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Quote by Jackson Pearce

“Keanu Reeves?" she asks in amazement. I nod. "What did he wish for?" "Isn't it obvious?" I say, waving a hand at the screen. "Fame." "That's why he's famous? Because of a wish?" "Have you seen his movies? Surely you didn't think he made it on his acting skills?" I grant wishes; I don't work miracles. Viola looks back at the screen, eyes screwed up in awe. "I guess that makes sense," she says faintly as my former master delivers a line poorly. "Wow.”

Quote by Jackson Pearce

Work

As You Wish

In this heartwarming tale, a young woman discovers the magic of love and the importance of following one's dreams. The story follows her journey as she navigates the complexities of relationships and the challenges of life, all while finding joy in unexpected places. more

Author

Jackson Pearce
Jackson Pearce

Jackson Pearce (born May 21, 1984) is an American author known for her young adult fantasy novels and fairy tale retellings. Her works often blend modern elements with classic stories, with notable titles including Sisters Red, Sweetly, and Cold Spell. Pearce's writing style is delicate, focusing on female character growth and emotional conflicts, which resonates with young readers. She was born in Georgia and graduated from the University of Georgia. Currently residing in Atlanta, she is active on social media, engaging frequently with her audience. more

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“Oh heaven and hell, stop with the tears. Given the day Sarah had just had, the tears were logical. But watching her face crumple, hearing the gut-deep harsh sobs, filled Rukh with an irrational need to pull her into his arms, wrap her in a hug. As soon as the urge had gelled into conscious thought, his essence hardened into visibility and his arms slid up around her shivering, wet body. Sarah’s eyes popped open and she staggered back with a yell. His arms tightened around her, steadying her, keeping her close. Well, shit. At least, she’d stopped crying. Fear-bright green eyes stared at him instead. Given he was an assassin, sent to kill her, her response was natural, even intelligent. Yet, bitterness churned in his gut at the thought of her fearing him. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re safe.” “Am I hallucinating?” Her question came out as a croak. “Yes, yes you are.” That seemed a much better answer than the truth. She pinned him with her dark, direct gaze. “You’re just a figment of my imagination. A fantasy?” “Yes.” He didn’t dare move. “Then why are you still wearing clothes?”