Let's save tomorrow's troubles for tomorrow.
So in the sweltering heat of a July night, I sang a Christmas carol to a room full of fae, who had been driven out of their homelands by Christians and their cold-iron swords.
You donโt have the courage of a half-bred mongrel.
Truth is without flourishes or manners and runs with a logic all its own.
Baking is like washing--the results are equally temporary.
Now, I'm not very vain. If I'd ever been, making my living covered in various grease and dirt mixtures would have cured me quickly. Still, I wasn't up to facing two sexy men when I had one eye swollen mostly shut and half of my face black and blue.