Nu ştiu exact câţi dintre cititorii noştri adoră cărţile fantasy şi clar nu vreau să bag pe gât cărţi de genul acesta persoanelor care nu citesc.
Vreau doar să aduc mai multe argumente pentru a demonstra anumitor persoane de ce cărţile fantasy sunt mai recomandate.
În primul rând, încă de mici am interacţionat cu fantezia. Amintiţi-vă basmele ce ni le citeau părinţii sau bunicii când eram mici printre care se numără Harap-Alb, Hansel şi Gretel, Făt-Frumos şi nu numai. Fantezia face parte din copilăria noastră, implicit din viaţa noastră pentru că oricât am încerca să negăm copilăria, nu o putem da la o parte.
Acum că tot am crescut, nu mai citim aceleaşi poveşti. Acum ne putem permite să citim despre un vampir sau un necromant, sau un vrăjitor. Putem să ne imaginăm mai detaliat fiecare personaj, putem să ne gândim la acţiune în timp ce citim.
În al doilea rând, fantezia ne pune rotiţele în mişcare. Nu vreau să zic căci cărţile filosofice nu sunt bune, însă nu alimentează imaginaţia precum fantezia. Haideţi să vă propun un lucru. Eu vă dau un citat dintr-o carte (e în engleză, dar nu cred că vă opreşte asta). Vreau să îmi spuneţi dacă v-aţi imaginat scena, dacă vă gândeaţi cum e privirea fiecărui personaj, imaginea sa, acţiunea în sine.
“Why do you doubt me?”
“Because we’ve had this conversation before. At Mallory’s. In the library.”
“I am beginning to remember—” He stopped, shook his head, then started again. “I am beginning to remember what it means to need things. Laughter. Companionship. Love.” He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to mine. “And I need you, Merit.”
I swallowed. Those were words I hadn’t expected to hear, hadn’t been prepared to hear. I want you, sure. I desire you, maybe. But not need—not the admission of it, of the weakness he connoted with it. That simple, four-letter word laid me bare, stripping away the defenses I’d so carefully constructed.
“Ethan.” My voice was barely a whisper, barely enough to push through the thick silence, but there was still warning in my tone. A warning he ignored.
That was when he moved—when he reached up, cupped my face in his hands, and pressed his lips to mine. He stayed there, his mouth on mine, for a long time, before he finally drew away. But he kept his hands on my cheeks and kept his shining eyes on my face.
“You undo me, Merit. Wholly and completely. You don’t take me at my word. You challenge me at every opportunity. And that means when I’m with you, I am less than the head of this House . . . and I am more than the head of this House. I am a man.” He stroked my cheeks with his thumbs. “In my very, very long life, I need you more than I have ever needed anything.”
This time, I didn’t wait for him to move.
CHAPTER EIGHT – HUNGRY EYES
I kissed him. I slid my hands around his waist as he slid his hands around my neck, tangled his fingers in my hair, and pulled me closer. He kissed me hungrily, greedily, as if he’d been starved for me.
My body ignited, every cell on fire, and I kissed him back as if I couldn’t get close enough. I nipped at his lips and tangled my tongue with his, magic beginning to spill through the room as passion flared between us.
“Shirt off,” I said, and he pulled back, his eyes widening at my boldness.
I smiled secretively. I guess working on my bravado had been worth it.
Ethan stepped back and licked his lips. “I have waited a long time for you.”
My fingers, which shook with nerves and anticipation, tugged at the bottom of his gray T shirt, and ever so slowly pulled it up to reveal an ever-larger band of perfect skin above his waist.
“I don’t want to rush you,” he quietly said, “but I have things planned yet before the sun rises.”
“Patience is a virtue,” I told him. I slid my hands up the flat plane of his stomach, raising the shirt one brick of muscle at a time. When I’d gone as far as I could go, he lifted his arms and pulled it over his head.
Acum, că v-aţi imaginat scena respectivă, nu credeţi că o carte fantasy ajută la imaginaţie?