I think that what I do is a form of pathetic fallacy, the literary trope in which nature is in sympathy with the mood of the story. I connect the physical setting and props in the story to the emotional state of the characters.

We are a sensational team.

One moment flying in green sunlight, then the sky suddenly grey and dark.

You can come back to friendship. You can let it drop, for five years or ten years, and come back to it.

But I have told the truth. Isn't that ironic? They sent me because I am so good at telling lies. But I have told the truth.

Von Loewe really should know me well enough by now to realize that I am not going to face my execution without a fight. Or with anything remotely resembling dignity.

And I envied her that she had chosen her work herself and was doing what she wanted to do. I don't suppose I had any idea what I 'wanted' and so I was chosen, not choosing. There's glory and honor in being chosen. But not much room for free will.