There's good news and slightly less good news.
You seem to know a lot about it, she said. And you do subtleties.Yeah. Like I've always wanted to destroy the Nine Worlds while committing suicide.Well, there's no need to be rude, protested Sif.
Was it my fault that I got out of hand?--Loki
And yet, it was still a performance. Odin and I both knew it. It was a kind of play, a dream of how things might have been if he and I had been capable of trusting each other for a change. And so we h...
We came on the wind of the carnival. Eight and a half long years ago, on a wind that seemed to promise so much; a mad wind, full of confetti and scented with smoke and pancakes cooked by the side of t...
I'm only keeping in touch with you for the sake of the children. Way to look after our son, by the way. I let you have him for the weekend and before I know it he's chained underground, awaiting Last...
I know you, said Maddy. You’re -What’s a name? Loki grinned. Wear it like a coat; turn it, burn it, throw it aside, and borrow another. One-Eye knows; you should ask him.But Loki died, she said, shaki...
Wild birds will kill exotic ones: the budgies and the lovebirds and the yellow canaries-- escaped from their cages and hoping to get a taste of the sky -- usually end up back on the ground, plucked ra...
As she grew older, Maddy discovered that she had disappointed almost everyone. An awkward girl with a sullen mouth, a curtain of hair, and a tendency to slouch, she had neither Mae's sweet nature nor...
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp them until the blood flows.
I'm sorry. You went too far.'Lovely. What an epitaph.
Happiness. Simple as a glass of chocolate or tortuous as the heart. Bitter. Sweet. Alive.
Knowledge is currency here....
Well, that's history for you, folks. Unfair, untrue and for the most part written by folk who weren't even there.
And yes,I was fabulous.
I dream a lot, in colour and in sound and scent. Quite a few of my stories have come from dreams.
I happen to know that history is nothing but a spin and metaphor, which is what all yarns are made up of, when you strip them down to the underlay. And what makes a hit or a myth, of course, is how th...
The dead know everything, but don't give a damn.
No one looks at us. We might as well be invisible; or clothing marks us as strangers, transients. They are polite, so polite; no one stares at us.
And when you fall from that parapet,the sound you'll be hearing as you go down will be me,laughing my head off.
