She's magic, Cassandra. A single flower blooming in an endless desert.

For the first time, they were seeing the dream beneath the flesh.

Karla stared at the pointed ears that had come from the Dea al Mon, the hands with sheathed claws that had come from the Tigre, the hooves peeking out from beneath the black gown that could have come from the centaurs or the horses or the unicorns. Most of all, she stared at the tiny spiral horn.

The living myth. Dreams made flesh. But, oh, had any of them really thought about who the dreamers had been?

No wonder the kindred love her. No wonder we've all loved her.

Karla quietly cleared her throat to ask the question she suddenly hoped wouldn't be answered. "Who is going to war with Terreille?"

"I am," Witch said.

There are seven billion faces smiling in as many ways
But if I don’t see yours, I consider it a wasted day.

Did you think you could stop me? I'll burn the world down to save her.

I want to kiss you so thoroughly that you lose your ability to stand.

You brought me to places
I’d have never thought to go
To a trail near the river
Where the water runs slow;
To a mountain where all we heard
Was our voices’ echo;
You showed me inward beauty
That doesn’t show in photos.