The impish word-challenge of the week has been failed rather pathetically. I have no substantial excerpts to offer, no earth-shattering character breakthroughs to share, no plot points achieved. I shall soothe my shame-slain wordcount with a cup of tea and some sleep - but before I do, I might as well offer a feeble update. If only to concede to my ( Read more... )

So beautiful lungs are, breathless! How calm, when the wrists proclaim
no pulse and the saint meets his maker in a laconic dark. What a clean murder.
A stillbirth from the outset, this Nestorian rhythm, these shattered pieces
of much-loved ikon which shattered so easily against the headboard.
The sheets smell of tea and roses, the breath on his neck so ( Read more... )