“The resulting garment was black, of course. But it was like no fabric I'd ever seen before, liquid and faintly glimmering. He had ordered each of his guardians to donate several of their feathers, and these he had woven into the material. They were not visible exactly, except as a suggestion of wings when the cloak caught the wind. It was a garment that needed no adornment, for it was like something snipped out of a dream, and he gave it none, apart from the row of buttons. I would have expected him to pick the finest of those I had gathered, but instead he chose a selection that would represent all the regions of his realm: silver from the Weeping Mines and the lower tributary of the Tromlu River; carved oak from the antlers of one of the hag-headed deer; colored marble from the Blue Hooks. The effect was more impressive than if he had adorned himself in jewels, for together the buttons possessed an enchantment that made strange images flit through my mind when I looked upon them, memories of places I'd never seen. A shadowy grove around a narrow standing stone; a flash of mist-shrouded water tumbling down a sheer cliff.” LupiFairy MagicSilvaRepresentationsCloakGarment Book:Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales Source: Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales
“Now, Shadow has never been fond of clothing, but he seemed to sense the importance of this particular imposition on his dignity, and held still while Wendell measured and draped him in iterations of what became a fine coat. It was a soft, velvety black, embroidered with a kingly amount of silver, which Wendell somehow made from a handful of the silver buttons I had found. He had decided to make Shadow intimidating--- to which I did not object, knowing this would lessen the dog's embarrassment--- and so he had taken tendrils of fog and attached them to the cloak like billowing ribbons, so that Shadow seemed to carry a mist with him everywhere like the spectral beast that he is. Together with the glitter of the silver, the effect was--- well, mythic.” DogShadowSilverFogGrimDressed UpFairy MagicCloaked Book:Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales Source: Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales
“Toss me one of your pencils!" "Have you gone mad?" I cried even as I removed the pencil from my cloak pocket and threw it at his head. It began to transform before it even reached him, elongating and flashing through the shadows--- a sword. I regretted aiming for his head then, but Wendell caught it with the grace of a trained swordsman, which of course he was. Watching Wendell with a sword is like watching a bird leap from a branch--- there is something thoughtless about it, innate. One has the sense that he is less himself without a sword, that wielding it returns him to the element most natural to him. He drove the sword into the nearest sheerie, and before it had fallen he had spun round to slash at the one behind him, slicing it open like overripe fruit. The other three fell just as easily.” SwordRecklessnessPencilFaerie KingFairy Magic Book:Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands Source: Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands
“This queen seems no better." He came close to me, looking me up and down as a glint of mischief came into his eyes. "But mortals can be entertaining. And they do not break as easily as some think." Wendell's expression went from one of bemusement to towering fury with such abruptness that both Taran and I fell back a step; Taran afterwards looked annoyed as a cat following a moment of gracelessness. There came a terrible rumbling sound, coupled with that same wet rustling with which I am all too familiar, as if the attentive oaks were uprooting themselves en masse and lumbering in our direction. "You are speaking to a queen of Faerie," Wendell said, and it seemed as if the rustling leaves were in his voice.” TreesProtectiveRomantasyFaerie KingFairy Magic Book:Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales Source: Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales