“Like chaos in a glass cage.”
“Like many faeries she knew, he was sculpture-perfect, but instead of being wrought of shadows like those in her court, this faery had a tangled feel to him. Shadow and radiance. He didn‘t look much older than her, until she saw the arrogance in his posture. Then, he reminded her of Irial, of Bananach, of Keenan, of the faeries who walked through courts and crowds confident that they could slaughter everyone in the room. Like chaos in a glass cage.”
“Often I'd take out my magnifying glass and stare into the chaos that was her face.”
“I for one like chaos. Chaos looks good on me.”
“I don't like cages,”
“-She is like the wind, open and free. If I cage the wind, would it die?-Then don't cage it, Mikhail. Trust it to stay beside you.”