“Heswept the ears to the floor with his arm and heldthe last of his wine in the air. Something for yourpoetry, no? he said. Some of the ears on the floorcaught this scrap of his voice. Some of the ears onthe floor were pressed to the ground.”

“The worst is over, the worst is yet to come”

“One can live without having survived”

“In the night I come to you and it seems a shame to waste my deepest shudders on a wall of a man.”

“When Sebastian reached his room, the Black Earl stood by his bed. Sebastian turned away, fingering the cufflink in his pocket. He didn't need the Black Earl's help in debauching Olivia anymore, he had apparently at last managed that well enough all on his own. He threw himself onto a chair, full of his memory of his hands on Olivia. Cold air sent a prickle along the backs of his arms. He opened his eyes and saw the Black Earl again. In one hand, he gripped a sword of unearthly silver, but held downward so that the point of the weapon touched the floor. He wept as if his heart were broken. "Aidez-la" Help her.Sebastian heard nothing but the roar of those words tearing through his soul. Help her.The Black Earl, weeping still, turned to the stone wall. A rent marred his crimson tunic, the edges jagged and blackened, and then he, too, vanished and left behind him nothing but an aching, unfillable emptiness.Help her.”

“Air swirled over her shoulders leaving a wake of chilled skin. To her left something stirred in the shadows. She blinked. The swordsman stood by the fire, as clear and solid as day. Her heart thundered in her ears so loud he must surely hear. She started to sit up, then remembered her naked state. Water sloshed in the tub. "I beg your pardon."He inclined his head. Steam from the water swirled, but Olivia saw his dark hair. He was tall and wore a tunic worked with red and gold. A leather strap crossed from right shoulder to left waist and held the scabbard fastened across his back. A jeweled belt circled his waist. His eyes matched the blue of the sky. The way he stood struck her as familiar. She closed her eyes. He was still there when she opened them again. "I am not mad," she said. "Is that you? Edith?"Even with the distance between them and the mist swirling in the air, she saw his blue eyes, the arrogant set to his shoulders that came of years of wealth and breeding. His grin sent a flare of alarm up her spine. He took a step toward her, and for one dreadful moment, she was convinced he was as real as she was. He tipped his head and spread his arms wide, as if to prove himself harmless. "Go away." She wasn't afraid of him precisely. She was afraid of being mad. "Please, just go away."He shook his head."I am not mad," she whispered.He shook his head again. "I wish you were real.”

“I wanted something from him then, this man I'd married. I wanted to dance with him in our living room late at night; I wanted to make love on the floor while a song that shaped all my views of love played in the background. If this was love, if this was marriage, then we should have access to everything those songs promised. We should own that romance. I gathered my courage; I walked over & put my hand on his shoulder, pulled him to his feet, but I knew immediately that i couldn't go through with it. We were both too self-conscious. He did a kind of joke dance, swinging me around with jerky movements, and then he went up to bed, leaving me by myself. And how could I could complain? That was the man I married; he was wonderful in many ways, but he was never going to dance with me in our living room. He wasn't going to come back down the stairs and take me in his arms. Those were just facts I'd have to face.”