Girl Serpent Thorn Quotes

Stories always begin the same way: There was and there was not. There is possibility in those words, the chance for hope or despair.

She had read enough stories to know that the princess and the monster were never the same. She had been alone long enough to know which one she was.

Very well, then. Be angry. Be violent. But not for his sake. Not to do as he commands. Be angry for yourself. Use that rage to fight him.

To anyone who has ever felt poisonous or monstrous or bristling with thorns.

There’s something restless growing within you. We’re all very curious to see what happens when it breaks free.

She was herself and not herself--she didn't know what she was, except that she was free.

Beautiful yet deadly, he had called her. Somehow, he made one sound as sweet as the other.

I was always afraid the poison would make me a monster, but what if trying to get rid of it makes me more of a monster than I was before?

You were the only person who ever made me feel like I was the one worth protecting.

Parvaneh seemed to be made of the night. She wore it like a gown, draped over skin that shimmered in the moonlight.

If you told people what they most wanted to hear, they would almost certainly believe you.

Do you see now why I recognized you? You’re my favorite story. I feel like I’ve known you for a long time.

I don't think you're small or insignificant," he said. His gaze softened, solemn rather than fierce. "I think you have so much power within you that it scares you, and that you make yourself small on purpose because you don't know what you'll become if a story than you ever stop.

...for letting her think she was made if shame instead of beauty.

She liked to see the roses bloom for the first time in her garden, by her hand. It was proof that she could nurture as well as destroy.

Once hope was gone there was no point in fighting, and so she had no need for anger anymore.

No, it wasn’t that he had killed them that bothered her—it was that he had done it so well.

But trust me when I say that if I were you, I wouldn’t shed my armor for the sake of a kind word or a gentle touch. That’s my advice to you, from one monster to another.

...for letting her think she was made of shame instead of beauty.

She had always thought guilt was an emotion, but now she understood that guilt was a sickness, a fever.

Yes, she knew who he was. She knew even before she had asked. She knew when she had looked up and seen him in place of the young man she had expected. But he still told her anyway. "I'm your favorite story," said the Shahmar

What if there was a loneliness even deeper than the one she felt now?

I dreamed of you for so long. I would do anything to be with you. Even this.

You’re my favourite story. I feel like I’ve known you for a long time.

Sometimes the princess is the monster.

Well," she said, holding her gloved hands out to him, "am I still your favorite story?

His nearness was no longer just a shield now, but a kind of luxury, a sip of heady wine that she would probably never taste again. Was it so wrong to linger?

Would she ever become used to something as simple as the feel of someone’s hands on her skin? It seemed impossible.

Are they truly your family if they’ve failed to accept you as their own? If they cast you out and treat you with disdain?

There's something restless growing within you. We're all very curious to see what happens when it breaks free.

I felt as if I already knew you, as if you were already mine. Didn’t you feel the same?

I have nothing else to lose now—except for you.

Strands of moonlight caught in her black hair like ribbons of silver, and her eyes - those hawk’s eyes - burned like firelight. Soraya had never seen her look so inhuman - or so beautiful.

You should be afraid, she thought again. But this time it was not a hopeless wish, the complaint of a girl who always gave in, but a realization, a truth she finally believed. It was also a threat.

In the dungeon, I used to like making you angry,” Parvaneh said. She reached down to scoop up one of the moths and held it up to her face, brushing its wing against her cheek with a tenderness that only worsened the fluttering in Soraya’s stomach. Parvaneh let the moth fly away and looked Soraya in the eye. “But I think I like making you laugh even more.” “Why did you like making me angry?” Soraya asked in mock offense. Parvaneh grinned and swept aside Soraya’s hair, her fingers brushing Soraya’s cheekbone. “To see your veins, of course,” she said. Her hand moved down to trace the full claw mark on Soraya’s collar bone with her fingertips. “I always thought you . . . I thought they were beautiful.

All this time, she had thought of him as her persecutor and herself as the maligned victim of his pride, intimidated into submission because she refused to hurt him. But Ramin had been living in a different story, with himself as the hero, protecting his family from a demon in their midst that only he could recognize.

Soraya watched her go through the gap between the door and the wall, and gently touched her cheek. Even after everything she had seen - demons and sorcerers and curses—there was nothing more astonishing or magical to Soraya than being able to touch Parvaneh.

She wanted to cry, to have a measure of release, at least, but she felt withered and empty. The smell of death and dirt from the dakhmeh still lingered on her clothes and in her hair. It was trapped inside her lungs, along with powdered bone remains that also stained her gloves and dress. But Soraya knew that even if she bathed and changed, even if she burned these clothes, she would carry the dakhmeh with her for the rest of her life. That was why the living should never enter the dakhmeh—there was no way to truly leave it behind.

The pressure was unbearable now, and her skin felt tight on her bones, like something was trying to burst out of her. It was the same feeling as in her nightmares, just before she awakened. Surrender or destruction, she thought. That was the way of divs. She could surrender to the div’s blood inside her, or she could let it destroy her.

demons and sorcerers and curses—there was nothing more astonishing or magical to Soraya than being able to touch Parvaneh.

Strands of moonlight caught in her black hair like ribbons of silver, and her eyes - those hawk’s eyes - burned like firelight. Soraya had never seen her look so inhuman - or so beautiful.

A princess had a secret lover who came to her window to see her. She let down her hair for him to climb and reach her, but he refused. He wouldn’t harm a hair on her head, he told her, and he sent for a rope instead. Soraya had revisited that story over and over again through the years, wondering if she would ever look out her window and see someone waiting for her, someone like that young man, who would care more about her safety than his own.

Her kiss with Azad had been devouring, almost violent, but this was different, delicate - as delicate as a moth’s wing. Soraya felt like a cat stretched out in a patch of sunlight, luxuriating in the softness of Parvaneh’s mouth, in the slow drag of Parvaneh’s fingertips along the length of her neck. Parvaneh seemed to be trying to memorize the feel of Soraya’s skin, and Soraya, remembering the sight of her tattered wings, wondered when Parvaneh had last experienced any kind of touch that was not in violence.

A few stray leaves had wound themselves into Parvaneh’s hair, and her eyes glowed with bliss and moonlight. Her wings fluttered behind her, the sound as soft as the rustle of wind through the trees. If Parvaneh told her she was the forest made flesh, Soraya would have believed her.

They were pressed so tightly against each other that when Parvaneh withdrew, Soraya felt like a piece of her had been peeled away. But Parvaneh remained within the circle of Soraya’s arms, her own hands gripping the bars on either side of her, and she whispered into the crook of Soraya’s neck, “What were you going to say before?” “When?” Soraya asked, breathless. “Before I interrupted you. You said you were still with me, that you were still my … my what?” It seemed ridiculous that she could still blush in her current position, and yet she felt an unmistakable heat warm her face. “I don’t remember,” she said. Parvaneh lifted her head, eyes sparkling. “Liar. You’re still my friend? My ally? Tell me. We have no secrets in this dungeon.” “Yours,” Soraya said, looking Parvaneh in the eye, as if the word were a challenge. “I was going to say I’m still yours.” Parvaneh arched an eyebrow. “Interesting,” she said. She leaned in again, brushing her lips against Soraya’s shoulder. “And how long have you been mine?” Soraya tugged lightly on Parvaneh’s hair, making Parvaneh look up. “It was when I healed your wings,” she said, “when I touched you for the first time.

Parvaneh arched an eyebrow. “Interesting,” she said. She leaned in again, brushing her lips against Soraya’s shoulder. “And how long have you been mine?” Soraya tugged lightly on Parvaneh’s hair, making Parvaneh look up. “It was when I healed your wings,” she said, “when I touched you for the first time.

She ripped off her gloves, ignoring the lines of green that were spreading down her arms, and tried to let the sight of her roses soothe her. She cupped one of them in her palms and brought her face close to it, inhaling the scent as she let the edge of the petals brush along her cheek. So soft, as soft as a kiss - or so she imagined. She let her hands drift down to the stem, pressing the tip of her finger against one of the thorns, and that too was a comfort - knowing that something dangerous could also be beautiful and cherished.

The fluttering - she had felt it before. Not with Azad, though he had ignited a fire of his own, as sudden and scorching as lightning. This was more like the gradual, steady warmth of a summer day, a heat that spread all the way down to the tips of her fingers and her toes. She remembered that day - not summer, but spring - lying on the grass beside Laleh, feeling that fluttering as she told Laleh she wished she could marry her. Then Laleh had laughed, and it had died away, never to return. But she felt it now, and when Parvaneh lifted her eyes to meet Soraya’s, neither of them was laughing.

Only when she had finished repairing the last tear did Soraya allow herself to reach out with one faintly trembling hand and brush the pads of her fingers against Parvaneh's skin, tracing one of the whorls on the inside of her shoulder blade where the wing was knitted into her back. Soraya was amazed at how soft Parvaneh's skin was - softer than the petals of Soraya's roses or the wool of her gloves. She let her fingers glide to the top of the Parvaneh's spine and felt the strength of bone and muscle underneath the fragile layer of skin. She pressed down lightly, exploring the rise and dip of the ridges there, and she heard Parvaneh inhale sharply, her back arching.

In the dungeon, I used to like making you angry,” Parvaneh said. She reached down to scoop up one of the moths and held it up to her face, brushing its wing against her cheek with a tenderness that only worsened the fluttering in Soraya’s stomach. Parvaneh let the moth fly away and looked Soraya in the eye. “But I think I like making you laugh even more.” “Why did you like making me angry?” Soraya asked in mock offense. Parvaneh grinned and swept aside Soraya’s hair, her fingers brushing Soraya’s cheekbone. “To see your veins, of course,” she said. Her hand moved down to trace the dull claw mark on Soraya’s collarbone with her fingertips. “I always thought you… I thought they were beautiful.

In the dungeon, I used to like making you angry,” Parvaneh said. She reached down to scoop up one of the moths and held it up to her face, brushing its wing against her cheek with a tenderness that only worsened the fluttering in Soraya’s stomach. Parvaneh let the moth fly away and looked Soraya in the eye. “But I think I like making you laugh even more.” “Why did you like making me angry?” Soraya asked in mock offense. Parvaneh grinned and swept aside Soraya’s hair, her fingers brushing Soraya’s cheekbone. “To see your veins, of course,” she said. Her hand moved down to trace the dull claw mark on Soraya’s collarbone with her fingertips. “I always thought you… I thought they were beautiful.

In the dungeon, I used to like making you angry,” Parvaneh said. She reached down to scoop up one of the moths and held it up to her face, brushing its wing against her cheek with a tenderness that only worsened the fluttering in Soraya’s stomach. Parvaneh let the moth fly away and looked Soraya in the eye. “But I think I like making you laugh even more.” “Why did you like making me angry?” Soraya asked in mock offense. Parvaneh grinned and swept aside Soraya’s hair, her fingers brushing Soraya’s cheekbone. “To see your veins, of course,” she said. Her hand moved down to trace the dull claw mark on Soraya’s collar bone with her fingertips. “I always thought you . . . I thought they were beautiful.