Veiled Kingdom Quotes

It has always seemed to me. ever since early childhood, amid all the commonplaces of life, i was very near to a kingdom of ideal beauty. Between it and me hung only a thin veil. I could never draw it quite aside, but sometimes a wind fluttered it and I caught a glimpse of the enchanting realms beyond-only a glimpse-but those glimpses have always made life worthwhile.

A sliver of island in the heart of a mist-veiled river, little more than a smooth slab of rock amid the rapids and falls. That’s where they’d put her. Stored her. In a stone temple built for some forgotten god.

make sure you feel safe enough to be real.” “I do not want to be party to forcing you into yet another role you did not ask for nor desire. I will not replace the veil you loathed with a crown you hate. If you do not want to take the Crown, I will support you,” he swore, and the intensity in his words captured me. The irrevocable oath he was making. “And if you decide you want to take what is yours, claim the throne, I will set this entire kingdom on fire and watch it burn if that ensures that the crown sits on your head.” I jolted. “You love your people—” “But I love you more.” Flecks of gold burned brightly in his eyes, churning restlessly. “Do not underestimate what I would or would not do to ensure your happiness. I think you know this by now. There is nothing that I wouldn’t do, Poppy. Nothing.

Jesper jabbed an accusing finger at Kuwei. “You should have said something!” Kuwei shrugged. “You were very brave on Black Veil. Since we’re all probably going to die—” “Damn it,” Jesper cursed, stalking toward the door. “You’re a very good kisser,” called Kuwei after him. Jesper turned. “How good is your Kerch really?” “Fairly good.” “Okay, then I hope you understand exactly what I mean when I say you are definitely more trouble than you’re worth.” Kuwei beamed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Kaz seems to think I’m worth a great deal now.” Jesper rolled his eyes skyward. “You fit right in here.

Van Eck’s going to pull something,” Kaz had said back on Black Veil, “and it’s going to be messy, because he has less than twelve hours to plan it.” “Good,” said Jesper. “Bad,” said Kaz. “The more complicated a plan is, the more people he has to involve, the more people talk, the more ways it can go wrong.

Forcing a warrior to don a veil of submission was never going to last.

The moon was starting to set, limning the graves of Black Veil, a miniature skyline etched in silver. Her braid had come uncoiled down her back. He imagined wrapping it around his hand, rubbing his thumb over the pattern of its plaits.

On the night when the moons are under the veil of a storm, a daughter to the crown shall be born.

Who did that to you?” His voice lacked every bit of his control.

Jealousy isn’t a good look for such a handsome guy.

I’ll let you go back to him on one condition,” Dacre breathed against my ear. “Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll let you run off with him.

You think that anyone could get away with hurting you and that it wouldn’t matter?

I never realized that people who knew God might not know how close his kingdom was.

Cautiously, she let her knuckles brush against his, a slight weight, a bird's feather. He stiffened, but he didn't pull away. "I'm not ready to give up on this city, Kaz. I think it's worth saving." I think you're worth saving. Once they stood on the deck of a ship and she'd waited just like this. He had no spoken then and he did not speak now. Inej felt him slipping away, dragging under, caught in an undertow that would take him farther and farther from shore. She understood suffering and she knew it was a place she could not follow, not unless she wanted to drown, too. Back on Black Veil, he'd told her that they would fight their way out. Knives drawn, guns blazing. Because that's what we do. She would fight for him, but she could not heal him. She would not waste her life trying. She felt his knuckles slide against hers. Then his hand was in her hand, his palm was pressed against her own. A tremor moved through him. Slowly, he let their fingers entwine. For a long while, they stood there, hands clasped, looking out at the gray expanse of sea.

They walked down to the boathouse. But before Wylan entered, he bent and plucked a red tulip from its bed. They all followed suit and silently filed inside. One by one, they knelt by Nina and rested a flower upon Matthias’ chest, then stood, surrounding his body, as if now that it was too late, they might protect him. Kuwei was the last. There were tears in his golden eyes, and Jesper was glad he’d joined their circle. Matthias was the reason Kuwei and Jesper had survived the ambush on Black Veil; he was one of the reasons Kuwei would have a chance to truly live as a Grisha in Ravka.

Doesn’t matter.” He laughed, and the sound startled me. “You think that anyone could get away with hurting you and that it wouldn’t matter?” He shook his head.

Like salt in the sea, you have become ingrained in every part of me, and I have been drowning in my regrets.

The gods made you for me. Carved you from the stars themselves until I could no longer bear to gaze up at the sky without longing for you.

They were so dark that they reminded me of a stormy night when the sky was so black that it swallowed the light of the stars. 

Let me be clear,” I said, my voice like a whip. “I will choose her over every one of you.

I am not an enemy you want, Eiran, but for her, I will become whatever I have to.

She is my mate.” I said each word slowly, letting them land as hard as I intended. “She is bound to me as I am bound to her.

But hope was a dangerous thing, a double-edged sword, the only weapon I had left, and I wouldn’t let it slip through my fingers. Without it, I had nothing left, and I refused to stop fighting.

The rest of the kingdom will fall to their knees before you, Verena.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss just below my belly button before he stared up at me. “But please allow me to be the first.

Just so you know, the more you piss me off tonight, the harder training will be tomorrow.”  She scoffed as she caught up to my side. “I doubt you would take it easy on me even if I was on my best behavior.”  She wasn’t wrong. “I’m not going to deny that,” I replied gruffly. “But if you keep pushing me, I’ll be rougher with you.

It is only too evident that the invisible agitations of the kingdoms within us are arbitrarily set on foot by the thoughts we shelter. Our myriad intuitions are the veiled queens who steer our course through life, though we have no words in which to speak of them. How strangely do we diminish a thing as soon as we try to express it in words!

The kingdom is nearby, adjacent to our own reality, present, yet veiled in the boundaries we avoid, and in the margins we protect ourselves from. So there is no riddle. The eschatological reality is here, yet we feel the urge to evade it, and the lure to ignore it.

She showed me the reality of our actions. All she wanted was freedom, yet we couldn’t allow her to have that. Instead, you hunted her like she was a fucking beast to bring her back for the highest bidder. You are no better than the tyrant that we’re fighting against.

The berth belongs to you too. It will always be there when—if you want to come back.” Inej could not speak. Her heart felt too full, a dry creek bed ill-prepared for such rain. “I don’t know what to say.” His bare hand flexed on the crow’s head of his cane. The sight was so strange Inej had trouble tearing her eyes from it. “Say you’ll return.” “I’m not done with Ketterdam.” She hadn’t known she meant it until she said the words. Kaz cast her a swift glance. “I thought you wanted to hunt slavers.” “I do. And I want your help.” Inej licked her lips, tasted the ocean on them. Her life had been a series of impossible moments, so why not ask for something impossible now? “It’s not just the slavers. It’s the procurers, the customers, the Barrel bosses, the politicians. It’s everyone who turns a blind eye to suffering when there’s money to be made.” “I’m a Barrel boss.” “You would never sell someone, Kaz. You know better than anyone that you’re not just one more boss scraping for the best margin.” “The bosses, the customers, the politicians,” he mused. “That could be half the people in Ketterdam—and you want to fight them all.” “Why not?” Inej asked. “One the seas and in the city. One by one.” “Brick by brick,” he said. Then he gave a single shake of his head, as if shrugging off the notion. “I wasn’t made to be a hero, Wraith. You should have learned that by now. You want me to be a better man, a good man. I—“ “This city doesn’t need a good man. It needs you.” “Inej—“ “How many times have you told me you’re a monster? So be a monster. Be the thing they all fear when they close their eyes at night. We don’t go after all the gangs. We don’t shut down the houses that treat fairly with their employees. We go after women like Tante Heleen, men like Pekka Rollins.” She paused. “And think about it this way…you’ll be thinning the competition.” He made a sound that might almost have been a laugh. One of his hands balanced on his cane. The other rested at his side next to her. She’d need only move the smallest amount and they’d be touching. He was that close. He was that far from reach. Cautiously, she let her knuckles brush against his, a slight weight, a bird’s feather. He stiffened, but he didn’t pull away. “I’m not ready to give up on this city, Kaz. I think it’s worth saving.” I think you’re worth saving. Once they’d stood on the deck of a ship and she’d waited just like this. He had not spoken then and he did not speak now. Inej felt him slipping away, dragged under, caught in an undertow that would take him farther and farther from shore. She understood suffering and knew it was a place she could not follow, not unless she wanted to drown too. Back on Black Veil, he’d told her they would fight their way out. Knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. She would fight for him, but she could not heal him. She would not waste her life trying. She felt his knuckles slide again hers. Then his hand was in her hand, his palm pressed against her own. A tremor moved through him. Slowly, he let their fingers entwine.

As you approach this stage's final veil, Kingdoms and wealth, substance and water fail; Withdraw into yourself, and one by one Give up the things you own--when this is done, Be still in selflessness and pass beyond All thoughts of good and evil; break this bond, And as it shatters you are worthy of Oblivion, the Nothingness of love.

I wanted to beg him to stop, to choose me in a way that no one ever had before. In a way that I would have chosen him.

You haven’t seen me be mean. If I were mean, I’d slide my cock between your lips to keep you from talking when I tire of hearing you speak.

This is mine, little traitor. You are this fucking wet for me. No one else.” He leaned forward and nipped his teeth on my inner thigh. “You’re mine.

You look so pretty covered in my cum.

Who the fuck did that to you?” He enunciated every word, and fear coated every bit of me. I had never seen him this angry before.

She hated me as much as I hated her.

How in the world would this be punishing you?”  “Because you’re not mine.

She was ruinous. And she was mine.

I have hungered for you for every moment that I searched for you, and now that you’re here, I will never have enough power to let you go again.

Your son already bows for me.

He had helped me escape. I had been his enemy. I represented the thing he hated most. I was a threat to everything he stood for.  And still, he had chosen me.

She was everything, and I would worship her until my dying breath.

He has a lot of experience in not allowing his people to have a voice. He could give you some pointers.

You are my father, but if you dare speak of my wife like that again, I will slit your throat and paint this city in your blood.

This was my family. And I would burn the world for them.

A man, at least, is free; he can explore each passion and every kingdom, conquer obstacles, feast upon the most exotic pleasures. But a woman is continually thwarted. Both inert and yielding, against her are ranged the weakness of the flesh and the inequity of the law. Her will, like the veil strung to her bonnet, flutters in every breeze; always there is the desire urging, always the convention restraining.

Cautiously, she let her knuckles brush against his, a slight weight, a bird's feather. He stiffened, but he didn't pull away. "I'm not ready to give up on this city, Kaz. I think it's worth saving." I think you're worth saving. Once they stood on the deck of a ship and she'd waited just like this. He had not spoken then and he did not speak now. Inej felt him slipping away, dragging under, caught in an undertow that would take him farther and farther from shore. She understood suffering and she knew it was a place she could not follow, not unless she wanted to drown, too. Back on Black Veil, he'd told her that they would fight their way out. Knives drawn, guns blazing. Because that's what we do. She would fight for him, but she could not heal him. She would not waste her life trying. She felt his knuckles slide against hers. Then his hand was in her hand, his palm was pressed against her own. A tremor moved through him. Slowly, he let their fingers entwine. For a long while, they stood there, hands clasped, looking out at the gray expanse of sea.

I didn’t trust her. Hell, I didn’t even like her, but there was something about being surrounded by the scent of her in my room, about not being able to look anywhere without seeing her curves, that drove me crazy.

I will not replace the veil you loathed with a crown you hate...if you decide you want to take what is yours, claim the throne, I will set this entire kingdom on fire and watch it burn if that ensures that the crown sits on your head.

struggle between capitalism and communism had concealed the fact that the United Kingdom, the USSR, and the United States had much in common. Once you lifted the veil, you could see the touch points beneath—especially when you knew what you were looking for.

In the shadow of a fallen kingdom, in the eye of the storm A daughter of darkness will wield a blade in one hand And rule death with the other When the skies are blackened, in the end of days The Veil will fall. The tide will turn when her blade is drawn. A dawn of fire and blood.

Let us suppose you give your three-year-old daughter a coloring book and a box of crayons for her birthday. The following day, with the proud smile only a little once can muster, she presents her first pictures for inspection. She has colored the sun black, the grass purple, and the sky green. In the lower right-hand corner, she has added woozy wonders of floating slabs and hovering rings; on the left, a panoply of colorful, carefree squiggles. You marvel at her bold strokes and intuit that her psyche is railing against its own cosmic puniness in the face of a big, ugly world. Later at the office, you share with your staff your daughter's first artistic effort and you make veiled references to the early work of van Gogh. A little child can not do a bad coloring; nor can a child of God do bad prayer. "A father is delighted when his little one, leaving off her toys and friends, runs to him and climbs into his arms. As he holds hi little one close to him, he cared little whether the child is looking around, her attention flittering from one thing to another or just settling down to sleep. Essentially the child is choosing to be with the father, confident of the love, the care, the security that is hers in those arms. Our prayer is much like that. We settle down in our Father's arms, in his loving hands. Our minds, our thoughts, our imagination may flit about here and there; we might even fall asleep; but essentially we are choosing for this time to remain intimately with our Father, giving ourselves to him, receiving his love and care, letting him enjoy us as he will. It is very simple prayer. It is very childlike prayer. It is prayer that opens us out to all the delights of the kingdom.

You’re not learning anything else from Eiran. You’re mine to train.”  “I’m not yours to do anything with.” She took the smallest step back from me.   I was angry and frustrated and had no control over the possessiveness I felt. “You’ll train with me and only me. If I catch you with him again…

The rest of the kingdom will fall to their knees before you, Verena.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss just below my belly button before he stared up at me. “But please allow me to be the first.” Another kiss, this time on my right hip bone. “Allow me to show you how you should be worshipped.

Socrates tried to soothe us, true enough. He said there were only two possibilities. Either the soul is immortal or, after death, things would be again as blank as they were before we were born. This is not absolutely comforting either. Anyway it was natural that theology and philosophy should take the deepest interest in this. They owe it to us not to be boring themselves. On this obligation they don’t always make good. However, Kierkegaard was not a bore. I planned to examine his contribution in my master essay. In his view the primacy of the ethical over the esthetic mode was necessary to restore the balance. But enough of that. In myself I could observe the following sources of tedium: 1) The lack of a personal connection with the external world. Earlier I noted that when I was riding through France in a train last spring I looked out of the window and thought that the veil of Maya was wearing thin. And why was this? I wasn’t seeing what was there but only what everyone sees under a common directive. By this is implied that our worldview has used up nature. The rule of this view is that I, a subject, see the phenomena, the world of objects. They, however, are not necessarily in themselves objects as modern rationality defines objects. For in spirit, says Steiner, a man can step out of himself and let things speak to him about themselves, to speak about what has meaning not for him alone but also for them. Thus the sun the moon the stars will speak to nonastronomers in spite of their ignorance of science. In fact it’s high time that this happened. Ignorance of science should not keep one imprisoned in the lowest and weariest sector of being, prohibited from entering into independent relations with the creation as a whole. The educated speak of the disenchanted (a boring) world. But it is not the world, it is my own head that is disenchanted. The world cannot be disenchanted. 2) For me the self-conscious ego is the seat of boredom. This increasing, swelling, domineering, painful self-consciousness is the only rival of the political and social powers that run my life (business, technological-bureaucratic powers, the state). You have a great organized movement of life, and you have the single self, independently conscious, proud of its detachment and its absolute immunity, its stability and its power to remain unaffected by anything whatsoever — by the sufferings of others or by society or by politics or by external chaos. In a way it doesn’t give a damn. It is asked to give a damn, and we often urge it to give a damn but the curse of noncaring lies upon this painfully free consciousness. It is free from attachment to beliefs and to other souls. Cosmologies, ethical systems? It can run through them by the dozens. For to be fully conscious of oneself as an individual is also to be separated from all else. This is Hamlet’s kingdom of infinite space in a nutshell, of “words, words, words,” of “Denmark’s a prison.

She lifted his mask and her own veil; then slowly, she placed a hand on either side of his face. Her fingers slid into his hair and Matthias’ focus shattered. It felt like she was touching him everywhere. She looked into his eyes. “Well?” “I don’t feel anything,” he said. His voice sounded embarrassingly hoarse. She arched a brow. “Nothing?” “What did you try to make me do?” “I’m trying to compel you to kiss me.” “That’s foolish.” “Why is that?” “Because I always want to kiss you,” he admitted. “Then how come you never do?” “Nina, you just went through a terrible ordeal—” “I did. That’s true. You know what would help? A lot of kissing. We haven’t been alone since we were aboard the Ferolind.” “You mean when you almost died?” said Matthias. Someone had to remember the gravity of this situation. “I prefer to think of the good times. Like when you held my hair as I was vomiting into a bucket.” “Stop trying to make me laugh.” “But I like your laugh.” “Nina, this is not the time to flirt.” “I need to catch you off your guard, otherwise you’re too busy protecting me and asking me if I’m okay.” “Is it wrong to worry?” “No, it’s wrong to treat me like I might break apart at any moment. I’m not that fine or that fragile.

On his belly, Matthias crawled through the dirt of the graveyard. “Everyone unhurt?” he asked as he reached the broken mast of the mausoleum. “Out of breath but still breathing,” said Jesper. Kuwei nodded, though he was shaking badly. “Fantastic plan, by the way. How is being pinned down here better than being pinned down in the tomb?” “Did you get Wylan’s powders?” “What was left of them,” said Jesper. He emptied his pockets, revealing three packets. Matthias chose one at random. “Can you manipulate those powders?” Jesper shifted uneasily. “Yes. I guess. I did something similar at the Ice Court. Why?” Why. Why. In the drüskelle he would have been brigged for insubordination. “Black Veil is supposedly haunted, yes? We’re going to make some ghosts.” Matthias glanced around the edge of the mausoleum. “They’re moving in. I need you to follow my orders and stop asking questions. Both of you.” “No wonder you and Kaz don’t get along,” Jesper muttered.

He pulled back, dropped his hands, feeling unspeakably awkward. What did you say after a terrible kiss? He’d never had cause to wonder. That was when he saw Kuwei standing in the doorway, mouth open, eyes wide and shocked. “What?” Jesper asked. “Do the Shu not kiss before noon?” “I wouldn’t know,” Kuwei said sourly. Not Kuwei. “Oh, Saints,” Jesper groaned. That wasn’t Kuwei in the doorway. It was Wylan Van Eck, budding demolitions expert and wayward rich kid. And that meant he’d just kissed … The real Kuwei plunked that same listless note on the piano, grinning shamelessly up at him through thick black lashes. Jesper turned back to the door. “Wylan—” he began. “Kaz wants us in the sitting room.” “I—” But Wylan was already gone. Jesper stared at the empty doorway. How could he have made a mistake like that? Wylan was taller than Kuwei; his face was narrower too. If Jesper hadn’t been so riled up and jittery after the fight with Kaz and the argument with his father, he would never have confused them. And now he’d ruined everything. Jesper jabbed an accusing finger at Kuwei. “You should have said something!” Kuwei shrugged. “You were very brave on Black Veil. Since we’re all probably going to die—” “Damn it,” Jesper cursed, stalking toward the door. “You’re a very good kisser,” called Kuwei after him. Jesper turned. “How good is your Kerch really?” “Fairly good.” “Okay, then I hope you understand exactly what I mean when I say you are definitely more trouble than you’re worth.” Kuwei beamed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Kaz seems to think I’m worth a great deal now.” Jesper rolled his eyes skyward. “You fit right in here.

Greta's cedar hope chest Is full of pamphlets Glass shelves of romantic vignettes A journal laced with sedimentary prose Norma gathers and collects vintage photoplays Hair combs valentines Lillian allows the animals to scratch And the leather crack And the mail collect in the box as coatings peel Agnes veiled cathedral dweller Smiles with benevolent pain But it's Katrina's fair Tuesday morning As she with caution unlatches the flat door She alone cascades to the basement Careful not to spoil her Calico printed pinafore Composite traits and mannerists All others dissipate Marguerite vigilant She dwells upon frigid casements Sarah's thoughts in high velocity Accusations always pierce and pass Clara abandons her passions for distastes A Miss Lenora P. Sinclair Early for coffee in the pool "I'm resituating all your words" Capital Space Colon Paragraph Sylvia keeps beasts in jars labeled by Kingdom Phylum Class Order Family Genus Species But it's Katrina's fair Tuesday morning As she with caution unlatches the flat door She alone cascades to the basement Careful not to spoil her Calico printed pinafore Composite traits and mannerists All others dissipate Down the way a silk design This face is mine Tis I, Katrina! Katrina, I.

In the name of Him Who created and sustains the world, the Sage Who endowed tongue with speech. He attains no honor who turns the face from the doer of His mercy. The kings of the earth prostate themselves before Him in supplication. He seizes not in haste the disobedient, nor drives away the penitent with violence. The two worlds are as a drop of water in the ocean of His knowledge. He withholds not His bounty though His servants sin; upon the surface of the earth has He spread a feast, in which both friend and foe may share. Peerless He is, and His kingdom is eternal. Upon the head of one He placed a crown another he hurled from the throne to the ground. The fire of His friend He turned into a flower garden; through the water of the Nile He sended His foes to perdition. Behind the veil He sees all, and conceal ed our faults with His own goodness. He is near to them that are downcast, and accepts the prayers of them that lament. He knows of the things that exist not, of secrets that are untold. He causes the moon and the sun to revolve, and spreads water upon the earth. In the heart of a stone hath He placed a jewel; from nothing had He created all that is. Who can reveal the secret of His qualities; what eye can see the limits of His beauty? The bird of thought cannot soar to the height of His presence, nor the hand of understanding reach to the skirt of His praise. Think not, O Saadi, that one can walk in the road of purity except in the footsteps of Mohammed (Peace and Blessings be Upon Him)

Hence the need for living daily and hourly and every moment at the very place of beginnings, ever as a child depending upon Him, and ever as one of the weakest of those who love Him, abiding in Him. It is a glorious thing to know that my cleansing and illumination depend upon Him, and that the whole of my responsibility in this matter is marked by my maintaining personal relationship with Him. This, however, is inexorable. Daily personal communion there must be, and the means of such, study of His word, waiting upon Him in prayer, the cultivation of close fellowship, by telling Him everything—joys as well as sorrows—and the periods of silence in which the soul simply waits and listens in the stillness for His voice, these cannot be neglected without a film, a veil, a cloud, a darkness coming between the soul and Himself, and so hindering the possibility of advancement.

Religion’s primary function is to awaken within us the experience of the sublime and to connect us with the mystery of existence. As soon as religion forgets about its roots in the eternal, it fails in its central task. Jesus was so critical of the religion of his time because he saw that not only was it not connecting people to the mystery, but that it was actually an active participant in veiling the mystery of existence, in obscuring the Kingdom of Heaven. And so he was a critic from the inside; he didn’t necessarily reject the religion he was brought up in, but he felt called to challenge it, to transform it. Jesus’ keen insight into the potential for the corrupting influence of power in all institutions—whether they’re political, economic or religious—is very relevant to the modern day. If Jesus existed here and now as a human being, what he’d have to say about these subjects would be as shocking now as it was two thousand years ago. I’ve talked to many people

Hel's kingdom seems to have been reserved for the common dead, especially those who were not slain by handheld weapons. Valhöll, however, welcomed the valiant. Originally located beneath the earth, the Hall of Warriors fallen in battle" was transported close to Asgard, the abode of the gods, and according to the Sayings of Grimnir, it occupied the fifth heavenly dwelling place, the World of Joy (Gladsheimr) There, every day, Odin chose the warriors who died in combat and shared them with Frigg (Freyja). It was believed that Valhöll had the Unique Warriors (Einherjar), the elite. It is easy to understand why the Germans dreaded to die bedridden; if they were at risk of this, they asked those close to them to mark their bodies with spears. In the Saga of Ynglingar (chapter 9) Snorri Sturluson says that the god Odin, seen here from a euhemeristic perspective, proceeded in this way, but it is surprising to see Njörd, a god of the third function, demanding to be marked with this martial sign.

It seems that in the kingdom of Heaven, the cosmic lottery works in reverse; in the kingdom of Heaven, all of our notions of the lucky and the unlucky, the blessed and the cursed, the haves and the have-nots, are turned upside down. In the kingdom of Heaven, the last will be first and the first will be last. In India, I realised that while the poor and oppressed certainly deserve my compassion and help, they do not need my pity. Widows and orphans and lepers and untouchables enjoy special access to the Gospel that I do not have. They benefit immediately from the Good News that freedom is found not in retribution but in forgiveness, that real power belongs not to the strong but to the merciful, that joy comes not from wealth but from generosity. The rest of us have to get used to the idea that we cannot purchase love or fight for peace or find happiness in high positions. Those of us who have never suffered are at a disadvantage because Jesus invites His followers to fellowship in His suffering. In fact, the first thing Jesus did in His sermon on the mount was to mess with our assumptions about the cosmic lottery. In Luke’s account, Jesus says, "Blessed are you who are poor for yours is the Kingdom of God. Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. But woe to you who are rich, for you have already received your comfort. Woe to you who are well-fed now, for you will go hungry. Woe to you who laugh now, for you will mourn and weep.” (Luke 6:20-21; 24-25) It seems that the kingdom of God is made up of the least of these. To be present among them is to encounter what the Celtic saints called “thin spaces”, places or moments in time in which the veil separating heaven and earth, the spiritual and the material, becomes almost transparent. I’d like to think that I’m a part of this kingdom, even though my stuff and my comforts sometimes thicken the veil. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control – these are God things, and they are available to all, regardless of status or standing. Everything else is just extra, and extra can be a distraction. Extra lulls us into the complacency and tricks us into believing that we need more than we need. Extra makes it harder to distinguish between God things and just things.

There is no silence upon the earth or under the earth like the silence under the sea; No cries announcing birth, No sounds declaring death. There is silence when the milt is laid on the spawn in the weeds and fungus of the rock-clefts; And silence in the growth and struggle for life. The bonitoes pounce upon the mackerel, And are themselves caught by the barracudas, The sharks kill the barracudas And the great molluscs rend the sharks, And all noiselessly-- Though swift be the action and final the conflict, The drama is silent. There is no fury upon the earth like the fury under the sea. For growl and cough and snarl are the tokens of spendthrifts who know not the ultimate economy of rage. Moreover, the pace of the blood is too fast. But under the waves the blood is sluggard and has the same temperature as that of the sea. There is something pre-reptilian about a silent kill. Two men may end their hostilities just with their battle-cries, 'The devil take you,' says one. 'I'll see you in hell,' says the other. And these introductory salutes followed by a hail of gutturals and sibilants are often the beginning of friendship, for who would not prefer to be lustily damned than to be half-heartedly blessed? No one need fear oaths that are properly enunciated, for they belong to the inheritance of just men made perfect, and, for all we know, of such may be the Kingdom of Heaven. But let silent hate be put away for it feeds upon the heart of the hater. Today I watched two pairs of eyes. One pair was black and the other grey. And while the owners thereof, for the space of five seconds, walked past each other, the grey snapped at the black and the black riddled the grey. One looked to say--'The cat,' And the other--'The cur.' But no words were spoken; Not so much as a hiss or a murmur came through the perfect enamel of the teeth; not so much as a gesture of enmity. If the right upper lip curled over the canine, it went unnoticed. The lashes veiled the eyes not for an instant in the passing. And as between the two in respect to candour of intention or eternity of wish, there was no choice, for the stare was mutual and absolute. A word would have dulled the exquisite edge of the feeling. An oath would have flawed the crystallization of the hate. For only such culture could grow in a climate of silence-- Away back before emergence of fur or feather, back to the unvocal sea and down deep where the darkness spills its wash on the threshold of light, where the lids never close upon the eyes, where the inhabitants slay in silence and are as silently slain.

There was Brunhilde, a star shining high above the hillside behind her, dark, rippling hair hanging below her waist, standing in full command, spear in hand. Constance could not help thinking the star so large and bright might have shone over Bethlehem. She was momentarily grateful for her veil, not only for the concealment of her identity but also of her amused response to the scene before her. She struggled to contain herself as her eyes moved to the second vignette: here was fair Juliet, standing beneath rather than on her balcony, garbed in simple lines, her head wreathed in flowers, a cross of stars high above her. Ah, those star-crossed lovers, thought Constance. Again, she was glad that she could hide her amusement. How clever these women, she thought. The third was Semiramis, a quarter moon low above the exotic turrets behind her crowned head, a long-handled fan in her hand, like the fan of a servant. How should Constance interpret this? At once she noticed the replication of the shape of Brunhilde’s spear, but it was enlarged. Semiramis, the queen who had served for her son yet had conquered her foes and enlarged her kingdom. And was this moon waxing or waning? Rising or setting? Or perhaps the enigma of a waxing moon rising. Ah, somehow that was comfort. Last, before a rising sun, framed by trees that reached out to touch one another, stood Pocahontas, her costume appearing authentic, a feather in her headdress, the emblematizing dawn of a new age, a new woman in a new world. May it be so, thought Constance.

Reason says, I will beguile him with the tongue;" Love says, "Be silent. I will beguile him with the soul." The soul says to the heart, "Go, do not laugh at me and yourself. What is there that is not his, that I may beguile him thereby?" He is not sorrowful and anxious and seeking oblivion that I may beguile him with wine and a heavy measure. The arrow of his glance needs not a bow that I should beguile the shaft of his gaze with a bow. He is not prisoner of the world, fettered to this world of earth, that I should beguile him with gold of the kingdom of the world. He is an angel, though in form he is a man; he is not lustful that I should beguile him with women. Angels start away from the house wherein this form is, so how should I beguile him with such a form and likeness? He does not take a flock of horses, since he flies on wings; his food is light, so how should I beguile him with bread? He is not a merchant and trafficker in the market of the world that I should beguile him with enchantment of gain and loss. He is not veiled that I should make myself out sick and utter sighs, to beguile him with lamentation. I will bind my head and bow my head, for I have got out of hand; I will not beguile his compassion with sickness or fluttering. Hair by hair he sees my crookedness and feigning; what’s hidden from him that I should beguile him with anything hidden. He is not a seeker of fame, a prince addicted to poets, that I should beguile him with verses and lyrics and flowing poetry. The glory of the unseen form is too great for me to beguile it with blessing or Paradise. Shams-e Tabriz, who is his chosen and beloved – perchance I will beguile him with this same pole of the age.

The tailor sidled forward, his long, multi-joined fingers caressing the dress form closest to me. "Ah, yes," he said. "Beautiful, isn't it? The color of storms and oceans, or so we've been told. This dress," he continued, "belonged to Magdalena. She was beautiful- the way you mortals reckon, anyhow- beautiful, but stupid. Oh ho, we had fun with this one, we did, but we used her up too soon. Her fire died, leaving us cold and dark." The dress form beneath the gown was tall and well-formed, the bosom and hips generous, the waist tiny. The dress, a robe à la française, was made from a deep, jewel-toned blue silk, and I could imagine the dramatic coloring of the woman who had worn it: pale skin, dark hair, and blue eyes to match her gown. A breathless beauty, a glittering jewel, and I imagined the Goblin King partaking of her loveliness over and over again, biting the sweet peaches of her cheeks until she was gone. "And this one," Thistle chimed in, pointing to another dress form, "belonged to Maria Emmanuel. Prissy, she was. Refused to do her duty by her lord. She was consecrated to someone else- a carpenter? Something like that. Don't know what the king saw in her, but they were both possessed of a strange devotion to a figure nailed to a wooden cross. She lasted the longest, this prudish nun, not having given herself to king and land, and during her rule, our kingdom suffered. Yet she lasted the longest for that, although she too died in the end, pining for the world above she could see but not touch." This dress form was slim, the gown that hung on it made of an austere gray wool. I could imagine the woman who wore this dress- a pious creature, veiled like a bride of Christ. No beauty, but her eyes would be a clear, luminous gray, shining with the fervor of her passion and faith. Not like Magdalena, whose loveliness would have been carnal and earthly; Maria Emmanuel would have glowed with an inner light, the beauty of a saint or a martyr. The Goblin King was a man of varied tastes, it seemed.

Little by little the veil is being lifted and here and there, in dim valleys, and on misty heights we discern the forms of these early Arthurian heroes, we see their movements, we hear at times their speech. The vision is not for long, the curtain falls again, but it is less impenetrable than it was of old, and we know it now for what it is, a veil merely, and no impassable barrier ... a survival of that early Fairyland which preceded the ordered and chivalric splendours of Arthur's kingdom.

I had no control over where I went, who I spoke to or could speak with. I was veiled, unable to even look someone in the eye if they were allowed to speak with me. I didn't get to choose what I ate, when I left my chambers, or who was allowed to even touch me. But he was the first thing I'd ever truly chosen for myself.

I felt your hunger, Casteel, and I don't need to do this. I stopped doing things I didn't want to do the moment I took off the damn veil. I want to help you. Because as stupid as this may make me, and only the gods know why, I care about you! So, yeah. I don't want to have my throat ripped open, and I also don't want to know that you're suffering for no reason.

Rae’s thoughts and hope He preached, he prayed, in a place, in a congregation, He possessed an extraordinary imagination, A charm that mesmerised all, made him a believable preacher, But after prayers, the preacher never returned and so did not the holy teacher, Because what he appeared in these holy sessions was a false projection of him, Behind his conscience and veil of charm was hidden an abominable world grim, Like in all of us, he too was a host to a resident beast, Who regularly on his fancies and endless wishes did feast, He had resolved to taming the congregation than the beast he was regularly feeding, Within him evil was constantly breeding, As the congregation left and he eased his hands held in prayer, He frantically shook them to get rid of the evil layer, That he recognised but never wanted to let go, Maybe that is why the priest that stood here was forsaken by his priestly conscience long ago, So after every prayer, the preacher never returned, just a man with the beast did, And then behind the morbidity of thoughts and endless fantasies this man hid, To feed the beast in million ways, In those vacant hours of nights and endless days, Because after the prayers the preacher never returned, only his beast affiliated part faced everyone, As he fed himself on diabolic thoughts and vile imaginations of always someone, a new one, And this is how the preacher lived until his last day, He was still the same and he had decided not to change anyway, And when Lucifer claimed his soul, he was confused too, Because the beast in him was there so was the preacher too, It was difficult to tell them apart, And neither of them alone wanted to depart, They had fused into one and Lucifer gave them a puzzled look, Then he looked inside himself and he was completely shaken, and the ground under his feet shook, The beast had already claimed his soul unaware that he is the God of Hell, the creator of all abomination, So he cast the beast back into the preacher and now they live in this immortal curse of incarceration, Where the preacher feels imprisoned by the beast and beast feels imprisoned by the preacher, Because after knowing the soul of Lucifer the beast had become lot meaner, Thus began the preacher’s never ending curse, He does not die, although he longs for it and keeps staring at the hearse, Because Lucifer did not want a greater God in his own kingdom, Now preacher is victim of his own knowledge of evil and his wretched wisdom, The congregation is free, because they have learned to establish direct communion with the God, And now they never deal with a preacher who always after prayers acted diabolically and in ways odd.

Rae’s thoughts and hope He preached, he prayed, in a place, in a congregation, He possessed an extraordinary imagination, A charm that mesmerised all, made him a believable preacher, But after prayers, the preacher never returned and so did not the holy teacher, Because what he appeared in these holy sessions was a false projection of him, Behind his conscience and veil of charm was hidden an abominable world grim, Like in all of us, he too was a host to a resident beast, Who regularly on his fancies and endless wishes did feast, He had resolved to taming the congregation and not the beast he was constantly feeding, Within him, with a renewed virility, new forms of evil were breeding, As the congregation left and he eased his hands held in prayer, He frantically shook them to get rid of the evil layer, That he recognised but never wanted to let go, Maybe that is why the priest that stood here was forsaken by his priestly conscience long ago, So after every prayer, the preacher never returned, just a man with the beast did, And then behind the morbidity of thoughts and endless fantasies this man hid, To feed the beast in million ways, In those vacant hours of nights and endless days, Because after the prayers the preacher never returned, only his beast affiliated part faced everyone, As he fed himself on diabolic thoughts and vile imaginations of always someone, a new one, And this is how the preacher lived until his last day, He was still the same and he had decided not to change anyway, And when Lucifer claimed his soul, he was confused too, Because the beast in him was there so was the preacher too, It was difficult to tell them apart, And neither of them alone wanted to depart, They had fused into one and Lucifer gave them a puzzled look, Then he looked inside himself and he was completely shaken, and the ground under his feet shook, The beast had already claimed his soul unaware that he is the God of Hell, the creator of all abomination, So he cast the beast back into the preacher and now they live in this immortal curse of incarceration, Where the preacher feels imprisoned by the beast and beast feels imprisoned by the preacher, Because after knowing the soul of Lucifer the beast had become lot meaner, Thus began the preacher’s never ending curse, He does not die, although he longs for it and keeps staring at the hearse, Because Lucifer did not want a greater God in his own kingdom, Now preacher is the victim of his own knowledge of evil and his wretched wisdom, The congregation is free, because they have learned to establish direct communion with the God, And now they don’t have to deal with the preacher who always after prayers acted diabolically and in ways odd.

younger brother, Proteus, would take over the kingdom, and the two of them hated each other. In desperation, Acrisius took a trip to the Oracle of Delphi to get his fortune read. Now, going to the Oracle is usually what we call a bad idea. You had to take a long trip to the city of Delphi and visit this dark cave at the edge of town, where a veiled lady sat on a three-legged stool, inhaling volcanic vapour all day and seeing visions. You would leave an expensive offering with the priests at the door. Then you could ask the Oracle one question. Most likely, she’d answer you with some rambling riddle. Then you’d leave confused, terrified and poorer. But, like I said, Acrisius was desperate. He asked, ‘O Oracle, what’s the deal with me not having any sons? Who’s supposed to take the throne and carry on the family name?’ This time, the Oracle did not speak in riddles. ‘That’s easy,’ she said in a raspy voice. ‘You will never have sons. One day your daughter Danaë will have a son. That boy will kill you and become the next king of Argos. Thank you for your offering. Have a nice day.’ Stunned and angry, Acrisius returned home. When he got to the palace, his daughter came to see him. ‘Father, what’s wrong? What did the Oracle say?’ He stared at Danaë – his beautiful girl with her long dark hair and lovely brown eyes. Many men had asked to marry her. Now all Acrisius could think about was the prophecy. He could never allow Danaë to marry. She could never have a son. She wasn’t his daughter any more. She was his death sentence.

I thought about my future. Who I used to be, who I was becoming, and who I wanted to be. And it was strange how revelations felt like they happened all of a sudden, but in reality, it took many small, almost indiscernible moments over the course of weeks, months, and years. Bottom line, I knew I didn’t want to be someone who hid anymore, whether behind a veil, to others, or to myself.

It was as if something had snapped inside him, some need that he wasn’t able to control, and my kiss was the only cure.

Kai’s black smoke poured from him and clouded the room in a mist so dark that I knew it would make it hard for them to see us. I reached inside myself, embracing my own powers, and I coaxed them forward. I felt for the elements around me, tasting the ash on my tongue from the lanterns burning near the guards, and drew it in.  My lungs filled with their smoke, and I let it consume me until I could hardly breathe. Only then did I draw back my arm, and the air around me hummed with energy. One of the guard’s swords whirred past my ear as he lunged at me, but I didn’t falter. The air around me crackled, and I grabbed his blade in my hand, the metal beginning to turn to liquid in my hold before I jerked it from his grasp and slammed the hilt into his stomach. The guard fell to the ground, his dazed eyes looking up at me, but I was already moving on to the next.

I reached for the guard who dared to speak about my sister, my dagger still buried in the side of his neck, and his eyes were wide with panic as I gripped the collar of his uniform and lifted him until the tip of his nose touched mine.  “What was it you were saying to me?

The same color as the sky when the sun disappeared behind the clouds and a storm brewed on the horizon.

his gaze lingered over my back, and he stilled. He looked like he had seen a ghost or… My scars. “Who did that to you?” His voice lacked every bit of his control.

You’re taking me so good, little traitor.” He nipped at my ear, and I felt the move all the way to my core. “Gods, I can imagine how well you’ll take my cock. I could die thinking about this tight little pussy wrapped around me like it was made for me.

I would feast upon this pussy like I had been starved for years.”  I cried out, but he wasn’t done.  “I have been starved, Nyra. Until you.

I had a job to do, and I couldn’t do it while thinking about the way she would have looked in my bed if I had stripped her of my clothes and touched her in the ways that flooded my mind when we were training.

We both know it is. You want it, and you’re going to take it.

Do you ever wish you could just get on a ship and leave?” Her question caught me off guard as she opened her eyes, and the vulnerability in them made my chest feel heavy. “The rebellion?” “All of it.

Drop that bow and get on your knees.” He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, and I almost fell to them at that one movement. “Then I want you to crawl to me and beg.

Let’s see how much you love to beg while I taste you.

This is mine, little traitor. You are this fucking wet for me. No one else.

I snapped my eyes open to meet his and told him the truth. “There’s only ever been you.” His breath hitched, and every part of his body stiffened. “This pussy belongs to me. You belong to me.

Are you wet, little traitor?” he whispered in my ear, and a moan passed through my lips that I couldn’t stop.

Back in the banquet hall, gowns, beringed fingers, and flower petal perfumes spun around the room. Select ladies were called in to join the queen in a capricious tea where we all praised and offered veiled insults to one another until we were bloodied to a pulp by words and arrogance.

The girl didn’t budge, not even a flinch ruffled her veil. “This path is not written in stone. It must be chosen.

I remained in the frontmost bench, thinking of what the veiled girl told me, how she spoke of change, how I longed for it, and how I’d lost faith in it. I didn’t know the tears were there until a drop splashed on my hand.

Get in my room, Nyra. I’m tired, and I’m not going to worry about you being out in this hall all night.

I pounded my fist against his broad, muscular back, but he remained unfazed. “Put me down,” I cried, my voice shaking with rage. “I’m not kidding, Dacre. Put me down or…”  He kicked his door shut behind us as he entered before he tossed me down on the bed.  “Or what?” He leaned forward, his jaw clenched and a challenge in his eyes.

felt desperate to learn if she would have the same boldness when I spread her open and tasted her with my tongue.

Come here, little traitor,” he whispered, and I shivered, hating that he drew a reaction from me so easily. “Come show me what Eiran taught you today.

Did you just call me handsome?”  “I’m pretty sure I was talking about Eiran.”  “I don’t think you were.” He licked his lips again, and although he seemed to be absently doing the move, it was utterly infuriating. “It’s okay if you think I’m handsome.

Did you wear this tonight to punish me?”  “How in the world would this be punishing you?”  “Because you’re not mine.

I’m not letting you go anywhere until I can taste your cum on my fingers.