you’ll find no imperative here.
there’s a woman with a chip in her shoulder; her name is Galatea, and she rebuts all the advances all the men around her make. there’s a man with time on his hands—his kind are the reason most who come to these…
Whim the Weedwise teaches, “follow your first name, the one was never given you, the one before the game. (she means the game of yes and no, of black and white; the game of here and there, and now and then, and…
we planned it over years, giving word only from mouth to ear. we envisioned it simple and sudden and strict: all of them would go, no exceptions, no remorse. we didn’t talk of any after, didn’t predict what might occur when our…
the thumping heels and curses and hood-muffled moans. the limp of a man forced along on broken bones. the gut-thud and the shut up and the brass knocker rapping. the seneschal’s wait and the [res]trained, respectful tapping at his den’s door—Needsay hears…
most of the time, Half goes by he, by human, by handsome, by healthy; it opens doors, you understand, among the white-haired wealthy. but Half can’t palate pale, and loses track of money, and gets angry when asked for his tale, and…
we called it snowscript, because we invented it cold. we didn’t think it’d ever get loose, or what it would do when its habit took hold. this was when winter was weighty, slow-moving, an inertia too strong to oppose with human movement;…
“this is an illusion,” he said. he reached up, and started moving stars. he spoke quietly while he worked, pointing out Venus and Polaris and Mars. his slim hands moved smoothly from the hunter to the lady’s hair, down the dragon’s spine,…