Love, art, and gnomish blessings...

Mrs. Whitworth is currently hiding under an abandoned food trolley at the Darkmoon Faire, soaked through, and feeling, for the first time, a new sensation of vulnerability.

How do I know this? I put her there. The problem is I can't figure out how to get her out.

I don't think it's so much writer's block as stage fright. Yes, tomato, tomato, but whatever. She's wedged under in her exposition so strongly, it took this to finally motivate me to get her out:

You truly are magic, Erinys.

The weekend will be here soon...my new writer's mantra.