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Why did everyone keep insisting that glitter was not a true artistic medium?
“Hey, Anaconda Pants. What’s hanging?”
When the Protectors all around stopped screaming like four-year-olds on their first roller coaster,
like it was an ice cream cone on top of a volcano, and he didn’t want it to melt.
“This is my Precious, Perfect Devil, Little Glitter, shiny, and lovely, and stubborn. First and Only of her Kind; Beloved by All Realms; Guarded by the Great Gate; Protected by Sunny, the Light of Truth; my daughter, and that of Mikhail the Great-Souled, Maker of Sanctuary.”
I am Feather, the Beautiful Sacrifice, Beloved of Mikhail the Great-Souled, Maker of Sanctuary; best friend to Sunny, The Light of Truth, Ride or Die Birch; Treasured Little One of Seraphiel, known as Rumple, my Teacher and First Love; Secret Crush of Righteous Arm of Justice, Head Protector of Sanctuary who shall henceforth be known as Anaconda Pants; and Chief Antagonist and Adored Nemesis of Gavriel the Grumpy Lightbearer”—I had to stop and take another breath before I could finish, and wait for Haneul to stop laughing—“Leader of Sanctuary.”
