-Born Daughter and Fifth-Born Offspring to the White Dragon Queen of the Southlands, Protector of The Throne, and Bound Mate to Ragnar, Dragonlord Chief of the Olgeirsson Horde.” Keita narrowed blue eyes at the dragon. “Was that really necessary, Curled Horns?” His grin did not falter. “It felt necessary and good. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to working with Elina Shestakova of the—” “Do not bore me with that ridiculously long name yet again!” the royal roared.

In the specially Christian case we have to react against the heavy bias of fatigue. It is almost impossible to make the facts vivid, because the facts are familiar; and for fallen men it is often true that familiarity is fatigue. I am convinced that if we could tell the supernatural story of Christ word for word as of a Chinese hero, call him the Son of Heaven instead of the Son of God, and trace his rayed nimbus in the gold thread of Chinese embroideries or the gold lacquer of Chinese pottery, instead of in the gold leaf of our own old Catholic paintings, there would be a unanimous testimony to the spiritual purity of the story. We should hear nothing then of the injustice of substitution or the illogicality of atonement, of the superstitious exaggeration of the burden of sin or the impossible insolence of an invasion of the laws of nature. We should admire the chivalry of the Chinese conception of a god who fell from the sky to fight the dragons and save the wicked from being devoured by their own fault and folly. We should admire the subtlety of the Chinese view of life, which perceives that all human imperfection is in very truth a crying imperfection. We should admire the Chinese esoteric and superior wisdom, which said there are higher cosmic laws than the laws we know.