The Reward Is In The Risk.

The Desert Adapts. The People Adapt. Live. Die. Struggle. Suffer. Create. The People In The Real World Beyond Demesne's Ring Are Not All Manufactured Perfection. They Deal.

Drosophila,” I Said, Remembering The Word. “what?” Lily Asked. “why Do Girls Always Fall For Guys With The At Ention Span Of Drosophila?” “what?” “fruit Flies. Guys With The Attention Span Of Fruit Flies.” “because They’re Hot?” “this,” I Told Her, “is Not The Time For Being Truthful.

Somewhere Between A Friend And Acquaintance—a Frequaintance, As It Were.

The Handwriting Was A Girl’s. I Mean, You Can Tell. That Enchanted Cursive.

Prayer Or Not, I Want To Believe That, Despite All Evidence To The Contrary, It Is Possible For Anyone To Find That One Special Person. That Person To Spend Christmas With Or Grow Old With Or Just To Take A Nice Silly Walk In Central Park With. Somebody Who Wouldn't Judge Another For The Prepositions They Dangle, Or Their Run-on Sentences, And Who In Turn Wouldn't Be Judged For The Snobbery Of Their Language Etymology Inclinations.