Khalia Moreau

“My hands brush against my sides as I rise to my feet. They finger something satiny, and I look down. No longer am I wearing the commoner clothing Laine dressed me in this morning but a white dress that kisses flowers beneath me. Their buds, the size of my fist, permeate the air with a smell I love, the smell of earth. And there's something else--- something sweet that makes my senses tingle, my eyes tear.
I pick one of the buds, jumping back when the petals unravel. A fairy, no larger than the size of a monarch butterfly, emerges. Her wings are like glass, the sun's rays beaming through them to cast little shadows on the earth below as she takes flight.
Her eyes, green like the lush forests untouched by mortals, burrow through my soul, paralyzing me.”
― Khalia Moreau, The Princess of Thornwood Drive

“Laine gathers everyone in a circle as fire emits from her fingertips. She passes that fire to the others--- little balls of flame that manifest in their hands.
I don't feel insulted that I'm not gifted with a little piece of her. My magic is too weak in this realm to control the flames he shares with the others.
Fire cupped in their hands, everyone, even Uncle, begins to sing an ode to my life, their voices pleasant despite the slightly disjointed rhythm. It makes me feel warm inside but not as warm as I feel when Laine takes a deep breath, calling upon all of her magic.
Caroline and Marcella continue to sing, but much like White Robe Jeon and Uncle, I watch, stunned, as Laine's flames transform the air around her into hot ribbons of light. Those ribbons whisk upward with the air, flickering in tune to the rhythm Caroline and Marcella sing. It shines with glory, restrained yet wild, pained yet happy. And Laine is its master, calling to not only it but all those gifted with flame, to the creatures birthed from the flame itself.
Dragons.
Only one appears tonight, wild and true as its silver scales catch the glimmer of the moon. It doesn't look back at us, but it has sensed Laine's magic. And it lets out a raw cry that could only have reverberated through Laine to reveal hidden truths.”
― Khalia Moreau, The Princess of Thornwood Drive