eight o’clock on the dot, I was sitting comfortably in my workshop with a pot of fresh, hot tea before me as my cloud of mechanical messengers answered our neighbor’s invitation with a rapid-fire barrage of hard pebbles against every narrow window in the black castle’s upper walls. Every single piece of visible glass was hit at once with a pebble from my garden designed to leave a scratch exactly like the one left on my window earlier that day.
I love her.
