Now I did look around, risked one quick glance because of the unnatural crackling sounds which had accompanied her voice—which now seemed to make her voice. The Green Lady was gone. The birch had somehow become Sara Tidwell: it was Sara’s face growing out of the criss-crossing branches and shiny leaves. That rain-slicked face swayed, dissolved, came together, melted away, came together again. For a moment all the mystery I had sensed down here was revealed. Her damp shifting eyes were utterly human. They stared at me with hate and supplication.
Source: Bag of Bones ▫𓂃
(echo:: @ ⌗)