Hand Blown Glass Swans Novels & Stories

It is a fact that I don’t even want to consider. The shopkeeper came back holding a rectangular acrylic glass that she set on the table in front of me. She tapped it once and it churned to life, casting a conical glow upward. “Give me your hand.” She said and I complied as I gave her my left hand. She took it and placed it over the light. “You wanted something light. I feel like this should be the base.” She says while tapping on one of the panels on the screen and dragging it over my hand. A skeletal print of a glove with holes at the fingertips formed around my hand. My eyes widened and the shopkeeper had to stop me from drawing my hand back just so I could examine it closely.

With the naked stem placed down beside her, she holds out her closed hand before unravelling her fingers in turn and showing the guest’s the ruined soft petals within. I watch as she blows gently towards the crumpled pile sat on her palm, amazed at their reaction as they rise into the air effortlessly as if they were taking flight. The lines of damage running over the petals surface slowly begins to reverse, smoothing out slowly as if no damage had ever been inflicted upon them. Blair waves her hand in a circular motion just beneath the magical display, sending them into swirling motion, causing them to act like a mini-hurricane that was trying to pick up its pace.

It must be so nice to afford what you want. I walked around a little more and by the transparent Jewelry counter, I noticed a unique set. An Aurora twin convertible hand chain. A breathtaking masterpiece crafted from rose bronze, its metal delicately sculpted into the shape of interlaced tendrils and celestial swirls, creating a subtle shimmer that catches the light with every movement.

Hayden’s face turned pale in an instant as he shot Ruby a desperate look, his lips trembling with no words coming out. Ruby’s smile froze. A flicker of panic flashed through her eyes. “Mr. Carter, you must be joking. It is normal for design styles to be similar.” “Is it?” Brian’s gaze sharpened behind his glasses. “In the final years of his life, Shane developed a molding technique that left almost no visible seams. It was used to create porcelain of extreme thinness. He never passed this method on to anyone.”

I freeze, my eyes darting in the direction of the glass. I'm not too crazy close to it but I can see where he's coming from. My motions are bringing me dangerously close to it. I slowly step towards Blake, keeping my eyes glued to the glass figurines studded with swadroski crystals. "Ok. I think I'm safe now?" I press my arm tightly to my side. Blake tugs gently on my arm, pulling me slowly away. I take these tiny little steps, terrified of breaking something or things that my measly salary wouldn't be able to cover.

I went to take a shower after dinner. It was then that I suddenly saw a weird palm print on the glass window. Someone must have left that palm print behind with their soapy hand while taking a shower. The print was quite faint and white against the shiny glass on the window. It was obviously a woman's handprint, and it wasn't mine. My hand was a little bigger than this. So I couldn't have been the one who put it there. It couldn't have been my daughter, Bella Quinton, either. She had tiny hands and wasn't even tall enough to reach that spot yet. Also, it definitely did not belong to my husband, Rory Quinton.

I tell them and then wander off to check out some trinkets that’ve caught my eye. I keep an ear peeled for Alice and Robert. It’ll take ‘em a while to pick out exactly which candy they want, so I got time. I run my fingers over intricate beadwork and hold up hand blown glass pieces in a myriad of colors to the light to make rainbows. I smell some expensive perfume and the hides of the softest rabbits.

Noah said. "Cylinder glass. Hand-blown, late nineteenth century. You can't reproduce it exactly. The best you can do is source antique glass for the reproduction sashes." He was close to the window, looking at the light moving through it. "I've found a supplier in Portland. They have a salvage stock." "That'll be expensive."

Her small hands clutch the rosary as if it’s both a burden and a lifeline. Then I see it. A black butterfly, its wings the color of dried blood, flutters through a jagged hole in a shattered stained-glass window. It circles Marisol once, twice, before landing on the silver chain of the rosary. Its wings leave a powdery smear, like ash. The butterfly’s wings flex once, etching twin skulls into the air—identical to the one on the windowsill last night—before the darkness swallows us both.

Flowers, paints, birds and some cracks created to form a certain pattern. At the far end of the room was the second shelf, this one bigger than the last and just like its size, it houses bigger stained glasses that stole Lily's breath away. Her hand slipped out of Aaron's gaze and her legs carried her towards the pieces before she knew it. She tilted her head as she approached, studying the pieces like she's magically gaining the knowledge on how to make such a wonderful creation. When she stood in front of one of the pieces—a transparent white glass with the painting of a blue bird holding a tulip in its mouth and all around it, were cracks, but not one crack affected the beautiful creature