Brooke's no stranger to theatre. She put on a few productions in high school, silly things, and all to suit her own agenda, but theatre nonetheless. And once she arrived in New York, she had to put in appearances everywhere, including every hot number Broadway and off-Broadway had to offer, no matter how dreary or boring ( Read more... )

It's snowing ( Read more... )

The Midsummer Night's Dream Fairies: more woodland, less ethereal, Geoffrey had said. Or rather, agreed that he didn't hate the idea after Brooke shrieked it at his face, which is as much of a go ahead as Brooke ever needs ( Read more... )

Brooke's first conscious thought is that she's warm. Not the fleeting, one-sided warmth of a fire or the shallow comfort of bundling into furs, but really warm, all the way through ( Read more... )

Yorick sleeps through the night, the morning, the afternoon, and at present is just about to reach the second evening without waking up once. There's been not a murmur from him, not a snort or a snore, and for Yorick that much silence all but means death. It doesn't matter how loudly Brooke shouts, or how sharply falls the flat of her palm ( Read more... )