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Jack was a changeling—Carter’s changeling, left behind when Carter got stolen away by the faeries.
Dead in the center of the Carling forest, the haunted forest, full of what Hazel’s grandfather called Greenies and what her mother called They Themselves or the Folk of the Air.
Fairfold had the boy in the glass coffin. Fairfold had the Folk. And to the Folk, tourists were fair game.
They had to be respectful of the Folk, but not scared. Tourists were scared. They had to stay clear of the Folk and carry protections. Tourists weren’t scared enough.
“Enter at your own risk,” he called. Hazel opened it to find him holding a cell phone up to his ear as he hopped his way into a pair of mustard-colored skinny jeans.
Very telling what decade this was written lol
her brother picked up a red blazer, apparently matching his outfit to a sunrise.
Or mustard and ketchup
Mom had left a plate of homemade kale-granola-raisin bars sitting on the table.
Ew
Charlize Potts was saying, her arms folded over the giant slouchy Hollister sweatshirt she wore with pink jeggings, white-blond hair spilling down her back.
Another telling 2010s era
“Because he’s our prince,” Ben echoed, the way another person might have responded to a familiar prayer with “amen.”
They are twilight creatures, beings of dawn and dusk, of standing between one thing and another, of not quite and almost, of borderlands and shadows.
They loved him as they loved lead singers of bands and actors in movies, loved him in such a way that their shared love brought them closer together.
stone building before with Ben, many years ago, when they’d been pretending to be witches and wizards just out of Hogwarts, cooking up cauldrons of weeds with a pail and some water.
His horns rose up over his temples and curved back behind his sharp ears, close to his head and ending in points just past his jawline, so that, to someone at a distance, they might appear like thick braids.
Jude vibes, with her braided horns sometimes
“Do you know what this was? Not glass,” he told her, sliding his hand inside, running his fingers over the lining. “Nor is it crystal. Nor is it stone. It’s made of tears. Almost impossible to shatter. Made by one of the finest craftsmen in all of Faerie, Grimsen. Made to hold a monster.”
“I know what you want of me,” he said, coming closer. Everything else seemed to melt away. He lifted her chin, canting her face toward his. “I know every one of your secrets. I know all your dreams. Let me persuade you.”
It was Tam Lin, where a human knight was forced into the service of a queen of Faerie and saved by a brave mortal girl, Janet. Tam Lin was a human knight.
“I love you like in the storybooks. I love you like in the ballads. I love you like a lightning bolt.
When she caught his eye, his gaze had a fathomless intensity that made her feel as if she were drowning. His mouth tilted crookedly, and she felt it like a blow. He liked her. He liked her—or he had liked her daytime self. He liked her and she loved him. She loved him so much that it already hurt. It already felt like he’d broken her heart.
