35 Quotes About Goblin-king

Hunter, you can’t seriously be the Goblin King. You’re not even sixteen yet! I had to give you a ride to the store after school in September when we were getting supplies for Homecoming decorations!

We don't say anything and I feel myself drifting to sleep, an inevitable, inexorable descent into dreams. But just before I fade from consciousness, I hear four words that are my undoing."I love you, Elisabeth."I hold him tighter to me, even as my heart unravels."By God, I love you so.

Once there was a little girl who played her music for a little boy in the wood. She was small and dark, he was tall and fair, and the two of them made a fancy pair as they danced together, dancing to the music the little girl heard in her head.

Your music," he said at last. "Your music was the only thing that kept me sane, that kept me human instead of a monster.

This time, I made myself look him directly in the eyes. In the bright moonlight, they were two different colors: one as gray as a winter sky, the other a hazel-green, the color of moss peeking through dead loam. Wolf's eyes. The Devil's eyes. He could see into the darkness. He could see into me.

Elisabeth.A breath on the back of my neck. I am dizzy, I sway, but I stand. A breath, then a kiss. I cannot see, but I know it is him. The Goblin King.I lean into him, but he holds me upright. He murmurs my name down my neck, down my spine, his long, elegant fingers traveling along the curves of my hips, my waist.Elisabeth.I do not know what to call him, but I cry out his name.My fingers reach, but he is gone.

Give up, Elisabeth," Der Erlkönig crooned. "Let go, my dear. Lay down your flute and rest. Stay with me."I closed my eyes. I could no longer feel the instrument between my numb fingers. I was tired, out of breath, and out of ideas."Yes," he hissed. "Gently, slowly-

A monster stands on the far shore of a glowing lake, waiting for the barge bearing his bride to return. He had stood in this very spot before, when he was a man and a king, when he played on his violin the image of a young woman through her music—her thoughts, her passions, her dreams. He had stood in this spot several times before that, greeting each bride as she made that last journey from life to death, but he never played his violin for them.

Once there was a little girl who played her music for a little boy in the wood. She was the genius, he was the interpreter, and they were each the gardeners of the other's heart, taming, tilling, and tending the fertile soil of their souls until they blossomed into a far-reaching forest that encompassed the world.