Where the Light No Longer Follows (Blue Fairytales, #3)

by Wendy Heiss

Silene had always found more colour in dying than living.

Half a soul made up entirely of death, the very essence of dying.

“What’s with all the lace? Are you a tablecloth?”

“Besides, he is waiting for the human girl he met years ago.”

“We can still love things that don’t love us back.”

You shouldn’t have shown yourself if you didn’t want me to tell on you.” “Then how would you see me?” She blinked once. “Why would I need to see you?” He raked one long look over her. “Maybe I needed to see you.”

“Let them marry. Time wouldn’t mind us borrowing just a minute.” “Time might not,” Silene said. “But right now they are just two people who love one another. In another minute it will become eternal. He won’t die as her lover. He will die as her husband. As her forever. Bound to her by human vows not even Gods will ever understand the meaning to. You could give them one more minute, but you would be taking eternity from her.”

Time was following its course anew and death was chasing along.

Silene knew for certain that if love was all it took to save someone, they’d all be eternal.

To give comfort, you have to know comfort.

Yearning was a disease with a cure. Those strong enough would survive it. They’d conquer it.

It is such an unfortunate affair when you hand a paint brush to someone who has no clue how to handle art.”

“Impossible. I would have remembered you.”

“You swayed a little on your feet when you saw my handsome face.” Her jaw twitched. “It was you who swayed.” His grin was wide. “What can I say? I like sad, pretty girls who look at me like they wish nothing more but to bury my existence six feet under.”

Except that light was not exactly light, the wind was truly not wind, but night somehow remained the same—filled with haunting dreams.

“I want so much, Silene,” he drawled. “But I don’t wish to be greedy, so a day would suffice.”

“Do I steal your breath away, pretty Silene?” “Maybe you stink.”

“The things I’d give to know what tortures you’re thinking for me.”

“Are you glaring or staring?” he shouted over the deafening music when she remained rooted on the spot, watching him. “Neither,” she shouted back. “Admiring?” “Wishing.” “Wishing for what?” “For you to take a tumble down those stairs,”

“

Gabriel wondered—he wondered if she’d always sensed him, if she knew he’d always been watching her for years, for hundreds of them.

Gabriel was afraid—he was afraid to love his brother properly. Truth was, Gabriel was afraid to love anything at all.

“I didn’t want to be alone tonight. Just this one night.”

“Sweet dreams, my ruin,”