In that moment, Blue was a little in love with all of them. Their magic. Their quest. Their awfulness and strangeness. Her raven boys.

the raven cycle by maggie stiefvater.

In the sea, Corr’s clumsiness will disappear, his weight cradled by the saltwater. I don’t want to say good-bye. I blink to clear my vision and reach up. I pull off his halter. The ocean is his love and now, finally, he’ll have it. I back out of the surf. 

There’s a thin, long wail. Corr takes a labored step away from the November sea. And another. 

He is slow, and the sea sings to us both, but he returns to me.

you could ask anyone: 300 fox way, henrietta, virginia, was the place to go for the spiritual, the unseen, the mysterious, and the yet-to-occur. for a not-unreasonable fee, any of the women under its roof would read your palm, pull your cards, cleanse your energy, connect you with deceased relatives, or listen to the dreadful week you had just lived through. during the business day, clairvoyance was often work. but on days off, when the mixed drinks emerged, it often became a game.

“what shall we toast to? toast to me, of course. oh yes, my mother, too.”

It is time for the Scorpio Races. I am so, so alive.

It is time for the Scorpio Races.

dreamer of dreams, fighter of men, skipper of classes.

i am so, so alive

3 0 0  F O X  W A Y  was cramped with extraneous people and whimsical objects. it hummed with conversation, music, telephones, old appliances. it was impossible to forget that all of these women were plugged into the past and tapped into the future, connected to everything in the world and to one another.