Thornhedge

by T. Kingfisher

Toads are capable of sarcasm, but their blood runs too cold for hysteria.

She had long experience with unkindness, but apologies undid her.

Surrounded by child-eating swamp spirits, Toadling felt intensely loved.

I have many mothers. If I am hideous, then we are hideous together. And that made it easier, because in her heart of hearts, she could not believe that her mothers were anything but beautiful.

“I will not kill my own child,” said the king, looking proud and noble and resolute, which lasted until he folded his lips together and said helplessly, “Someone else will have to do it.”

Her skin sang with the water’s touch, because skin was foolish and did not always know when it should be afraid.

She was theirs; they were hers. The love of monsters was uncomplicated.

It never occurred to her to doubt her welcome. Such was the gift of a child raised with love.

We’ll be here afterward. We’ll always be here. You’re ours and we’re yours.”