Staring at her face, she began to fancy her outer layer had begun to melt away while she … - Laini Taylor

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The praise of ancient authors proceeds not from the reverence of the dead, but from the competition and mutual envy of the living.

Laini Taylor

Staring at her face, she began to fancy her outer layer had begun to melt away while she wasn't paying attention, and something -- some new skeleton -- was emerging from beneath the softness of her accustomed self. With a deep, visceral ache, she wished her true form might prove to be a sleek and shining one, like a stiletto blade slicing free of an ungainly sheath. Like a bird of prey losing its hatchling fluff to hunt in cold, magnificent skies. That she might become something glittering, something startling, something dangerous.

Attention, Cold, Paying, Self, Skeletons, Sky

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She moved like a poem and smiled like a sphinx.

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Bitter, bitter, this desolation of angels.

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Happiness. It was the place where passion, with all its dazzle and drumbeat, met something softer: homecoming and safety and pure sunbeam comfort. It was all those things, intertwined with the heat and the thrill, and it was as bright within her as a swallowed star.

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She knocked and waited, because when the door was opened from within, it had the potential to lead someplace quite different.

Different, Doors, Knocked, Quite, Someplace, Waited

Hope can be a powerful force. Maybe there's no actual magic in it, but when you know what you hope for most and hold it like a light within you, you can make things happen, almost like magic.

Heart, Hope, Know, Light, Maybe, Powerful