Witches Steeped In Gold Quotes

Though the night is flush with stars, the sky still seems like a lid of earth closing atop a grave.

Trouble doesn't give signs like rain, so we must always be ready for it.

Too often, when I’ve been faced with confrontation, the words to defend myself haven’t come.

It’s a strange paradox, to hunger for companionship while also fearing what it can cause.

Spending a lifetime pinned, like a butterfly to a board, seems like a waste when i was made to fly.

Trouble doesn't give signs like rain.

It doesn’t make for an easier life, thinking for yourself, but it does make for a clearer one.

His face, however punchable, isn’t entirely displeasing.

That doesn’t mean you can disrespect me while you’re still alive. Not in my home, and not when I have better things to do than pander to your ego.

It occurs to me that I looked as they do—like if I just kept moving, I’d make it through the day; that if I stopped, I wouldn’t be able to go again.

Our hope for the future now lies with the second witch—one of bone and briar.

Not the hero they wished for, but not the villain I thought I needed to become in order to win either. Forged by my past and fortified by my mistakes, I’m something of my own making.

For power, acceptance, sometimes we do what we never thought we would

True to being the firstborn, Caraline's magic was louder and warmer. It thrived in her cooking, when she folded it into dough and steeped it in broth. Rowan didn't know how hibiscus rolls could soften an argument, or why rosemary bread helped someone remember things that had long ago started to fade, but somehow they did. Caraline called it comfort, but Rowan knew it was enchantment. Saoirse could coax flowers to bloom out of season and lure herbs to grow even in the heaviest clay soil. Her teas did more than soothe. Rowan had seen them ease fevers, quiet grief, and silence nightmares. Saoirse didn't call it magic, but Rowan had always felt it in the way a room calmed when she entered. She carried stillness like a cloak. And then there was Rowan. She didn't brew curative tinctures or bake healing breads. Her magic, such as it was, served no purpose. It didn't look like theirs. In fact, it didn't look like anything. Her eyes, green like clover and threaded with gold, drew stares she couldn't explain. And her hair, with a single streak of impossible red, practically glowed in the moonlight. She tried to hide it, oh, how she tried. She used to bleach to turn it Marilyn Monroe blonde, but it didn't work. She dyed it every shade of brown, then black, thinking she could bury the flame. But it never lasted. The ruby streak always returned, a mark she couldn't shake. People always looked at her a second too long, as if they could sense something inexplicable about her. Sometimes she even felt it too. But most of the time she felt like the odd one out with her sisters. Saoirse had a head of red hair and her eyes were dark like pine needles. Unlike Rowan, she didn't long for friends. All she needed were her plants, herbs, and whatever flower she held at any given moment, plus the apothecary she always created wherever they lived. And, of course, the swallows, which she could make behave. Caraline's hair was the color of midnight, which set off the flecks of amber in her eyes. She was the opposite of both Rowan and Saoirse. Friendships with women she could do without, but the attention she got from men? That practically fed her soul. At every new place they went, Caraline had herself a new beau within days. And Rowan had her red streak. But it wasn't just her hair. It wasn't just her eyes. Worse were the unexpected tastes that bloomed on her tongue whenever she was around people. Her magic stirred, and it was as if she could taste their emotions and who they were, deep down inside.