they were forbidden words, laced with the fear of transgression and sin.

I’m not a rebel. I was sent here to protect, not to harm.

This time when she picked up her paints, she didn’t think, she just painted. It was like opening the door onto a storm. The canvas was her doorway and the paint all the thunder and lightning, the wild pain-filled sky caught inside her.

teach usequality through empathy

She put her head in her hands and began to cry softly. He felt confused and bitterly unhappy. A part of him wanted to go to her, to hold and comfort her, but he wasn’t prepared to be pushed away in cold anger all over again. He waited in his chair and felt the room expand until there was an emptiness the size of the desert between them.

She knows how to feed her soul with a few quick breaths of outdoor air from the stairwell. She can bide her time till freedom comes. Little fox lady with her bright and determined eyes... taking her dose of freedom three times a day. Nothing else matters, she never stops to talk. She has better places to be than standing talking to other sick people. She has a fragment of home calling.

Music can make you feel things that aren’t yours—sadness, or love, or joy. A good song has a magic to it. It pulls you in and the feelings in the music take over and you become the music, you become the song.

This time he had no choice but to look into her eyes. He did not look away. It was the bright fierce gaze that she remembered so vividly from their first meeting. He’d reminded her of an eagle, the Castellan of Amyth

Idrith didn’t want to go back to his cold lonely room, with all its unanswered questions. He took the glass and sat down.

And who is to say the truth can’t be a miracle?

Never complete. Never whole.White skin and an African soul.

Those that know, do not need explanations, and those that do not, would not understand any explanations.

Eventually, she looked up, her eyes completely void of emotions. “You are merely a diversion. You mean nothing to me.” She walked past him and out of the room. She left him, a fish gasping amongst the clouds, falling back to earth.

I can’t tell you what to do. Only you know what is best for you, but I can tell you this much: love isn’t a destination, it’s a journey. You have to be willing to walk together or you will end up walking further and further apart.

It doesn't seem to make any sense, but then it never does! It's usually only afterwards when the pieces finally fit together, that you're left standing there thinking how obvious it always was.

Idrith didn’t want to go back to his cold lonely room, with all its unanswered questions. He took the glass and sat down. For a long while they sat without speaking, watching the flames and sipping their drinks. Idrith would have felt at peace if it weren’t for the book in Harmion’s lap.

He went up to his room and sat down at the desk to write the hardest note he’d ever written in his life. He tore up four attempts before he was happy with what he’d written. It was short and to the point. “You mean everything to me.”I

Rejoice in the colours…