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“Unglamoured, my skin is the pale blue-grey of hydrangea blooms, smeared with dirt along one cheek and across my nose. My hair is so woven with leaves and twigs and mud that it would be almost impossible to know that underneath it is an even darker blue. I have the same pointy chin I had when I thought I was mortal. A thin face, with large eyes, and an expression of startlement, as though I expect someone else when I look in the mirror. At least my eyes could pass for human. They're green, deep and dark. I smile a little to see the awfulness of my sharp teeth. A mouth full of knives. They make even the Folk flinch.” — Holly Black
Unglamoured, my skin is the pale blue-grey of hydrangea blooms, smeared with dirt along one cheek and across my nose. My hair is so woven with leaves and twigs and mud that it would be almost impossible to know that underneath it is an even darker blue. I have the same pointy chin I had when I thought I was mortal. A thin face, with large eyes, and an expression of startlement, as though I expect someone else when I look in the mirror.
At least my eyes could pass for human. They're green, deep and dark.
I smile a little to see the awfulness of my sharp teeth. A mouth full of knives. They make even the Folk flinch.