Ok, first little excerpt out of "Threnody's Song," for better or worse:

A night of singing and clarinets, and incense of ashes and cloves.
A girl pretending to be a woman, a broken girl, crying softly over a list of conquests:
a sideways reflection of broken me.
An apprentice healer, aloof, lilting her eyes laconically, quietly,
with a past like a shadow from moonlight, shy and hidden and dark.
The dancing guide, aching at memories that should not be her own,
at the wild inside her, so at odds with her melancholy longing.
The light of the sapphire ember’ed braziers was muted
in the black glass and dark mahogany.
We were all a little broken, in the midnight’s shadowed firelight;
but we smiled, nonetheless.