Harpies.
Screeching. Meddling. Stinking bloody fucking harpies.
But the sound of an axe blade as it stops said screeching? Bliss.
Leaning against a nearby alleyway wall, I dangled a pair of enchanted shackles between two fingers. The funny thing about harpies was… they could fly. But with the right incentive, also known as yanking their asses back to solid ground, you could easily kill ’em. Not many guys could handle the job, so they came to me. Hephaistos. God of the Forge and blacksmithing extraordinaire.
Blog Tour ~ Momo Arashima Steals the Sword of the Wind by Misa Sugiura ~ Spotlight
Eons ago, when time first spun out of nothing like the whorled shell of a nautilus, there lived a boy who loved to swim. The blood of all nagas runs brackish, of course, yet this boy’s affinity for the aquatic surpassed that of even the rest of his kind: at the moment of his hatching, he wiggle free of his gold-speckled egg, his tiny tail uncoiling behind him, and slithered unerringly toward the nearest of Bhogavati’s many beaches. His astonished parents, who had been reaching out to embrace their infant son, were instead forced to pursue him into the layers of lacework foam cast off by the waves that crashed on the lavender shore.
I had Random.org select a page for me and it went with page 179.Automatically, I picked up Pyrrhus’ cup and took it across to the side-board, though I was almost totally unaware of my surroundings. Again, I saw Pyrrhus put Priam’s ring on his thumb: the destruction of Troy summed up in that one casual action. But something strange seemed to be happening: I discovered I could still feel the ring on the palm of my hand – I had held it, briefly – as if, somehow, that fleeting contact had left a permanent trace. I know it sounds trivial, but it wasn’t. Not to me. It was one of those moments that I think everybody experiences – and they don’t have to be dramatic- when things begin to change; and you know there’s no point ruminating about it, because thinking isn’t going to help you understand. You’re not ready to understand it yet; you have to live your way into the meaning.
Monday’s First Sentence ~ The Storm Runner by J.C. Cervantes
