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datatime: 2022-10-04 22:34:30 Author:KaXnkXAj

A look passed over his face, some serious thought that I couldn't read. I'd never been around a man whose face reflected so many emotions, and yet been able to read so few of them. You are Meredith, Princess of Flesh, and as sidhe as I am. That I will stake my oath on.

None of my direct relatives were involved in Hitler's death, so I don't know for sure, but I suspect strongly that something simply ate her.

I shook my head. I don't know. Thinking about faded glory, I guess. The mounds remind me of the plaza in Washington, D. C. All that energy and purpose. It must have been like that here once.

But yet the comparison of the two cities saddens you. Why?

My father had gotten two silver stars in the war. He'd been a spy. I never remembered being particularly proud of the medals, mainly because my father never seemed to care about them. But when he died, he left them to me in their satin-lined box. I'd carried them around in a carved wooden box along with the rest of my childhood treasures: colored bird feathers, rocks that sparkled in the sun, the tiny plastic ballerinas that had graced my sixth-birthday cake, a dried bit of lavender, a toy cat with fake jewel eyes, and two silver stars given to my dead father. Now the medals were back in their satin box in a drawer in my dresser. The rest of my treasures were scattered to the winds.

I smiled. I know better than that. There's hundreds, thousands under our feet.

What of him? Doyle turned his head to look at me as we walked. The long feathers brushed his neck, mingling with the spill of black hair that was only partially trapped down the back of the cloak. I realized that except for the small knot that captured the front pieces of his hair, the rest of his hair was spilling out underneath the cloak, loose.

He kept walking but turned his face full to me, never missing a step. He looked bemused. Why would you be thinking of that now?

Easily done, he said, and undid the cloak at his neck. He let the cloak slide off his shoulders, spilling it over one arm.

I smiled. I know better than that. There's hundreds, thousands under our feet.

Easily done, he said, and undid the cloak at his neck. He let the cloak slide off his shoulders, spilling it over one arm.

Easily done, he said, and undid the cloak at his neck. He let the cloak slide off his shoulders, spilling it over one arm.

I closed my eyes, suddenly dizzy and nauseated. I answered with my eyes still shut. Sad to think that Washington may someday be a tired ruin. Sad to know that the glory days passed this place by long before we arrived. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. His eyes were just black mirrors once more. Sad to think that the fey's glory days are passed and us being here in this place is proof of that.

What were you thinking about so very hard? he asked. The lights played over his face, painting colored shadows against his black skin. It was almost as if his skin reflected the lights like carved and polished wood. I was touching his arm, so I could feel the warmth, the muscles underneath, the softness of his skin. His skin felt like anyone's skin, but light didn't reflect off skin, not like that.

I was still walking at his side, hands on his arm, but for a moment only my body had been there. It startled me to realize how far away I'd been.

Your thoughts are far away, Meredith, Doyle said.

I shook my head. I don't know. Thinking about faded glory, I guess. The mounds remind me of the plaza in Washington, D. C. All that energy and purpose. It must have been like that here once.

I was thinking about my father, I said.

I hadn't expected him to ask my opinion. I'd never heard him ask anyone's opinion of anything. I think so, but I'd need to see the hair without the cloak to be sure.

He kept walking but turned his face full to me, never missing a step. He looked bemused. Why would you be thinking of that now?

Would you prefer that we be out among the humans, working with them, mating with them like the fey that stayed behind in Europe? They are no longer fey, just another minority.

What of him? Doyle turned his head to look at me as we walked. The long feathers brushed his neck, mingling with the spill of black hair that was only partially trapped down the back of the cloak. I realized that except for the small knot that captured the front pieces of his hair, the rest of his hair was spilling out underneath the cloak, loose.

I shook my head. I don't know. Thinking about faded glory, I guess. The mounds remind me of the plaza in Washington, D. C. All that energy and purpose. It must have been like that here once.

A look passed over his face, some serious thought that I couldn't read. I'd never been around a man whose face reflected so many emotions, and yet been able to read so few of them. You are Meredith, Princess of Flesh, and as sidhe as I am. That I will stake my oath on.

Easily done, he said, and undid the cloak at his neck. He let the cloak slide off his shoulders, spilling it over one arm.

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