remember, remember the fifth of november, the gunpowder treason and plot. i know of no reason why the gunpowder treason… should ever be forgot.
"Wie du mich heute amüsiert hast, als du kamst und fragtest, ob du deinem Freund von der Verlobung schreiben sollst. Er weiß ja alles, du dummer Junge, er weiß ja alles! Ich schrieb ihm doch, weil du vergessen hast, mir das Schreibzeug wegzunehmen. Deshalb kommt er seit Jahren nicht, er weiß alles hundertmal besser als du selbst, deine Briefe zerknüllt er ungelesen in der linken Hand, während er meine Briefe zum Lesen vor sich hält in der rechten!"
"How you amuse me today, coming and asking me if you should tell your friend about your engagement. He knows it already, you stupid boy, he knows it all! I've been writing to him, you see, because you forgot to take my writings away from me. That's why he hasn't been here for such years now, he knows everything a hundred times better than you do yourself, he crumples up your letters unread in his left hand while he holds up my own letters to read in his right!"
Bazı hikâyeler tam tahmin ettiğin gibi ilerler. Bazılarıysa son sayfada tüm bildiklerini sorgulatır. 🤯
Ters köşeleri seviyorsan, seni sonuna kadar merakta bırakacak 3 kitap önerisini keşfetmeye hazır ol!
But what about happiness, I thought at first, is there no happiness? There must be. Oh happiness of course, happiness, well. But I soon forgot about happiness...
—
Peki ya mutluluk, diye düşünürdüm başlarda, mutluluk yok mu? Olmalı. Tabi ya mutluluk, mutluluk, evet. Ama çok geçmeden unuttum mutluluğu...
the hand that writ it, for i love you so,
that i in your sweet thoughts would be forgot
if thinking on me then should make you woe.
But I also forgot myself; who was I, now, in the dark beside you? Was I the ardent child of the past, was I the mother of your child, was I a stranger? Oh, it was all so familiar, I had known it all before,
First Sparks
What happened to your family?” I ask, deflecting.
He winces nearly imperceptibly. “My mother raised me. My father was
never in the picture. Auberon considered my human mother an enemy of the
crown, even though she hardly had any money. I don’t understand what he
had against her, except that he blamed all his failures on humans. And she
was human.” He leans back against the wall and stares out at the river.
Sensing he needs a drink, I hand him the flask.
He takes a sip. “We didn’t realize how far he was going to go. This was
before the invasion of France, when our world was still secret. And we
never imagined…my mom thought if she just kept quiet, he’d leave her
alone. So, we kept to ourselves. But one day, Auberon’s soldiers raided our
home. There was no trial, no jury, no chance to repent. Dawn broke, and
they slaughtered my mom in the garden.”
His jaw clenches, but he keeps talking, as if he’s forgotten I’m there.
“We’d all been in bed, then someone knocked on the door.” He takes
another sip. “They wanted to kill everyone in the house. My sister screamed
at me to run to the forest, that Mom was gone, and they were after us. I ran.
I thought she was behind me.” A line forms between his eyebrows. “She
wasn’t, and I ran back to find her, but I couldn’t find her anywhere.”
My chest aches. “How old were you?”
“Nine. My sister was sixteen.”
I swallow hard. “And you never found her?”
He hands me the mead. “I kept searching the forest, living off berries
and water from the stream. She never came. I think I was half-dead when a
demi-Fey family found me and took me with them to France. It was really
amazing luck, I suppose. I was heartbroken, but they brought me to the
château with them, and I started working, picking grapes.” He glances at
me. “You know the rest. And now this
