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AllGoblin KingLiesl VoglerElisabeth VoglerWintersongLieslShadowsongKäthe VoglerLoveYa2017

Famous S. Jae-Jones Quotes

“You'll come with me to Vienna, of course," I said. It wasn't a question. Käthe blinked, surprised by my sudden turn in conversation. "What?" "You'll be coming with me to Vienna," I repeated. "Won't you?" "Liesl," she said, eyes shining with tears. "Are you sure?" "Of course I'm sure," I said. "It'll be just like the Ideal Imaginary." She laughed again, and the sound was as pure as a spring morning. The what-if games my little sister and I had played as girls had been ways to pass the time, a space we created untouched by the grime and grief of ordinary drudgery. A world where we were princesses and queens, a world as beautiful and as magical as any my brother and I had made together. "Just imagine, Käthe." I took her hand mine. "Bonbons and handsome swains waiting on us hand and foot." She giggled. "And all the silks and velvets and brocades to dress ourselves in!" "An invitation to a different ball every night!" "Masques and operas and parties and dancing!" "Schnitzel and Apfelstrudel and Turkish coffee!" "Don't forget the chocolate torte," Käthe added. "It's your favorite." I laughed, and for a moment, I allowed myself to pretend we were little girls again, when our wants and dreams were as closely entwined as our fingers. "What if," I said softly. "Not a what-if," my sister said fiercely. "A when." "When," I repeated. I could not stop smiling.”

ImaginationViennaElisabeth VoglerKäthe Vogler
Book:Shadowsong
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“It isn't just the life of a maiden I needed, you know," the Goblin King said quietly. I glanced sharply at him, his tone had changed. "It was what a maiden can give me." "And what is that?" His smile was crooked. "Passion." Heat flared in my cheeks. "Not that sort of passion," he said quickly. Did I imagine things, or were his cheeks tinged a faint pink? "Well, yes, that too. Passion of all sorts," he said. "Intensity.”

PassionIntensityGoblin KingLiesl Vogler
Book:Wintersong
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“Hours, or days, or minutes passed before I felt the light touch of a hand on my head. "Elisabeth." A young man looked down at me, his mismatched eyes soft, the tilt of his mouth tender. It was the tenderness that undid me, undid the strings I'd bound about my heart. Longing, fear, grief, resentment, and desire came tumbling out. I began to cry. The young man reached out to wipe my tears away, and in his touch there was nothing but kindness. I wanted to take his compassion and wrap it about me for comfort.”

CompassionTendernessGoblin KingElisabeth Vogler
Book:Wintersong
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“Then, one day, he came across a maiden in the wood." "A brave maiden?" I ventured. "Brave," he agreed. "And beautiful." I scoffed. "This is a fairy tale indeed." "Shush." He touched a finger to my lips. "The maiden was both brave and beautiful, beautiful in ways that she did not see. Could not see, for all her beauty was locked away inside, magic and music, waiting to be set free.”

BeautifulBraveStoryGoblin KingElisabeth Vogler
Book:Wintersong
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“I am..." Who was I? Daughter, sister, wife, queen, composer,; these were the titles I had been given and claimed, but they were not the whole of me. They were not me, entire. I closed my eyes. "I am," I said slowly, "a girl with music in her soul. I am a sister, daughter, a friend, who fiercely protects those dear to her. I am a girl who loves strawberries, chocolate torte, songs in a minor key, moments stolen from chores, and childish games. I am short-tempered yet disciplined. I am self-indulgent, selfish, yet selfless. I am compassion and hatred and contradiction. I am... me.”

Who Am IElisabeth Vogler
Book:Wintersong
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“Choose to live, Elisabeth. There's a fire within you; keep it alight. Feed that flame with music and seasons and chocolate torte and strawberries and your Grandmother's Gugelhopf. Let it grow with your love for your family. Let it be a beacon to set your heart by, so that you remain true to yourself." He stroked my cheek. "Do this, so that I remember you like this: fierce and full of life.”

Live LifeGoblin KingSet FreeElisabeth VoglerInner Fire
Book:Wintersong
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“And at the center of the room, a girl. A woman. She sits at the klavier with eyes closed, playing their song. Their story. Elisabeth. Her image flickers, wavers, a reflection seen on the edges of a candle flame. The shadows wriggle and writhe with curiosity, and with tremendous effort, the monster holds them back. Please, he whispers. Please, let me have this one thing. As he plays, the darkness recedes. From his skin, from his hair, the weight of the rams' horns on his head lightening. Color returns to the world and to his eyes, a mismatched blue and green as the monster remembers what it is to be a man. Elisabeth. He sits down on the bench beside her, begging her- beseeching her- to open her eyes and see him. Be with him. But she keeps her eyes closed, hands trembling on the keyboard. Elisabeth. She stirs. He sucks in a sharp breath and lifts his hand to stroke her cheek with fingers that are still mangled, broken, strange. His touch passes through her like a knife through smoke, yet she shivers as if she can feel the brush of his fingers in the dark places of her soul, her body, her heart. She is as insubstantial as mist, but he cannot resist the urge, the itch, to kiss. He closes his eyes and leans in close, imagining the silk of her skin against his lips. They are met. A gasp. His eyes fly open but hers are still closed. Her hand lifts to her mouth, as though the tingle of their unexpected caress still lingered there. "Mein Herr," she sighs. "Oh, mein Herr." I'm here, he says. Look at me. Be with me. See me. Call me by name. Yet when she opens her eyes, she stares through him, not at him. The darkness hisses and crawls, the shushing sound of branches in an icy wind. She drops her head into her hands, her shoulders hunched, and the sound of her crying is more bitter than even the coldest winter night. No! he cries. He wants to comfort and caress her, but he cannot hold her, cannot touch her. He is a ghost in her mind, voiceless, silent, and incorporeal.”

BittersweetGoblin KingElisabeth Vogler
Book:Shadowsong
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“Presently, I grew tired and swam back to shore, long, pulling strokes that nevertheless did not seem to take me anywhere. My arms and legs felt leaden, my injured wrist tender and sore. It felt as though I would never reach dry land, and I began to worry that I would indeed drown. But I fought this battle every, fighting upstream against the inevitable, inexorable pull of my own destructive tendencies, and if the body was exhausted, then at least the mind was willing.”

DeterminationElisabeth Vogler
Book:Shadowsong
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“Those eyes. So pale, so startling, so different. His breath was hot against my face, and we stared at each other. I was stunned to see I was looking into the face of the austere young man, not Der Erlkönig, not the wolf, and suddenly I understood what he had been pleading. Don't leave me. A warmth spread from my center, turning my limbs liquid. But when that warmth reached my heart, it turned into pain. "Never," I breathed. At my word, his eyes transformed. Hardening into jewels, the mask of Der Erlkönig returned. He lowered his mouth to the column of my neck, a light touch of teeth, his hand moving to rest lightly against my collarbone. "Good," he growled. And then with one swift motion, he tore the fabric of my dress from the neck down.”

Goblin KingElisabeth Vogler
Book:Wintersong
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“If- if I could find a way to free you," I whispered, "would you walk the world above with me?" My back was to the Goblin King; I could not face him. It was a long time before he answered. "Oh, Elisabeth," he said. "I would go anywhere with you." I turned around. His eyes deepened in color and for a moment, just for the merest glimpse, I could see what he would have been like as a mortal man. If he had been allowed to live the course of his life, from the child he had been to the man he would have become. A musician- a violinist. I ran back into the circle of alder trees, wanting the circle of his arms around me. I reached out my hands, and his fingers brushed mine, but we passed through each other like water, like a mirage. We were each nothing but a shimmering illusion, a candle flame we could not hold. And yet, the Goblin King was still here, in the Goblin Grove, with me. He stood in the Underground while I stood in the world above, but our hearts beat within the same space. "Don't look back," he said. I nodded. I love you, I wanted to say. But I knew these words would break me. "Elisabeth." The Goblin King was smiling. Not the pointed smile of the Lord of Mischief or Der Erlkönig, but a crooked one. Twisted to one side, lopsided and goofy, it cracked my heart open and I bled inside. He mouthed a word at me. A name. "You've always had it, Elisabeth," he said softly. "For it is you I gave my soul.”

Goblin KingElisabeth Vogler
Book:Wintersong
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“We look amazing," I repeated, as if I could make up for our brother's rudeness. And we did look amazing. Käthe and I were dressed as an angel and a demon, but to my surprise, my sister had chosen to be the devil. She looked majestic in her gown of black velvet, her golden curls draped with black silk and lace, cleverly twisted together and pinned to resemble horns growing from her head. She had rouged her lips a bright red, and her blue eyes looked imperious from behind her black mask. For a moment, the image of moldering gowns on dress forms rose up in my mind, a polished bronze mirror reflecting an endless line of faded Goblin Queens. I swallowed. The dress my sister had made for me was nearly innocent in its simplicity. Yards and yards of fine white muslin had made a floating, ethereal gown, while Käthe had somehow fashioned a brocade cape into the shape of folded angel wings, which grew from my shoulder blades and cascaded to the floor. She had braided gold into a crown about my head for a halo, and I carried a lyre to complete the picture.”

Black And WhiteCostumesDay And NightElisabeth VoglerAngel And DemonKäthe Vogler
Book:Shadowsong
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“When I pull my hand away, my fingertips are not stained red, but silver. I stare at my nails, trying to make sense of what I see when out of the formless gloom, a monster emerges. I do scream when a pair of blue-white eyes appear, a pinprick of black in their center. Slowly, a shape coalesces into being- a long, elegant face, whorls of inky shadows swirling over moon-pale skin, ram's horns curling around pointed, elfin ears. He is more terrifying and more real than the vision I experienced in the labyrinth. But worst of all are the hands, gnarled and curled and with one too many joints in each finger. With a silver ring around the base of one. A wolf's-head ring, with two gems of blue and green for eyes. My ring. His ring. The symbol of our promise I had returned to the Goblin King back in the Goblin Grove. Mein Herr? For a brief moment, those blue-white eyes regain some color, the only color in this gray world. Blue and green, like the gems on the ring about his finger. Mismatched eyes. Human eyes. The eyes of my immortal beloved. Elisabeth, he says, and his lips move painfully around a mouth full of sharpened teeth, like the fangs of some horrifying beast. Despite the fear knifing my veins, my heart grows soft with pity. With tenderness. I reach for my Goblin King, longing to touch him, to hold his face in my hands the way I had done when I was his bride. Mein Herr. My hands lift to stroke his cheek, but he shakes his head, batting my fingers away. I am not he, he says, and an ominous growl laces his words as his eyes return to that eerie blue-white. He that you love is gone. Then who are you? I ask. His nostrils flare and shadows deepen around us, giving shape to the world. He swirls a cloak about him as a dark forest comes into view, growing from the mist. I am the Lord of Mischief and the Ruler Underground. His lips stretch thin over that dangerous mouth in a leering smile. I am death and doom and Der Erlkönig. No! I cry, reading for him again. No, you are he that I love, a king with music in his soul and a prayer in his heart. You are a scholar, a philosopher, and my own austere young man. Is that so? The corrupted Goblin King runs a tongue over his gleaming teeth, those pale eyes devouring me as though I were a sumptuous treat to be savored. Then prove it. Call him by name. A jolt sings through me- guilt and fear and desire altogether. His name, a name, the only link my austere young man has to the world above, the one thing he could not give me. Der Erlkönig throws his head back in a laugh. You do not even know your beloved's name, maiden? How can you possibly call it love when you walked away, when you abandoned him and all that he fought for? I shall find it, I say fiercely. I shall call him by name and bring him home. Malice lights those otherworldly eyes, and despite the monstrous markings and horns and fangs and fur that claim the Goblin King's comely form, he turns seductive, sly. Come, brave maiden, he purrs. Come, join me and be my bride once more, for it was not your austere young man who showed you the dark delights of the Underground and the flesh. It was I.”

Goblin KingElisabeth Vogler
Book:Shadowsong
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“The Goblin King gripped my shoulders tight and pulled me against him. One arm snaked across my neck, the other wrapped around my waist. I felt every last bit of him through the thin cloth of my wedding gown. He trembled as he held me. I was breathing hard, my breathing made harder by his arm pressing against my throat. I arched my back and closed my eyes. I covered his hand about my waist with my own, and brought my other hand up to touch his face. Beneath my fingers, the feathery pieces of his hair, the curve of a cheekbone, the strength of his jaw. His head bent, bringing his mouth to graze against where my neck met my shoulder. A soft kiss, a light bite. A nip. I moaned. The echoes of that moan ran up and down his body.”

Goblin KingElisabeth VoglerCaressing
Book:Wintersong
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“Magdalena, Maria Emmanuel, Bettina, Franziska, Ilke, Hildegard, Walburga; my predecessors and rivals and sisters. Every single one of them had married Der Erlkönig. Every single one of them had given up her life. Had they known the true cost of their sacrifice? Had I? They had long since faded away to dust, but something of their spirits lingered, the seams of their threadbare gowns holding in the last remnants of their souls. Their ghosts surrounded me now, and I could hear the whispers of their voices across time, beckoning, pleading, calling. Join us. Join us. But one voice was absent. The nameless, brave maiden. She lived, I thought. She walked out of the Underground, and lived.”

BridesElisabeth Vogler
Book:Wintersong
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“I suppose I had not been particularly subtle. For the first time, I had taken care with my appearance; after the encounter by the Underground lake, I had forced Twig and Thistle to take me to the tailor to stitch me a new gown. To stitch me some armor. I had had the tailor modify a gown made of a beautiful cream and gold silk taffeta. It was fashioned like a chemise, the skirt gathered beneath what little bosom I had before flowing out behind me in a train. The entire construction was held together by diaphanous straps at my shoulders, leaving my arms bare. Diamonds were craftily sewn into the bodice- hundreds, thousands, a myriad- twinkling like stars in a night sky. Twig and Thistle arranged my hair into a coronet of braids about my head, fitted with more little diamonds that sparkled brightly against my dark locks.”

DiamondsGownHairstyleElisabeth Vogler
Book:Wintersong
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“I missed him. I missed our conversations by the fire, when he had read aloud from the writings of Erasmus and Kepler and Copernicus, when I had set aside my self-consciousness and performed for him the works of occasional poetry I had learned. I missed our childish games of Truth or Forfeit, his hand tricks and jests. I missed working with him on our Wedding Night Sonata, but most of all I missed his smile, his mismatched eyes, and those long, elegant fingers of his that worked both music and magic.”

Goblin KingElisabeth Vogler
Book:Wintersong
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“At last I came upon the hedge maze. Far from the warm circles of light cast by torch and lamp, the leaves and twigs here were wedged in a silver lacework of starlight and shadow. The entrance was framed by two large trees, their branches still bare of any new growth. In the darkness, they seemed less like garden posts marking the way into the labyrinth than two silent sentinels guarding the doorway to the underworld. Shapes writhed in the shadows beyond the archway of bramble and vine, both inviting and intimidating. Yet I was not frightened. The hedge maze smelled like the forest outside the inn, a deep green scent of growth and decay, where life and death were intermingled. A familiar scent. A welcoming scent. The scent of home. Removing my mask, I crossed the threshold, letting darkness swallow me whole. There were no torches or candles lit upon the paths, and neither moonlight nor starlight penetrated the dense bramble. Yet my footing along these paths was sure, every part of me attuned to the wildness around me. Unlike the maze of Schönbrunn Palace, a meticulously manicured and man-made construction, this labyrinth breathed. Nature creeped in along the edges, reclaiming groomed, orderly, and civilized corridors into a twisting tangle of tunnels and tracks, weeds and wildflowers. Paths grew vague, roots unruly, branches untamed. Somewhere deep in the labyrinth, I could hear the giggles and gasps of illicit encounters in the shrubbery. I was careful of my step, lest I trip over a pair of trysting lovers, but when I came upon no one else, I let myself fall into a meditative state of mind. I wandered the recursive spirals of the hedge maze, turn after turn after turn, feeling a measure of calm for the first time in a long time.”

NatureElisabeth VoglerHedge Maze
Book:Shadowsong
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“Mein Herr? For a brief moment, those blue-white eyes regain some color, the only color in this gray world. Blue and green, like the gems on the ring about his finger. Mismatched eyes. Human eyes. The eyes of my immortal beloved. Elisabeth, he says, and his lips move painfully around a mouth full of sharpened teeth, like the fangs of some horrifying beast. Despite the fear knifing my veins, my heart grows soft with pity. With tenderness. I reach for my Goblin King, longing to touch him, to hold his face in my hands the way I had done when I was his bride. Mein Herr. My hands lift to stroke his cheek, but he shakes his head, batting my fingers away. I am not he, he says, and an ominous growl laces his words as his eyes return to that eerie blue-white. He that you love is gone. Then who are you? I ask. His nostrils flare and shadows deepen around us, giving shape to the world. He swirls a cloak about him as a dark forest comes into view, growing from the mist. I am the Lord of Mischief and the Ruler Underground. His lips stretch thin over that dangerous mouth in a leering smile. I am death and doom and Der Erlkönig. No! I cry, reading for him again. No, you are he that I love, a king with music in his soul and a prayer in his heart. You are a scholar, a philosopher, and my own austere young man. Is that so? The corrupted Goblin King runs a tongue over his gleaming teeth, those pale eyes devouring me as though I were a sumptuous treat to be savored. Then prove it. Call him by name. A jolt sings through me- guilt and fear and desire altogether. His name, a name, the only link my austere young man has to the world above, the one thing he could not give me. Der Erlkönig throws his head back in a laugh. You do not even know your beloved's name, maiden? How can you possibly call it love when you walked away, when you abandoned him and all that he fought for? I shall find it, I say fiercely. I shall call him by name and bring him home. Malice lights those otherworldly eyes, and despite the monstrous markings and horns and fangs and fur that claim the Goblin King's comely form, he turns seductive, sly. Come, brave maiden, he purrs. Come, join me and be my bride once more, for it was not your austere young man who showed you the dark delights of the Underground and the flesh. It was I.”

Goblin KingElisabeth Vogler
Book:Shadowsong
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“Past the woodshed, past the creek that ran behind our inn, deep in the wild heart of the forest, was a circle of alder trees we called the Goblin Grove. The trees grew in such a way as to suggest twisted arms and monstrous limbs frozen in an eternal dance, and Constanze liked to tell us that the trees had once been humans- naughty young women- who displeased Der Erlkönig. As children we had played here, Josef and me, played and sang and danced, offering our music to the Lord of Mischief. The Goblin King was the silhouette around which my music was composed, and the Goblin Grove was the place my shadows came to life. I spied a scarlet shape in the woods ahead of me. Käthe in my cloak, walking to my sacred space. An irrational, petty slash of irritation cut through my dread and unease. The Goblin Grove was my haunt, my refuge, my sanctuary. Why must she take everything that was mine? My sister had a gift for turning the extraordinary into the ordinary. Unlike my brother and me- who lived in the ether of magic and music- Käthe lived in the world of the real, the tangible, the mundane. Unlike us, she never had faith.”

InspirationGoblin KingHauntLiesl VoglerDeep In The ForestChildhood FantasyGoblin Grove
Book:Wintersong
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“She played her song for the Goblin King every spring, every year, to bring the world from death back into life. And when the little girl's gnarled and aged fingers could no longer hold her bow, her children and students picked up her song and continued to play, one long, unbroken melody that stretched across time and memory. On and on and on, for as long as the seasons turn and the living remember all that is good and beautiful and worthwhile in the world. For love is our only immortality, and when memory is faded and gone, it is our legacies that endure.”

Goblin KingLiesl VoglerShadowsong
Book:Shadowsong
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“Now," he said, turning me to face him. "Let us dance, Elisabeth." The musicians struck up another song, one I didn't recognize. The tempo was slow and in a minor key, seductive and sinister. The Goblin King pulled me into his embrace. He pressed his hand to my lower back, pushing our hips close together. Our hands met palm to palm, fingers intertwined. He was not masked and neither was I. Our eyes met. Despite the closeness of our bodies, it was the touch of our eyes that made me blush. "Mein Herr," I demurred. "I don't think-" "You think too much, Elisabeth," he said. "Too much about propriety, too much about duty, too much about everything but music. For once, don't think." The Goblin King smiled. It was a wicked grin, one that made me feel unsafe and excited at the same time. "Don't think. Feel.”

DancingGoblin KingLiesl Vogler
Book:Wintersong
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“Elisabeth. A breath on the back of my neck. I am dizzy, I sway, but I stand. A breath, then a kiss. I cannot see, but I know it is him. The Goblin King. I lean into him, but he holds me upright. He murmurs my name down my neck, down my spine, his long, elegant fingers traveling along the curves of my hips, my waist. Elisabeth. I do not know what to call him, but I cry out his name. My fingers reach, but he is gone.”

Goblin KingLiesl Vogler
Book:Wintersong
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“And you?" My scalp tingled, and an ache began at the base of my spine, fear or eagerness, I did not know. "What would you ask of me?" His eyes held mine. "I would ask the impossible." I struggled to let the Goblin King hold my gaze as heat stained my cheeks. "Bear in mind that I am no saint," I said, "and cannot work miracles." His lips twitched. "Then I would ask for your friendship." Startled, I removed my hands from the table. "Oh, Elisabeth," he said. "I would ask that you remember me. Not as we are now, but as we were then." I frowned. I thought back to our Goblin Grove dances, to the simple wagers we had made when I was a little girl. I struggled to find the truth hidden within my past, but I was unsure which was memory and which was make-believe. "You do remember." He shifted closer in his seat. There was something like hope in his voice, and I could not bear it. The Goblin King lifted his hand. The table beneath us vanished, swallowed up by the earth once more. He placed a finger against my temple. "Somewhere within that remarkable mind of yours, you kept those memories safe. Too safe. Hidden away." Was the Goblin King the friend I had imagined- remembered- as a child? Or was he truly the Lord of Mischief, blurring the lines between fantasy and reality? I was restless and itchy within my own mind. He left his seat and kneeled before me. His hands rested on the armrests of my chair, but he was careful not to touch me. "All I ask, Elisabeth," the Goblin King said, "is that you remember." His words were a bass, their notes resonating in my bones. "Please, remember.”

RememberGoblin KingLiesl Vogler
Book:Wintersong
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“Light shone through a large crack in the wall of the maze ahead of us. A slim, slender silhouette cast a shadow against the passage floors. Der Erlkönig. I did not marvel then that I knew the shape of his body as well as my own reflection. I watched the Goblin King's shadow play his violin, his right arm moving in a smooth, practiced bowing motion. Käthe tried to pull me away, but I did not go with her. I moved closer to the light, and pressed my face to the crack. I had to look, I had to see. I had to watch him play. The Goblin King's back was turned to me. He wore no fancy coat, no embroidered dressing gown. He was simply dressed in trousers and a fine cambric shirt, so fine I could see the play of muscles in his back. He played with precision and with considerable skill. The Goblin King was not Josef; he did not have my brother's clarity of emotion or my brother's transcendence. But the Goblin King had his own voice, full of passion, longing, and reverence, and it was unexpectedly... vibrant. Alive. I could hear the slight fumblings, the stutters and starts in tempo, the accidental jarring note that marked his playing as human, oh so human. This was a man- a young man?- playing a song he liked on the violin. Playing it until it sounded perfect to his imperfect ears. I had stumbled upon something private, something intimate. My cheeks reddened. "Liesl." My sister's voice sliced through the sound of the Goblin King's playing like a guillotine, stopping the music mid-phrase. He glanced over his shoulder, and our eyes met. His mismatched gaze was unguarded, and I felt both ashamed and emboldened. I had seen him unclothed in his bedchamber, but he was even more naked now. Propriety told me I should look away, but I could not, arrested by the sight of his soul bared to me. We stared at each other through the crack in the wall, unable to move. The air between us changed, like a world before a storm: hushed, quiet, waiting, expectant.”

True SelfGoblin KingLiesl Vogler
Book:Wintersong
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“What did you think the answer would be, Elisabeth? I toy with you because I can. Because it gives me great pleasure. Because I was bored." An inarticulate scream of rage strangled me. I wanted to destroy something, to spend my anger against the unfairness of everything. I wanted nothing more than to grapple with the Goblin King, to tear him limb to limb, a Maenad against Orpheus. I tightened my hands into fists. "Yes," he murmured. "Go ahead. Hit me. Strike me." The invitation was not just in his words, but his voice. He advanced. "Use your rage against me." We stared at each other, scarcely half a breath between us. This close, I could see that his gray eye was flecked with silver and blue, his green one ringed with amber and gold. Those eyes mocked me, inviting and inciting me into a passion. If I were a smoldering ember, he was the poker, stirring me into flames. I retreated. I was afraid. Afraid to touch him for fear of starting a fire within me. "What," I asked tightly, "do you want from me, mein Herr?" "I already told you what I want," he said. "You, entire." We did not relinquish each other's gaze. Let go, his eyes seemed to say. But I couldn't; if I surrendered to my fury, I wasn't certain what else I would give up. "Why?" My voice was hoarse. "Why what, Elisabeth?" "Why me?" My words were barely audible, but the Goblin King heard them. He had always heard me. "Why you?" Those sharp, pointed teeth glistened. "Who else but you?" Even his words were sharp, each slicing through me like a knife. "You, who have always been my playmate?”

Goblin KingLiesl Vogler
Book:Wintersong
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“A monster stands on the far shore of a glowing lake, waiting for the barge bearing his bride to return. He had stood in this very spot before, when he was a man and a king, when he played on his violin the image of a young woman through her music—her thoughts, her passions, her dreams. He had stood in this spot several times before that, greeting each bride as she made that last journey from life to death, but he never played his violin for them.”

Goblin KingLiesl VoglerShadowsong
Book:Shadowsong
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