It was one of the warm nights at the end of summer that makes promises that won't be kept.

Jason felt humiliated and frustrated. Rejected by a rock.

I have lost everything, Han thought. Then he corrected himself. Every time I think I’ve lost everything, I find there’s still something else to lose.

Han spotted a child‟s homespun dolly in the ditch, pressed into the mud. He reined in, meaning to climb down and fetch it so he could clean it up for his little sister. Then he remembered that Mari was dead and had no need of dollies anymore. Grief was like that. It gradually faded into a dull ache, until some simple sight or sound or scent hit him like a hammer blow.

A fiction writer is never entirely alone. Her characters are constantly whispering in her ear.

Her clothes still smoked from the wizard’s assault. But to him, she always smelled of flowers.

The answer is no, I would rather marry the Demon King himself than marry you. I suggest you look elsewhere for a bride. And heaven help the one you choose.