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datatime: 2022-10-03 09:03:13 Author:UtlGMRjZ

Your thoughts are far away, Meredith, Doyle said.

I was thinking about his medals that he won in World War II.

I was thinking about his medals that he won in World War II.

I've never seen your hair when it wasn't braided or tied in a club. I've never seen it loose, I said.

His head cocked to one side, studying me. The movement pulled some of his hair farther out of his cloak to fold under but not fall free as he straightened his neck. I have felt your power, Princess, I cannot deny it.

I've never seen your hair when it wasn't braided or tied in a club. I've never seen it loose, I said.

Hitler used the wizards he'd gathered to trap and destroy the lesser fey. His fey allies didn't desert him. They turned on him without warning. Humans would have felt the need to distance themselves from him, to warn him of their change of heart, or maybe that was an American ideal. It certainly wasn't a fey ideal. The allies found Hitler and all the wizards hanging up by their feet in his underground bunker. They never found his mistress, Eva Braun. Every once in a while the tabloids say that Hitler's grandson has been found.

I've never seen your hair when it wasn't braided or tied in a club. I've never seen it loose, I said.

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 was thinking about his medals that he won in World War II.

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.

Do you like it?

I'm sorry, Doyle, were you speaking to me? I shook my head.

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.

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

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.

I take that as a great compliment coming from you, Doyle. I know how much store you set by your oath.

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.

Do you like it?

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 was thinking about his medals that he won in World War II.

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.

Doyle looked up at the mounds. And now it is quiet, almost deserted.

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.

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