The angels came down to earth in a rowdy, exultant flurry, chattering in ten languages and dripping gold from their fingertips and half-parted mouths. At first they were awe inspiring, ethereal, untouchable and radiant. But the longer they stayed, the more they became pests. They ate my peanut butter sandwiches and spilled crumbs everywhere, borrowed …

She tastes like nectar and salt. Nectar and salt and apples. Pollen and stars and hinges. She tastes like fairy tales. Swan maiden at midnight. Cream on the tip of a fox’s tongue. She tastes like hope. Laini Taylor, Daughter of Smoke and Bones (via 69honeybeez1)