Nessa

“Bramble's lips were tight. Her fists still shook.

"Take it back," she said. She gazed at the floor, but the words whipped. "We don't want the picture. We don't want your charity. Take it back!"

Teddie drew himself up to his full, towering taffy height.

"N-dash it-O!" he said. "It's not charity and I won't take it back! It's a gift! A gift, dash it all! Because I liked your mum! And I like your sisters! And you, Bramble! I love you!"

The words echoed. Everyone's hands clasped over their mouths, and they stared at Lord Teddie, who panted but kept a tight chin up. Bramble's lips were still pursed. They were white.

"Young man," said the King gently. "Your ship leaves soon?"

Azalea guessed that, with the fiasco of everything, the King had annulled any arrangements between Bramble and Lord Teddie. Lord Teddie's entire taffylike form slumped. He turned to go, all bounciness dissolved.

"Do you mean it?"

Lord Teddie turned quickly. Bramble's lips remained tight, but her gaze was up, blazing yellow.

"Gad, yes," said Lord Teddie. "I love you so much, my fingers hurt!"

"Oh!" Bramble slapped he hand over her mouth and doubled over. "Oh-oh-oh-oh!" She shook. It was hard to tell if she was crying, or coughing, or ill. "Oh!"

In a billow of skirts, Bramble leaped. It was a grand jete worthy of the Delchastrian prima ballerina. She landed right on Lord Teddie, who had no choice but to catch her, and threw her arms around his neck. Then, to everyone's shock, she pressed her lips full on his.

"Oh...my," said Clover.

No one seemed more surprised than Lord Teddie who stumbled back under Bramble's assault.”
― Heather Dixon, Entwined

“How daintily the butterfly
Flits to the spider's lace
Entranced by glimm'ring silver strings
Entwined with glist'ning grace.
How craftily the spider speaks
And whispers, 'All is well,'
Caresses it with poison'd feet
And sucks it to a shell”
― Heather Dixon, Entwined

“Inside her chest, a warm, billowing, something swept through her, to the tips of her fingers, the bottoms of her feet, shining like a brilliant beam of light. It wasn’t hot, boiling feeling of her temper, nor was it the cold wash of tingles that Swearing on Silver brought. It was deeper. It didn’t just pour through her body, but penetrated her soul.”
― Heather Dixon, Entwined

“From a memory deep inside her, so faint it only held sounds and slips of color, a tiny, three-year-old Azalea wailed, "Papa."

"Papa," said Azalea to the lifeless form of the King. The word was so forgein, it choked her throat. "Papa... you can't leave us, Papa... It would be very...out of order-"

Bramble knelt opposite her, grasping the King's bandaged hand.

"She's-she's right, Papa," Bramble stuttered. "We have...rules..."

Clover fell to her knees and pressed her handkerchief to his chest. Blood soaked through.

"Papa," she whispered.

The girls knelt around the King, their skirts spead out like forlorn blossoms, swallowing , and whispering one word.

"Papa."

"Papa."

"Papa.”
― Heather Dixon, Entwined