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“Being your friend is like trying to get up close and personal with a natural disaster,” she’d said. “Sure, we have some good times, but we spend half of them covered in blood. We just want to spend an evening making you as uncomfortable as you keep making the rest of us.”
Dianda is several things. Cheerfully violent. The Duchess of Saltmist. A frequent ally of mine. And, oh right, a mermaid—specifically,
“That’s the Luidaeg, singing ‘Poor Unfortunate Souls.’ In a karaoke bar. In front of other people.”
The Luidaeg is a sledgehammer in a world of scalpels, and when she gets involved, it leaves a mark.
Some wounds never really heal. They just scab over enough to let you keep on going.
Language is an invasive species. Let it take root in new soil, and you’ll never beat it out, no matter how hard you try.”
Because sometimes the best intentions could lead to some very dark places, and once you were there, it could be almost impossible to find your way home again, unless there was someone willing to help you. Unless you could get there and back by the light of a candle.
“I hit her with a baseball bat until she stopped moving.”
That woman was Prometheus and Prospero rolled into a single golden-eyed form,
I had a great deal of respect for his straightforward nature, and for his willingness to pick people up by the throat. It seemed efficient.
