Over his own dark Cealdish beard. "Nothing like your marvelous facebear.

She was a wicked thing sometimes. All full of want. As if the shape of the world depended on her mood. As if she were important.

One of my favorite artists on Deviantart.

She reached up and lay her hand on my cheek. "You have the sweetest face," she said, looking at me dreamily. "It's like the perfect kitchen." I fought not to smile. This was the delirium. She'd fade in and out of it before the profound exhaustion dragged her down into unconsciousness. If you see someone spouting nonsense to themselves in an alleyway in Tarbean, odds are they're not actually crazy, just a sweet-eater deranged by too much denner. "A kitchen?" "Yes," she said. "Everything matches and the sugar bowl is right where it should be.

Elodin looked at me. "What a remarkably honest threat," he said. "Normally they're much more growlish and gristly than that." "Gristly?" I asked, emphasizing the 't.' "Don't you mean grisly?" "Both," he said. "Usually there's a lot of, 'I'll break your knees. I'll break your neck.'" He shrugged. "Makes me think of gristle, like when you're boning a chicken.

Joss [Whedon] is an excellent storyteller. It really doesn't matter what medium he's working in.

Coming to grips with being a bit of a celebrity. That's not anything I ever expected to have to deal with in my life.