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- for there is as much beauty as there is terror in the night. Mortals have always been frightened of the night’s velvet embrace and the creatures that walk in it, and yet they find themselves mesmerized by it.
- “Fail and I will shatter you like pottery against the pavement,” the god concluded.
- She looked at him and thought it was easy enough to say the words, but he looked like a man. And should anyone ask, what should she say? No, he is a god, you see. No sin there, despite how beautiful he may be.
- “Then it is a good thing I rescued you,” Hun-Kamé said. “You did not rescue me,” Casiopea replied. “I opened that chest. Besides, I wasn’t a princess in a tower. I knew I’d get away one way or another, and I was not waiting for a god to liberate me. That would have been both silly and unlikely.”
- “My grandfather and my cousin slapped me when I was impertinent. Will you do that too?” she asked, and she couldn’t help but to cut her words with a tad of defiance. He gave her an odd look, which wasn’t quite disapproval. And he didn’t quite smile even if his lips curved, teeth showing. “No. I would not. I also can’t imagine it would do any good, since their blows did not curb your spirit. That is worthy. My brother did not break me, either.”
- “I’ll help you,” she said. “But I do it because I feel sorry for you, and not…not because you are ‘supreme lord’ of anything.” “How would you feel sorry for me?” Hun-Kamé asked, incredulous. “Because you are all alone in the world.”
- She had not been one for tantrums as a child, but when she did pitch a fit, it was a sight to behold, and right then she felt that if she didn’t sit down, calm herself, “You cannot use me as…as…a stupid puppet,” Casiopea said. “You can’t take whatever you want and—” “If you calm down, you will realize this is the most rational way to proceed.” “Can’t we…what if we pay a barber for some hair? They sweep it away into the garbage, anyway,” she insisted. “Symbolism is important. It should be offered willingly,” he said, speaking low. She had not been one for tantrums as a child, but when she did pitch a fit, it was a sight to behold, and right then she felt that if she didn’t sit down, calm herself, and close her eyes, she was going to smack the god of the dead across the face.
- The Leyvas were kings of Uukumil, but not kings of Mérida. He felt like an outsider, diminished. Unable to be the center of attention, he managed to get himself packed back to his hometown and refused to return to the school.
- whattayouknow, the great boy felt like a lord in his house, treated like a god in his house, with thoughts and feelings of grandeur and "i'm the best in the world", you'd think he would have dreams of making it big in the actual world, go places, travel, think bigger - like this small town is too small for me - but instead, that's where he wants to be, where he belongs because he has all his false greatness there
- She considered this in an abstract way. Gods and goddesses. Gods and mortals. However, with a god standing in front of Casiopea it was impossible that her mind not make another leap and connect Hun-Kamé to the matter of these pairings. It was immoral to even think it, to stare at him and wonder…well. Did he ever seduce a woman, tempt her with pomegranate seeds? Ridiculous question!
- “You undo one spell and you think you can command me?” the woman said, scoffing. “I’m suspecting that’s the way it works. And if it’s not the way, then I’ll start smashing all your plants and flowers to bits until you are nicer to me. I think you wouldn’t like that,” Casiopea said. “You would not dare.” “I would very much dare,” Casiopea said. “She is a savage,” the woman told Hun-Kamé.
- Ah, there is none more fearful of thieves than the one who has stolen something, and a kingdom is no small something.
- “There’s a bit of the devil in every man, even if he may act the part of the saint,” her mother had warned her. And of course, the follow-up: don’t give a fellow any ideas.
- “Come, girl, if you could have your revenge on him, you would,” he insisted. “You’d strike him and cut him with thorns.” “I’m not a girl,” she countered, offended. “And no. I’m not…I don’t need to cause Martín pain to be happy.” Casiopea considered her cousin. The cruelties he’d inflicted on her, the punishments she’d endured because of him. If the tables were turned, would she not seize the chance to torment him? Hadn’t she wished he would fall down a well? But those had been the half-formed ideas of a child. Her mother had been right: it was not as if her cousin’s misfortune could bring her joy. “It did no good that time I hurt him,” she said, shaking her head. “I won’t be hitting him or cutting him, or anything of that sort. I’d be like him if I derived joy from the misery of others. I’m not like Martín”
- “What would a god fear?” “Irrelevance.
- “I understood what he said,” she told Hun-Kamé. “How is that possible?” “Death speaks all languages,” he replied. “But I am not death.” “You wear me like a jewel upon your finger, Casiopea,”
- “You wear me like a jewel upon your finger, Casiopea,”
- “Words are seeds, Casiopea. With words you embroider narratives, and the narratives breed myths, and there’s power in the myth. Yes, the things you name have power,” he said.
- The things you name do grow in power, but others that are not ever whispered claw at one’s heart anyway, rip it to shreds even if a syllable does not escape the lips. The myths, and there’s power in the myth. Yes, the things you name have power,” he said. Casiopea clenched her hands together, and her heart clenched too, and she nodded solemnly, though she also sighed when he drew away from her. They were quiet and they were foolish, both of them, thinking they were treading with any delicacy, and that if they somehow moderated their voices they’d stop the tide of emotion. The things you name do grow in power, but others that are not ever whispered claw at one’s heart anyway, rip it to shreds even if a syllable does not escape the lips. The silence was hopeless in any case, since something escaped the god, anyway: a sigh to match the girl’s own.
- Even if she’d been able to picture a boy, he would never have come close to the man guiding her in the dance.
dec 31 2019 ∞
dec 31 2019 +
dec 31 2019 +