This is not magic. This is the way the world is, only very few people take the time to stop and note it.

Trapped in silence, Marco traces apologies and adorations across Celia's body with his tongue. Mutely expressing all the things he cannot speak aloud. He finds other ways to tell her, his fingers leaving faint trails of ink in their wake. He savors every sound he elicits from her. The entire room trembles as they come together. And though there are a great many fragile objects contained within it, nothing breaks.

I tried to explain as much as I could," Poppet says. "I think I made an analogy about cake." "Well, that must have worked," Widget says. "Who doesn't like a good cake analogy?

Wine is bottled poetry, he thinks.

The circus itself is my personal ideal entertainment venue.

But dreams have ways of turning into nightmares.

If she were gone I would be nothing. You should think better of yourself than to settle for that.