Of Course I’m Shielding Her, You Broken

God, It Stinks,” I Said, Hand Over My Nose As He Pulled Me Into A Long Step. Al Strode Forward, Head High. “it’s The Stench Of Bureaucracy, My Itchy-witch, And Why I Chose To Go Into Human Resources When But A Wee Lad.

Her Tiny Hand Gripped Mine With A Surprising Warmth, And In A Shocking Wash Of Emotion, I Felt Everything I Knew Shift. The Scent Of Cinnamon And Baby Powder Hit Me, And As My Eyes Widened, My Heart Melted, Making Room For Her.

Making A Spell Is Easy. It's Trusting You Did It Right That's Hard.

You Are Your Father's Daughter,' He Said, The Skin Around His Eyes Tightening. 'trent Is His Father's Son. Apart, You Are Annoying. Together...you Have The Potential To Be A Problem.

Like The End Of A Picnic, All The Weenies Will Be Roasted.