Breaking Bad'deki olay örgüsünü televizyonunuzu parçalarına ayırarak anlayamazsınız. Keza yaşadığınız acının kökenini de beyninizi parçalarına ayırarak anlayamazsınız. Bunun için televizyonunuzun ya da beyninizin aldığı sinyallere bakmanız gerekir.
Prison Break? Homeland? Breaking Bad? Game of Thrones?
"Hiçbirini seyretmedim," dedim.
"İnsan Game of Thrones'u nasıl seyretmez ya," dedi hayretle, "Lost'u da mı seyretmedin?"
Hepsi internette varmış. Bir başlarsam bırakamazmışım. Garanti veriyormuş.
Reklam
What did you get into
The torchlight dances in his dark eyes as he stares down at me. “Let’s
start with your name.”
“I’m Severine.”
“No. Your real name.”
“That is my real name.”
He cocks his head, and a lock of ebony hair falls before one of his eyes.
“If I desire, I can wrap you in a dream, girl. And in that dream, you will feel
compelled to say your real name a thousand times. You will say it for days,
for weeks, until you starve half to death, until the word no longer has
meaning. So, let’s try this again. What’s your name?”
Thunder rumbles outside, rattling the diamond-shaped glass panes.
I feel it then, a touch of his velvety power, brushing at the edges of my
mind. Threatening to wrap around me, to envelop my reality. He really will
do it unless I act fast. The shield in my mind isn’t strong enough. There
wasn’t enough time to practice.
Lying works best when it is laced with truth. I can give this evil fucker a
crumb.
I narrow my eyes at him, jaw tightening.
I should be acting like a meek girl, intimidated by the crown prince. But
Raphael’s words still echo in my mind, and the state of his ravaged, tortured
body burns my thoughts like a brand.
“Fine, it’s Nia.” I spit out the words. “Vaillancourt.” My words come
out sharper than they should, while my mind is whirring, making up a story
that would work, that would convince him I’m not worth his time.
“So, Nia. What are you doing here?” His voice is so uncannily familiar,
and the sound of his deep, velvety voice as he speaks my name sends a
strange rush of heat through my blood.
My pulse is racing out of control. Some Fey can hear a heartbeat while
standing nearby. I wonder if he’s one of them.
I lift my chin. “My family and I are tenants on farmland we don’t own.
A Killer
All this time, he’s made sure to stay between me and the door, blocking
my escape. But now, it doesn’t matter because I finally hear what I’ve been
waiting for since I let out that scream: footsteps pounding through the hall,
over the flagstones. Distant still, but I can feel the vibrations. And through
the walls, I hear Raphael’s muffled voice calling my name.
The intruder doesn’t even turn around. Does he not hear Raphael? But
then I hear him whispering again. And the mist rises around the door.
He lets out his eerie laugh as I stare in horror, realizing what’s about to
happen.
Raphael will barge through that door, straight into the mist. It will kill
him in seconds.
I let my fury course through me and summon my magic to disable the
mist, except this time, the mage is ready for it. Before I can snuff out the
power of the mist, he slices at me, forcing me to jump back, breaking my
focus. The mist rises all around the door, shimmering in its unearthly colors.
“Nia!” Raphael cries, closer now.
I gather my powers, and the mage lunges again. I dodge, his blade
whispering inches away from my throat, my concentration disrupted.
“Nia, I’m coming!” Raphael calls outside the door.
I tug at my power for the third time. The mage strikes once more. This
time, I ignore his attack, flinging my magic at the mist.
The hum stops, the veil mist flickering.
The mage’s scimitar sinks into my stomach, and searing agony spreads
through my body as the blade plunges in. I try to scream, but I can’t. I make
a strangled sound as the mage rips his scimitar from my gut. The door
bursts open, and Raphael charges in.
Blinded with pain, I fall to my knees. The mage whirls, and my thoughts
become hazy, drowned by the horror of my lacerated stomach. I try to speak
and taste blood on my lips.
Raphael
A Magnetron
The smallest girl I’ve ever seen rises out of darkness.
Cheers rise as a house in brown silk and red gemstones applauds their daughter.
“Rohr, of House Rhambos,” the family shouts, announcing her to the world.
The girl, no more than fourteen, smiles up at her family. She’s tiny in comparison to the statues, but her hands are strangely large. The rest of her looks liable to blow away in a strong breeze. She takes a turn about the ring of statues, always smiling upward. Her gaze lands on Cal—I mean the prince—trying to entice him with her doe eyes or the occasional flip of honey-blond hair. In short, she looks foolish. Until she approaches a solid stone statue and sloughs its head off with a single, simple slap.
House Rhambos speaks again. “Strongarm.”
Below us, little Rohr destroys the floor in a whirlwind, turning statues into pulverized piles of dust while she cracks the ground beneath her feet. She’s like an earthquake in tiny human form, breaking apart anything and everything in her way.
So this is a pageant.
A violent one, meant to showcase a girl’s beauty, splendor—and strength. The most talented daughter. This is a display of power, to pair the prince with the most powerful girl, so that their children might be the strongest of all. And this has been going on for hundreds of years.
I shudder to think of the strength in Cal’s pinkie finger.
He claps politely as the Rhambos girl finishes her display of organized destruction and steps back onto the descending platform. House Rhambos cheers for her as she disappears.
Next comes Heron of House Welle, the daughter of my own governor. She’s tall, with a face like her bird namesake. The destroyed earth shifts around her as she puts the floor back together. “Greenwarden,” her family chants. A greeny. At her command, trees
Sayfa 70
Reklam
Reklam