And she arose from her deathbed in a gossamer gown, with eyes the color of starlight and hair as black as the night. And those who were her captors trembled, for the scent of death and madness emanated from her soul, and yet she was not dead. She moved like the spiders that creep in the treetops, and none could look away. Taking her first captor in hand, she fed deep and ravenous. And so it was that Myst, Queen of the Indigo Court, was born from the blood of the dead.

This is no dream, Novi. Everything you are experiencing is real and until you accept that, you will not be able to go home.___eah, okay. Sure. Twin queens, talking otters, Autumn Fae, houses suspended in midair. Yep, totally real. Got it.

There are storm clouds before the storm, there are the living before the dead. I need a figurehead, a banner bearer who will announce my arrival to the world.

A story just isn't a story without a dragon.

Riding a Dragon is amazing, exhilarating, and murder on the thighs.

The difference between the quest for the Holy Grail and someone saying __ring me a cup_ is the flavor text and the number of stops involved.