☘Misericordia☘ ⚡ϟ⚡⛈⚡☁ ❇️❤❣'s Reviews > Matches & Mistletoe: An Anthology of Four Celtic & Germanic Tales

OMG, once again (another yearmore!) I get yet another wonderfully magical Christmassy read. Twisty and turny but so warming and glorious enough to get me in the festive mood early!

Q: “I will miss all of you,” whispered Elatha.
“We will always be here,” said his brother. “As all our people remain in this world, in some form. We are part of the stones and the moors, part of the mists and the mountains. Our voices travel in the wind, and our spirits sail through the water. You will feel us again, every time you walk this wood.” (c) OMG, this is so beautifully sad! I think this could be said of anyone, fae or not.
Q:
Six of the Fae, relinquishing the world. Their magic and memory, gone.
Their voices rose together, a soft chant, a hymn to the eldritch world of their youth, a eulogy for the past. (c)
Q:
If I could only save up a little money, I would take a week off to be with my girls, and to search for a better job. If I could only get ahead, just a little, I could buy a better car, one that would let me commute further to work. I would have more options. More money. More time, more choices. (c)
Q:
Then she stepped back into the forest, and she grew still. Not still as death, but still as the towering evergreens, still as the snow glittering in the glen. (c)
Q:
“I suspect the world is full of Unwanted things—and Unwanted people.” (c)
Q:
Sometimes, when Mary shrieks in the wee hours, I cry into my pillow because I am so tired and the thought of getting up again is torture. But I always find that last scrap of strength, the bit of willpower I need to go to her. To keep her alive. (c)
Q:
Someday this will be over, I tell myself. Someday I will be healthy again. Someday I will be happy again. (c)
Q:
... I turn, and I walk back into the bedroom.
Just in time to see my daughter Ellie change her shape. (c)
Q:
The low melody of his voice catches my attention, and I look up at him. He’s tall, well over six feet, and his face—handsome isn’t the word. Beautiful, maybe. Angelic.
Maybe he’s an angel. Of course he is! A guardian angel, sent to watch over us. (c)
Q:
“I love that doll, Mama! She’s already mine. She’s just waiting for me to bring her home.”
...
“I do love this time of year, despite its warped traditions,” he continues, with a glance at our pitiful spindly Christmas tree in the corner. “There’s magic in all the world, Ellie, and people are never more likely to believe in it than right now. So don’t give up on your doll, love. She may be yours yet.” (c)
Q:
“Ellie,” says the man. “Do you believe in magic?”
“Magic?”
I frown. “We believe in God here, sir.”
“Who is God without His power?” he says. “Maybe that’s simply another kind of magic.” (c)
Q:
I don’t really want to know his name, because if it’s Peter or Barry or Bob, something inside me will shrivel up and never bloom again. I need to be able to pretend that his name is glorious, angelic, like Michael or Gabriel. (c)
Q:
“I’ve crossed enough strong women to know that you’re all to be revered and feared.” (c)
Q:
“Well, I don’t want to survive by not caring. I want to care—I just don’t have the energy for it most of the time. Or for life in general.”
“I’ll tell you a secret,” he says, leaning closer. “When you feel that way, do something new, something you’ve never done before. It could be anything. Pick a new thing, and do it, and you’ll find you have more zest for life than you thought. You can go on for centuries that way.” (c) Oh, my. Self-help nicely inbuilt in one of the coziest reads of the year?! Yes, gimme more of this goodness.
Q:
“Let’s put it this way, love,” he says, leaning toward me and smirking. “I’m perpetually, eternally on the naughty list.” (c)
Q:
The Far Darrig.
Fear Dearg, the Red One, in the Old Tongue. (c)
Q:
I know that pain—I’ve seen it in the mirror. It’s the pain of not being seen, or heard, or loved, by anyone. The pain of being invisible.
Whatever he is—he saw me. He listened to me. (c)
Q:
When I wake up, I’m so toasty warm that I don’t want to move. Golden morning light pours into the living room, shining on the thick, soft blanket that covers me.
A blanket I didn’t put there. (c)
Q:
If you remember anything of me, let it be this warning—do not live in the darkness of what is gone. Find something new. Let yourself hope for the future. (c)
Q:
And he gave me something more than money. Because now I want to put on makeup and my best clothes, and go dancing. I want to have friends over for tea and gossip. I want to take Ellie skating. I want to make cookies and tell the girls stories, and get out my drawing supplies again and sketch an angel’s face. And I want to feel a human man’s hands on me again, his lips on mine.
I want life. (c)
Q:
Weeks of changing the old woman’s soiled clothes and spooning broth between her wrinkled lips had sapped every soft emotion from Ember’s body. She was cold and frosted at the edges, like the sun. (c)
Q:
I stand in a clothing store all day, smiling and speaking softly to women who buy beautiful things that I will never be able to afford. I smile while my feet are throbbing in my shoes, and my head is aching from lack of sleep. (c)