Rachel, What Do You Do? Put An

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

Somehow I Found Him. Somehow I Found Al's Sarcastic Thoughts, Bitter And Old. Tired, Angry, Bored. Alone.

Avoiding Me, Quen Downed A Swallow Of Wine. "trent Is A Fine Young Man," He Said, Watching The Remaining Wine Swirl. "yes... " I Drawled, Cautiously. "if You Can Call A Drug Lord And Outlawed-medicine Manufacturer A Fine Young Man.

Uh... ," Ivy Stammered, And I Glanced Up To See Her Eyes Wide In Consideration. "i'm Kidding," I Said. "it Passed The Lethal-amulet Test, Remember?" "not That. You Keep It In Your Underwear Drawer?" I Hesitated, Wondering Why I Was Embarrassed. "well, Where Do You Put Your Elven Magic?" I Asked.

A Slow Smile Curved Over My Face, And I Leaned Down Over Him. "no," I Said. "wishes Are Lies. Tell Me You're Going To Leave. Tell Me You're Not Going To Stay. Tell Me That It's Only For A While So I Can Enjoy Today," I Whispered In His Ear, As If Saying It Louder Would Break Me. "and When You Go, Don't Think Me Cold When I Don't Cry. I Can't Cry Anymore, Pierce. It Hurts Too Much.