Languid Blue Novels & Stories

In fact, she made it halfway up the steep road leading back to the Rusty Puffin before he called out, “Miz Scarlett?” She shouldn’t have smiled. She shouldn’t have had even that brief moment of thinking, Yes! She shouldn’t have. But she did. She turned. “Yes, Mr. Blue?” she replied, a bit of Southern accent sliding into the words to match his. So unwise. “You ever have a hankering to ride a horse?” “I try not to hanker, Mr. Blue.” Liar. You’re hankering something fierce at the moment. “I’m learning life is simpler that way.” Or will be. Just as soon as you cut that out.

She stood in front of a piece she had not seen in the portfolio. The lake in May. Not morning, not evening, the specific quality of a May afternoon when the season had fully arrived and was no longer hedging, the water at the exact blue she had been seeing from the terrace of Dante's apartment for the last several weeks, rendered with the precision of someone who had looked at it long enough to understand that the blue was not one blue but several blues simultaneously, each one dependent on the light and the angle and the temperature of the air above the surface.

Is it another gift? She rubbed her eyes and opened it up to find a gown. Pulling it out from the box, she stood up and laid it on the bed to get a better look at it. It was a cerulean blue open back gown with marshmallow white ombre at the bottom with white flowers embroidery vertically on top. It was a rather simple yet stunning design. Clara had never said it out loud but blue was actually one of her favorite color, as an artist, she was not supposed to have a single favorite color but if she had to choose, she would go with blue over and over again.

“Ilaria, please don’t worry. I will try my best to extract your father from there, okay?” She bit her lip and nodded. “Would you like to take a walk around the palace of Xomor?” he asked. She looked up at him. His yellow irises locked with her blue eyes again. She swallowed and her gaze wandered to the tattoos on his skin. The deep blue color of his skin was like that of mountains covered in the morning mist, the color of a blue sapphire formed in the womb of earth, protected for thousands before being discovered by humans. He was terrifyingly beautiful, like a statue carved from blue sapphire.

In fact, Layke was adamant he’d never met a more mesmerising woman in his life. Her electric blue hair fell in waves down her back and her deep blue eyes looked deep into his soul, capturing his undivided attention. When she fluttered her long, thick lashes he felt himself melt into a puddle right there and when she pouted her full lips and swayed her voluptuous hips, Layke couldn’t control all of the forbidden thoughts from entering his mind.

After all I have had enough surprises for the past few days or two weeks if I might be skeptical enough. I turn around to see who the voice belongs to, and standing just a few feet away from me is a young girl, probably eighteen or nineteen I guess and boy does she gives it away that her favorite colour is blue. She is dressed in a blue gown, her hair is a mass of flaming blue and even her irises, christ.. "That's a lot of blue there girl" I cannot help but comment She grins and shrug. "Well, my name is Blue, Princess and I would be your handmaiden as from this day"

The room two floors up from Lyra's has been made ready over the past month, painted in a particular shade that Lyra selected from a sample card with the same decisive certainty she applies to everything, a blue so pale it is almost grey, the color of early morning before the day commits to itself. Lyra said it was the color of rivers in winter. No one argued. In the evenings I have been sitting with Lyra on her floor, both of us with our backs against the bookshelf, and she puts her hand on my stomach and listens to whatever she can hear through the field, and I watch her face go through its investigation sequence, the focused attention, the micro-adjustments as information arrives, and then

“Thalia… you asked for wine to cool your head and I gave you just that. Why are you trying so hard to push it?” “I’m not.” “And do you intend to cool off when you keep talking?” “Now… listen to this. I get to tell you everything you need to know about me, too. This is an opportunity for you to get answers to all your questions about…” “Blue… Deep ocean blue,” he cut her off. Thalia blinked. “H-huh? What’s that?” “The color.”

“What kind of textures would feel good here?” Lila approached it with solemn dedication. She’d run her small hands over fabric samples, rejecting anything scratchy or stiff. “It has to feel soft, like a kitten’s tummy,” she’d insist. She’d scrutinize paint swatches, rejecting stark whites as "too hospital-y," opting instead for warm ivories, gentle sage greens, calming sky blues. “This blue is like the sky after a storm,” she’d say, pointing to a swatch. “When everything feels clean and quiet again.”

Jason pushed them open. The Blue Lounge was named for the deep azure velvet drapes and upholstery. Usually a place of quiet counsel or family gatherings, it now felt like a field hospital after a brutal skirmish. The air hung heavy with the sharp, medicinal tang of wolfsbane salve and something else – the sour scent of neglect, of damp earth, and fear. Ashton’s gaze swept the room, bypassing the worried face of Meredith, Novah’s surrogate mother, who stood wringing her hands near the fireplace. It landed, and stopped.