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March 28 - April 7, 2019
Had he been in a musical, he thought, right then would have been the perfect time to sing a sad song about his woeful lot in life while emphasizing his eternal optimism and plucky heart.
“I thought a Chosen One just leaves a trail of blood and chaos behind him.”
“What’s the point of being a potentially all-powerful wizard if you can’t even have cheese and crackers when you really, really deserve them?”
The only worse payment than chickens was exposure, and Toby didn’t like to talk about his seamy past in the Lordling of the Month calendars.
“Hope it ain’t chickens,” she said. “Never trust ’em, what with their poky beaks. And their buttfruit. I tell you, sire, it’s unnatural, eggs is.”
Perhaps looking like a pummeled pudding would remind the Dark Lord that consent was more important than magical ability and being born among the landed gentry.
forks in the road were rather Gloomful things. Since the path diverged, that meant one had to choose, and choosing meant that opportunities were lost forever. In making the choice, one literally murdered possibilities, which didn’t seem very fair or nonviolent.
“I’m intrigued,” Gustave said. “You don’t typically hear of monsters bothering with condiments. The stories I’ve heard imply that they adhere to a paleo diet, preferring their foods in a raw, natural state.”
Have you ever tried to milk a moose? It’s not quite as dangerous as walking near the Titan Toothpicks drenched in raspberry vinaigrette, but it’s close.”
“Everyone’s scared all the time,” he responded. “But that’s no reason not to keep on.”
Unlike wizards, who boasted of the height and sturdiness of their towers, witches prided themselves on exhibiting only the perkiest cones.
Toby’s heart just about fell out of his butt.
going. Sometimes that’s what you have to do: just keep going until everything makes sense.”
sky should his steak be cooked incorrectly. He was simply one of the most dangerous creatures in the world: a person of small talent and large purse who was thoroughly certain that he deserved more.
It smelled of repressed desire and unwanted potatoes.
Poltro flew through the night in much the same way that time flies: unwillingly and without really thinking about it and maybe with some future regrets.
knuckles. “I get to haunt that giant chicken, m’lord. And that means that in the ongoing fight between myself and chickens in general…I win.
