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“Hello, Elisabeth," he said softly. I stood dumb and silent. How did one respond to Der Erlkönig, Lord of Mischief, Ruler of the Underground? How did one address a legend? My mind spun, trying to reel in my emotions. The Goblin King stood before me, in flesh and not in memory. "Mein Herr," I said. "So polite." His voice was as dry as autumn leaves. "Ah, Elisabeth, we need not stand on formalities here. Have we not known each other your entire life?" "Liesl," I said. "Then call me Liesl." The Goblin King grinned. The tips of his pointed teeth gleamed. "I much prefer Elisabeth, thank you. Liesl is a girl's name. Elisabeth is the name of a woman." "And what do I call you?" I strove to keep my voice from shaking. Again that predator's smile. "Whatever you like," he murmured. "Whatever you like." I ignored the purr in his voice.”

Goblin KingLiesl Vogler
Book:Wintersong
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“I was about to march straight into the Goblin Grove and drag my sister back home to safety when the stranger drew back his hood. I gasped. I could say the stranger was beautiful, but to describe him thus was to call Mozart "just a musician." His beauty was that of an ice storm, lovely and deadly. He was not handsome, not the way Hans was handsome; the stranger's features were too long, too pointed, too alien. There was a prettiness about him that was almost girly, and an ugliness about him that was just as compelling. I understood then what Constanze had meant when those doomed young ladies longed to hold on to him the way they yearned to grasp candle flame or mist. His beauty hurt, but it was the pain that made it beautiful. Yet it was not his strange and cruel beauty that moved me, it was the fact that I knew that face, that hair, that look. He was as familiar to me as the sound of my own music. This was the Goblin King.”

Goblin KingFacial Beauty
Book:Wintersong
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“This was the Goblin King. That was my sister in his arms. This was my sister tilting her head back to greet his lips. That was the Goblin King bending down to receive her kisses like sacred offerings made at the altar of his worship. This was the Goblin King running long, slender fingers down the line of my sister's neck, her shoulder, her back. That was my sister laughing, her bright, musical bell of a laugh, and this was the Goblin King smiling in return, but looking at me, always looking. I was entranced; my sister was enchanted. Enchanted. The word was a dash of cold water, and my senses returned with a jolt. This was the Goblin King. The abductor of maidens, the punisher of misdeeds, the Lord of Mischief and the Underground. But was he also not the friend of my childhood, the confidante of my youth?”

Goblin KingLiesl VoglerKäthe Vogler
Book:Wintersong
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“This time the Goblin King took note. He raised his head and we locked gazes over my sister's stupefied form. His pale hair surrounded his thin face like a halo, like a thistle cloud, like a wolf's shaggy mane, silver and gold and colorless all at once. I could not tell what color his eyes were from where I stood, but they were likewise pale, and icy. The Goblin King tilted his head in a duelist's nod and gave me a small smile, the tips of his teeth sharp and pointed. I clenched my fists. I knew that smile. I recognized it, and understood it as a challenge. Come rescue her, my dear, the smile said. Come and rescue her... if you can.”

Goblin KingLiesl Vogler
Book:Wintersong
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“He was standing in a far corner of the main hall, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. The tall, elegant stranger. The Goblin King. He was the still point around which everything revolved. He was reality where everything else was a reflection. He stood out in sharp relief when everything else was muted, as though we were the only two alive and present in a world of illusion and shadow. He smiled at me, and every fiber of my being reached for him. His very grin could command my flesh to dance.”

Goblin KingLiesl Vogler
Book:Wintersong
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“A velvet voice stroked down my spine. "I'm quite pleased, quite pleased indeed." I turned around. The Goblin King was lounging against one of the alder trees in the grove, one arm draped against the trunk, the other resting casually against his hip. His hair was in wild disarray, ruffled and feathery, like thistledown, like spiderwebs, illuminated by the full moon into a halo about his head. His face held all the beauty of angels, but the grin upon his face was positively devilish.”

Goblin King
Book:Wintersong
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“Me," I said a little more loudly. "Why me?" "Why not you?" he returned. "Why not the girl who played her music for me in the Goblin Grove when she was a child?" He had said so much, yet nothing I wanted to hear. That he desired me. That he had chosen me. That he... I wanted to hear the truth in his eyes said aloud. I could feel his gaze upon every part of my body; on my neck, where my shoulder disappeared into the torn sleeves of my blouse, the line of my collarbone as it led to my décolletage, the swell and ebb of my breasts as I breathed. I had waited for this my entire life, I realized. Not to be found beautiful- but desirable. Wanted. I wanted the Goblin King to claim me as his own. "Why me?" I repeated. "Why Maria Elisabeth Ingeborg Vogler?" I held his eyes with mine. He had his pride, but so had I. If I were to make good on the promise I made that little dancing boy in the wood all those years ago, I needed to hear validation from his own lips. "Because," he said. "Because I loved the music within you." I closed my eyes. His words were the spark to the tinder lining my blood; they touched my heart and warmth blazed from within, spreading through me like wildfire.”

ConfessionDesirableDesiredLiesl Vogler
Book:Wintersong
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“I never did understand the prospect of spending coin for pleasure, but my sister loved to shop. She ran her fingers lovingly over the fabrics on sale: silks and velvets and satins imported from England, Italy, and even the Far East. She buried her nose in bouquets of dried lavender and rosemary, and closed her eyes as she savored the tart taste of mustard on the doughy pretzel she had bought. Such sensuous enjoyment.”

ShoppingDelightsIndulgences
Book:Wintersong
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“I crossed my arms. "Pray, be more specific, maestro," I said. "I'm afraid we rustic peasants have not your worldly experience." Grumbles from the audience, and their pointed daggers of curiosity were aimed at Master Antonius now. "Liesl," Papa warned. "You overreach yourself." "No, no, Georg," the old violinist said. "The young lady has a point." He smirked. "True genius is not just technical skill, yes? Any fool could learn to play all the right notes. It takes a certain... passion and brilliance to bring the notes together to say something true. Something real." I nodded in agreement. "Then if true genius is performance and ability and passion," I said, not daring to look at Papa, "perhaps my brother was ill-served by the choice of music." This piqued the old master's interest. He lifted his bushy brows, his dark eyes beady in his fleshy face. "So the little Fräulein fancies herself a better tutor than her father! Well, I am tickled. You amuse me, girl.”

Liesl VoglerBold And Attitude
Book:Wintersong
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“Thistle and Twig had pushed, prodded, pulled, and cajoled me into an elaborate construction of a gown. It was a little out of date from the current fashions of the world above, something a fine lady might have worn fifty or sixty years ago. The gown was a russet and bronze damask, lined with a stomacher of watered silk striped with cream and violet. It was trimmed with rosettes cunningly shaped like alder catkins. Little as I was, the waist of the gown was even littler, the stays pinching my lower ribs so painfully I could not draw a deep breath. Even more impressive was the décolletage the bodice was able to give me. Despite the yards of fabric, I still felt naked.”

Liesl VoglerBall Gown
Book:Wintersong
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