Haberin haber değeri taşıması için olay kadar nerede olduğu da önemlidir. Bu yüzden Los Angles'taki depremde on iki kişi öldüğünde manşet olurken Ortadoğu'da üç bin kişi öldüğünde kimse yazmaz.
The universe is a field of consciousness experiencing itself from different angles.
Reklam
“Would you really like to remember all the things you’ve lost?” R asked. I told him the truth. “I don’t know. Because I don’t even know what it is I should be remembering. What’s gone is gone completely. I have no seeds inside me, waiting to sprout again. I have to make do with a hollow heart full of holes. That’s why I’m jealous of your heart, one that offers some resistance, that is tantalizingly transparent and yet not, that seems to change as the light shines on it at different angles.”
Oh Goodness
And that sound keeps pulsating from the ground.
I look up at the twins, fear freezing my heart. “What did you do?” I
whisper.
The twins turn to me, and they seem more frightening somehow. The
angles of their faces more severe, their eyes holding no kindness. Even
Pruinn, whose gaze has always drawn me in, seems to somehow deter me
now, especially when he accompanies it with a flash of a grin revealing
sharp canines caught in his gums.
“You mean what did we do?” They and their mingled voices sound
like a razor dragged across glass. But it’s their ears. Their ears—
“With your blood and our magic, we restored what was broken.”
My eyes cast down the bridge. To that drumming that travels down its
length in a steady beat. Because I know the tale of this bridge. Every single
Orean knows about it.
This is the Bridge of Lemuria.
My mouth goes dry. Gaze drags back to their sharpened faces, to the
points of their ears.
“You’re fae.”
Terror wracks through me, and I stumble away, but they just watch
me with detachment. Like I’m a snow bunny that’s been caught in their
trap, and they distracted me so much that I didn’t even realize it.
“I told you she had pure royal blood,” Pruinn tells them. “I could
sense it.”
“Well done,” the twins praise.
“What did you do?” I say again, my voice as shaky as the ground
was. “This isn’t what I agreed to.”
“But it is. You made the bargain, Majesty. We needed the blood of a
pure Orean royal to accept the restoration of the bridge, and you gave it.”
That drumming down the bridge gets louder, but I realize all too late
that it’s not drums. It sounds like...footsteps. Like a thousand marching feet
Be the villain girl
That one simple move makes something ugly appear in
Midas’s eyes. Realization seems to dawn as he looks
between Slade and me, and maybe my previous words
finally sink in. I won’t let you take him too.
And I won’t, because—
“He’s mine.” My voice is strong, unwavering. Just a
vicious growl of protective fury.
A wicked satisfaction purrs in my chest at the hateful
shock on Midas’s face.
“It was him?” he accuses, tone bitten out between his
clenched teeth.
“Like I tried to tell your torturer, it sure wasn’t me.”
Everyone whips their heads around to see Fake Rip
walking forward with a stumbling Digby slung at his side.
My eyes widen, heartbeat faltering. Not just at the
sight of my guard up and out of that awful room, but for the
first time ever, Fake Rip’s helmet is nowhere to be seen.
Though he still wears the rest of his spiked armor, his
face is finally visible. My gaze runs over him with greedy
curiosity, entranced by the pale skin, the scruff of his jaw,
the angles of his face, and I’m instantly struck by the
familiarity.
Great Divine, Fake Rip is Slade’s damned brother.
They look so much alike. If it weren’t for the slight
differences I can pick out like the darker green eyes, the
narrower face, the difference in expression, and the lack of
an aura, I’d think that he was Slade.“You want to leave? To be the whore of King Rot?”
Midas spits.
The low growl from Slade behind me sends a shiver
down my neck.
No Human eye can isolate the unhappy coincidence of line and place which suggests evil in the face of a house, and yet somehow a maniac juxtaposition, a badly turned angle, some chance meeting of roof and sky, turned Hill House into a place of despair, more frightening because the face of Hill House seemed awake, with a watchfulness from the blank windows and a touch of glee in the eyebrow of a cornice. Almost any house, caught unexpectedly or at an odd angle, can turn a deeply humorous look on a watching person; even a mischievous little chimney, or a dormer like a dimple, can catch up a beholder with a sense of fellowship; but a house arrogant and hating, never off guard, can only be evil. This house, which seemed somehow to have formed itself, flying together into its own powerful pattern under the hands of its builders, fitting itself into its own construction of lines and angles, reared its great head back against the sky without concession to humanity. It was a house without kindness, never meant to be lived in, not a fit place for people or for love or for hope. Exorcism cannot alter the countenance of a house; Hill House would stay as it was until it was destroyed.
Reklam
Reklam