I bandaged my elbow with freshly boiled rags. At last, I stood up, drew a deep breath, felt the blood rush from my head, dropped the hymnbook from my hand and yelled, "Oh, dammit, I can't take this anymore! Saw the troll's little pig eyes look past me. I turned, looked, and yes, he was there.
Pale but unwavering. His bare chest a mess of unhealed wounds and smeared blood. The Frankenstein stitches across his lower belly were a hideous grin. In the weird silence he said, "My lady, I would not intrude if you are determined to stain your sword with this troll's blood. But if not, I beg you to do me the honor of letting me kill him for you.
I shook my head. I just froze. Couldn't move. I must have looked as though I were standing there like a rock, just me and my borrowed sword, ready for anything the trolls had. Not exactly the truth. It wasn't the kind of compliment you hear very often. A perfect knight doesn't t come up every day and compliment me on my blood. Sometimes fear did leave you with a sense of "go for it. Maybe there were different varieties of scared. Maybe I was somewhere past being scared, or just losing my mind, but part of me badly wanted him to lift me up onto his horse and ride away to some castle, or at least some Marriott.
He was a babe. Better, he was a man. He was a man that other men thought was a man. Sir Gawain had yelled his name like all the others. And here I was, the only non-witch woman within miles. And we were probably going to die. He would die, and my friends, and I'd have to die without even having him kiss me, which seemed a hell of a waste, except that how do you smoothly move the conversation from "nice troll-killing" to "shut up and kiss me before we get killed"?
I was crying. We barely knew him. And we won't die because he's dead. So why Why does it hurt me, him being gone? He was good standing up against evil. He was the strong man defending the weak. He was brave when the odds were against him. What else is a man supposed to be? What else is he supposed to do? He held the sword out over the stones. Every time I thought I understood David, he surprised me. But I guess that's true of people generally. You never know them, not all the way.
He and David and Christopher all sat down. David grabbed a chair from another table. They looked strange. They were dressed like normal people. So was I, for that matter. We were warm and clothed and dry and there was no cut under Jalil's eye. Clean hair and faces, brushed teeth. Guess it went both ways, huh?
Then I rehearsed some of the numbers from Rent in front of my mirror. And when I tried to sing "Without You" I cried. I stayed up too late watching TV. And when I went to bed at last I knew that I would wake up right there, warm and rested in my room.
Everworld - Book Series In Order
And that I would also wake up wet and miserable and scared in a place that could not possibly exist. But did. View all 5 comments. So if this book sucked as well, I was ready to give up on Project EverWorld. In this book we see how April deals with being yanked back and forth between worlds, and her inferiority complex when it comes to her manipulative, beautiful, dangerous half-sister Senna.
The whole book revolves around Senna.
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The dragon was after Senna. Loki comes after Senna. Merlin and Galahad work together to protect Senna.
Senna escapes after displaying her power and having her ass kicked by Merlin. Senna Senna Senna. Nov 13, Stephanie rated it really liked it Shelves: own , fantasy , young-adult , mythology.
Everworld Gateway to the Gods PDF
Applegate really hit her Everworld stride with Enter the Enchanted. All the pieces, the world-building has shaped up and connected enough that it is finally able to take a back seat to the real deal, the harrowing nature of living in Everworld and having to run from or confront or both! And since hitting her stride, the themes are also much clearer — What does it mean to be afraid? What does it mean to be brave? What does it mean to potentially let in the bad along with the good? What does it mean to kill someone, anyone, be they human or troll or something else entirely — and then have to live with it?
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What does it mean, ultimately, to make a connection with another person, no matter who they are or what they have done? With this book, April, Christopher, David, and Jalil are starting to figure out how they can fit together and work as a group. Sure there is still friction — there likely always will be given how this all started — but at least now they are realizing that they are in this together , for better or for worse.
They have to work as a team, they have to participate in the events around them, they have to live in Everworld as much as they live in the Old World.
Jalil is starting to accept the weirdness, at least as much as he can — he still tries to apply his logic to Everworld, and is learning to stretch it just enough. April is still hiding whatever happened in her youth with Senna, but at the same time, she is wondering if Senna is not wrong in her actions — and what that means for April and the world she knows. Because we trusted one another and supported one another. What was I without friends? Something, I was sure. We saw the movie. We talked. I had a mocha and a pannini made with hummus. We talked some more.
We drove home. Mario stuck his tongue in my mouth and his hand inside my blouse. I stopped him.
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Half my life I was in hell, and the other half I was still trying to be a good girl. Cataclysmic changes. The old order will be thrown down, a new order will rise up in its place. I can affect how things happen. He swung his sword with one hand and held his own head cradled in the crook of his other arm.
The detached head yelled soundlessly, mouth wide. Dead men had replaced the dead animals. Christopher bared his teeth at Senna, a fierce contempt. Maybe just mad. A demonstration of what power meant in Everworld. But right here, right now, it was the details, the reality that occupied my mind.
Big details. Little ones.
wordpress-11600-25562-61096.cloudwaysapps.com/12201.php Was the perfect knight a perfect late morning, early afternoon? Sick of rushing around like a firewoman armed with an estrogen bucket, putting out testosterone fires.