Women who have power are always feared.
Women who have power are always feared.
I will tell you the story of how we found ourselves in a realm where dreams are formed, destiny is chosen, and magic is as real as a handprint in the snow.
We are all unkind from time to time. We all do things we desperately wish we could undo. Those regrets just become part of who we are, along with everything else. To spend time trying to change that, well, it's like chasing clouds.
My misery is reaching epidemic proportions.
I am dying a thousand cruel and unusual deaths as fifty pairs of eyes take me in, size me up like something that should be hanging over a fireplace in a gentleman's den.
There are no safe choices. Only other choices.
If you tell them what they want to hear, they don't bother to try to see.
Welcome to finishing school, Gemma. Learn to embroider, serve tea, curtsy. Oh, and by the way, you might be demolished in the night by a hideous winged creature from the roof.
And now I understand that truth casts a spell of its own, one I'm not sure of how to hold on to, though I'm desperate to try.
No? Part girl, part wolf? Do they lick their butter knives?
I am staring into the hissing face of a cobra. A surprisingly pink tongue slithers in and out of a cruel mouth while an Indian man whose eyes are the blue of blindless inclines his head towards my mother and explains in Hindi that cobras make very good eating.
There are no wrong decisions only diffrent ones.
I'm an oddity of one, my strangeness too complicated to explain or share.
What do you feel? I've never been asked this question once. None of us has. We aren't supposed to feel. We're British.
Beauty, grace, and charm my foot. It's a school for sadists with good tea-serving skills.
One can never go back. One always has to move forward.
I can see his pain, see it in the way he runs his fingers through his hair, over and over, and I understand what it costs him to hide it all.
There's a lot about discovering who you are and how difficult that is. And it never stops.
I'm going to eviscerate you and leave your organs on a pike in the yard as a warning to those who wear large jewelry.
Come on, Father. Stop me. Tell me to behave, to go to hell, something, anything.
One could argue that it's romantic to die for love. Of course, then you're dead and unable to take that honeymoon trip to the Alps with all the other fashionable young couples, which is a shame.
I don't have time to feel sorry for myself. I've got to think.
They don't know what they're in for at Spence, getting me, a ghost of a girl who'll nod and smile and take her tea but who isn't really here.
I'm sorry, Gemma. But we can't live in the light all of the time. You have to take whatever light you can hold into the dark with you.
Didn't you have any sadistic nannies who told you these tales to keep you quiet and well behaved at night? Heavens, what's to become of the Empire if governesses have lost their touch for scaring the wits out of their girls?
People see what they want to see when they need to.
I don't trust her father than I can run full-steam in a corset.
They have money and position and Ann has none.It's amazing how often you can be right as long as you have those two things working in your favor.
In every end, there is also a beginning.
Even Felicity can't keep from sputtering with laughter. I wish I could use my evil eye. Or at least my evil boot right smack against Cecily's backside.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories