Al's voice was faint but resolute. "Stand up. Try to look sexy." "In a bedsheet?" I complained, running my hands down it. "How can I look sexy in a bedsheet?" He cleared his throat, and I grimaced. "Never mind.

We could've done this anywhere, but I wanted you to see me, to see this," he said, gesturing at the room. "I wanted you to know where I come from, what I am under the choices I make.

Making a spell is easy. It's trusting you did it right that's hard.

Okay, you drive," she said. "I'll sit with m head hanging out of the window like a golden retriever.

In a few hours, I’m going to be banished to the surface, my belongings raffled off as novelty items and my living space given to someone else—my reputation destroyed. I’d rather have your head than your soul at this point in my illustrious career.” - Al

Relief spilled into me. He wanted to live. He just didn't know how.

I wish I could say I write 9-5. It's usually more like 8-6, every day but the weekends.