Wednesday, June 1, 2011


The mail armor crumpled like penny dust on the ground. The weapons, dulled, wouldn't cut butter on a hot plate. Her bags emptied of gold from the repair bills, the merchants smirking behind her back. She crawled into bed, exhausted, spent, and cut. Like a bad playground fight, the best thing would be to retreat.

Sometimes the words "good night" are the only magic you'll get.

Theme song: Breaking the Girl/RHCP

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