All That Glitters

Magicians needed sorrow. And deep sorrow existed only because of love.

Remember – magic is a cheater’s game, and everyone who sees it wants to play.

This was the Paris of the strivers, of those who dwelt low, not high. This was not the Paris of balloonists. It was her Paris, and it was the same as it had been this morning. But she, perhaps, was not.

To try is to be brave. Be brave.

A printing press took the thoughts from someone’s mind and inked them on to a piece of paper anyone might read. It was a kind of magic. A magic to alter the world.

Etiquette was just as exhausting as magic.

I understand why you need to add a release valve and learn how to steer the balloon. But after that - what will you do with a better balloon?' ... A dreamy smile tugged at his lips. 'I'd fly away, of course.

Dis-moi, Sophie,' she said, admiring the glow of candlelight on silk. 'What are a few drops of blood?

Have people died?' she asked. 'In balloons?' 'People have died sitting in their armchairs,' Lazare said.

It's like something from a fairy tale.' 'It is not,' Camille protested. As if good things happened only in stories. 'Lazare is nothing like a prince, and I am nothing like a princess.' 'True,' Sophie mused. 'Maybe it's a different type of tale.

Our shadows are tied to us, like it or not.” Camille brushed back a strand of hair from his face. “All we can do is run faster.

Our world is changing. I don't know what's going to happen today, or tomorrow or the day after that, but whatever it is, Camille, I want to go through it with you.

In the end, who can say wich way is the right and wich way is the wrong, as long as one of them leads to happiness?

Papa's ghost might have whispered in her ear, there would be consequences, some of them not fair. How else would you know you had done something, if there was no change? No shift in the world?

Who would help you when you were brought this low? No matter how hard you toiled, you would never rise, never have enough for a safe bed, a loaf of bread, a pair of shoes. Because in every instance, the cards were stacked against you. When you were that poor, no one cared if you lived or died. Not even magic could save you then.

Rosier flung himself off his horse and ran towards then, already shouting. 'What a landing! What skill! The Prince and Princess of the Air!' 'And me?' said Armand, tossing Rosier a rope. 'Don't I warrant a mention?' 'Bah, you're not in this story!' Rosier pulled back on the line, holding it tight. 'My story is full of passion! Poetry! Danger and Thrills! But, if I ever write something in praise of tiny little numbers in a row - then Armand, you will be the hero.

But when people don’t know what is really happening then rumors start. And that is when you need to be really careful.