Can't make an omelette without killing a few people.

It sounded like a piece of blackboard being dragged over the nails of a wall of severed fingers.

Stories are the things that allow us to persuade each other that we're human.

I am amiable. Vague. Puzzled. Messy-haired.

And then it went, and time passed properly once more, every second following every other second just like they're meant to.

So, you figure they won't notice you're back?" sneered the marquis. "Just, 'oh look, there's another angel, here, grab a harp and on with the hosannas'?

I'm writing. The pages are starting to stack up. My morale is improving the more I feel like a writer.