I will draw you back to me. You shall see. By a chain of stars.

As a child, my mother told me lots of fairy stories, many her own invention. She, too, tended to reverse the norm.

Condemned and executioner with aren't coupled in a primitive rite.

How massively the mountains stand, while low to the ground the sand blows. The sand blows on and on. And then there are no mountains, none at all, the sand has kissed and whispered them away. And still, the sand blows on.

I like writing about women, weak and strong, pathetic and heroic. I like writing about men, ditto. And all the variants of men and women, beasts and demons.

I never know where I am going, though. That is part of what makes it so wonderful. And after all, who does?

I will draw you back to me. You shall see. By a chain of stars.