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Review: Content Warning: Erotic Fanfiction Deathmatch – Superheroes!

Books & Writing, Comedy, Culture, Events, Performance, Reviews, Short Fictions

July 19, 2017

Seven Dining Lounge is fast becoming a regular geek hangout with many recurring monthly shows known in the community. The night of Friday, July 7th was no exception with Content Warning: Erotic Fanfiction Deathmatch. For those not in the know, fanfiction is a written piece of fiction about a popular culture franchise usually by a fan of said franchise. A famous example of fanfic I’m sure many have heard of is Fifty Shades of Grey, originally based on the Twilight series. Content Warning is a lot like that, but without the Hollywood budget movies and with a bit more consent.

To start off the night’s festivities, host and co-producer Jesse Inocalla takes the stage to announce, well… content warning and general conduct. Each piece has a word count limit of 2,000 words and the content must be enthusiastically consensual. And to the audience, “Don’t be creeps.” A logical rule welcomed by all those attending. This is when the logic ends and wtf begins, as Jesse launches into the first 4 chapters of the ever infamous “My Immortal”. To get the full impact of My Immortal, Google is your friend. It was the only piece of the night not featuring a local writer and set the tone of painful hilarity for the rest of the evening.

The first actual feature story of the night was “Maximum Effort” by Lisa Simon as read by Seth Little’s soothing voice. It began with in-story Deadpool sitting by a fireplace, telling us a bedtime smutty tale about himself and Wolverine, and later joined by Lady Deadpool and Headpool. Also a B story of Dogpool and a white, squeaky unicorn plush somewhere in the background. The words “Snikt me!” and “frothy man syrup” happened. To say more would likely violate content rating rules.

Next up was Katie Kieran Browner’s “Batman v. Catwoman!” narrated by the lovely Minnie Perón. Set in Gotham City on July 4th of a nondescript year, Catwoman slinks around and encounters a stray Batman. A steamy encounter happens between the two and “I’m Batman” was uttered five times. And then – Plot Twist! – it was actually imposter Deadpool. But also it’s just a fantasy as imagined by Deadpool because Deadpool respects women and would never do such a thing.

The third story of the night had the ever talented Abbey St. Brendan reading Jenna Sokalski’s “One Pump Man”. This tale of Saitama (titular character of One Punch Man) has him in the loving embrace of Kal-El himself. It features active consent, as one would expect of classic Superman and was ground-shakingly funny. Abbey’s expressive voice lent well to Saitama’s baritone and 50s radio play style Superman, which adds another layer to the story telling and had the audience roaring with laughter.

Before intermission, we have “Batman vs. Superman” by Topher Andrew Graham, as delivered by the charming Nhi Do. A better version of Batman v Superman where Batman helps out a bro doused in Zod’s Kryptonian pheromones. There’s a Wonder Woman cameo which involved “mathematically impossible poses”. Also “giant dick shaped holes” in significant cultural monuments such as the Eiffel Tower. Kryptonite was used, candles were lit, baddies were ultimately defeated.

Right after the break, we have David Aboussafy’s “Birds of Prey”, once again read by Nhi Do. It features Harley Quinn domming Nightwing and lots of laughing, as one would expect with Harley. Also CBT (NOT cognitive behavioural therapy). As they say, “Once you had Dick…”

The outstanding story of the night is “Kibble War” by Zachary Taylor voiced by Abbey St. Brendan. It truly lived up to the shows name. It sees Garfield’s AU (alternate universe for those not well versed in fanfic lingo) superhero persona, Garzooka and the Pet Force, and the Super Buddies. One must be there to fully absorb the impact this story leaves, made all the more captivating by Abbey’s sound effects. To go into more details will surely violate content rating rules.

To recover from Kibble War, there is Minnie Perón reading Mikail Korst’s “INFINITY FIST”. Thanos lost his Infinity Gauntlet in Galactus’ anal cavity, granting the World Eater unlimited power. Dr. Manhattan arrives with a White Lantern ring where one does not usually find a Lantern ring and attempts to retrieve said gauntlet and to punish Galactus by unconventional means. The tale ends in them forever entwined in passion… or as the audience coined, a “f*ckpocalypse”.

Last but not least is “The Batgirl” by Lauren Wallace, narrated once again by Seth Little. The audience saw Batgirl (Barbara Gordon) giving Batgirls (Stephanie Brown and Cassandra Cain) a lesson in seduction. The story features Batgirls, many bat similes, more bat facts, and SO MANY bat sex facts. And at the end of it all, Batwoman.

At the end of the night, audience members were encouraged to vote on an online poll to choose the night’s, Smut Master. Lauren Wallace’s “The Batgirl” won fan favourite. Spanning 3 hours, 4 local performers, and 8 stories, Content Warning definitely gives the ticket price worth of entertainment and then some. If adult bedtime stories with a heavy dose of trashy smut and questionable logic sounds like a good time, absolutely do check out future shows. Next Content Warning is on August 11th and the theme is Fantasy.

 


Eva Mak is a local producer, artist and lady about town. You can tweet at her @originalevamak 

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258

Fiction: Take You Home

Books & Writing, Culture, Short Fictions

July 13, 2017

Beyond the end of the world, the end of all the worlds, is a place where they all meet. All manner of creatures and beings come here; it is a place of refuge, of shelter from the storm. And there is always a storm somewhere.

On the seaside Red Cliffs where the gryphons built their aerie, storms are all too common, from the light showers of summer to the harsh monsoons of wet winter. But the cliffs gave them shelter, and the ocean gave them food, and the proud gryphon folk desired little else.

One particularly dark and cold winter, soon after dawn on the shortest day, there blew up a storm more terrible than any in living memory. The sky blackened like midnight, the waves frothed and beat against the red granite, and the strongest and smartest of the gryphons’ warriors and hunters exhausted themselves keeping the aerie’s nests safe and secure. The storm lasted three days and three nights, the heavens themselves shattered by lightning and thunder, and when dawn the final day finally brought calm, the gryphons patrolled their beach to see what havoc the sea had wrought.

There were fish and creatures well known to them washed ashore, which they gathered to eat, and the remains of their beach shelters washed away. Corals and shells from the briny deep lay scattered about, as well as bits of wreckage and debris from constructions made by some unknown hands. And there was the girl.

The gryphons of the Red Cliffs had never seen such a creature. Nor indeed had they ever seen a human, or else they would have deemed her to be like them, slender and clad in a garment of shimmering sea green, but unlike humans her pale blue skin bore the outlines of soft scales, and webbing stretched between her digits as well as between the spines of the fins on the backs of her arms and legs. They gathered, concerned, and sought the elders’ advice on what to do about her.

“Cast it back to the waves. It is no problem of ours,” said one elder. “Put it with the bounty of the storm, we shall feast upon it,” said another. “Kill it and bury it with haste, lest it attract more of its kind,” said a third. They and the others argued about how best to dispose of the creature, when a voice boomed over all of them, “NO.”

They turned and there stood the one called Yalos, eldest son of the chief, and regarded in all things a wise elder of the clan despite his youth. “Have you not listened to the tales? This is not a fish, nor merely some deeper animal. We must show compassion, lest in our haste and greed we commit a grave sin.”

The gryphons scoffed. How could this be anything but an animal? Did it not lack feathers and beak as well as tail and hindclaws? Such a thing could be nothing better than the bounty of the sea, and nothing worse than a pest. But Yalos stood over the creature and drove the others back with wings, claws, and beak. They hissed at him. “You may be our Prince, but that does not give you leave to break our traditions!” spat an Elder, the one who had wished to eat her.

In ones and twos they left, voicing their disdain, and when Yalos was again alone on the beach a soft voice spoke from between his legs: “You have faced your own kind… for me? Why?”

The gryphon stepped aside and peered down into the now wide open pale blue eyes of the girl from the sea. That she spoke his language surprised him, but that she spoke at all did not, for he had listened to the tales. “The right thing to do is that no matter who it is for. I am called Yalos, Prince of the Red Cliffs. May I have your name?”

The girl hesitated, then sat up. “I am Nehelennia of the Waves. And I think… I am lost. Where are these cliffs?”

Yalos indicated the tall cliffs of granite and clay that ran along the beach, but he understood her deeper meaning. “The Mourning Mountains lie further north, the forest we have not named lies further inland to the west. All else is The Sea.”

“The stars, the stars. I must see the stars…” Nehelennia said, though it was not a reply. She pushed on the beach, trying to stand, but was unable.

“Hush,” said the gryphon, shaking his head. “You have been injured in the storm. Rest here; I will bring you food.”

Nehelennia began to protest, but Yalos had already flown off. The prince was as good as his word, and over the following days cared for the nereid, for that is what she was, as though she was his own chick. And each night, as the black velvet sky shone with stardust, she became sadder and sadder.

“Why do you cry when you see the stars?” Yalos asked one such night.

“I am lost,” she replied, “This is not the sky of my home.”

“It is the only sky,” said the gryphon with some confusion.

“No. It is but one of many. When the storms between the worlds blow, they cross from sky to sky, and the storms…. they took me, years ago. I have been alone ever since, and do not think I will again see the sky over the Brightwater.”

And with that, she placed her face in her hands and wept sea foam.

Yalos’ heart broke for her, though he did not understand this talk of other worlds. He wrapped a wing around her in comfort and said, “Then let your loneliness at least be eased. I will take you home.”

The nereid shook her head. “No, you cannot! Even I do not know the way.”

“We shall find it together,” said he. “By the Egg of the Sun, I will take you home.”

Nehelennia protested further, but it was to no avail. A gryphon’s promise is neither given nor broken lightly, and a prince’s even more so. A fortnight had not yet passed when she dove into the waves to once again seek her home, and when she did so Yalos took wing and followed overhead.

A gryphon is a strong creature, and Yalos was both strong and wise, but they are not normally users of magic. A nereid, contrariwise, is formed of the magic found in the hidden depths. Nearby, water and ice moved as she directed it, and each night of their journey as the sun sank and Yalos’ wings tired from flight, she would make a pan of ice and there they would both spend the night, he curled upon it and she bobbing upon the waves.

Days passed. Nehelennia seemed to know where she was going, but each night when Yalos asked if they were drawing nearer, she would simply reply, “This is still not my sky.” Just as the gryphon was beginning to wonder what they sought, the girl pointed excitedly at the horizon. There, a huge storm was gathering against the darkening sky.

“That is the storm between worlds! We must… I must go to it!” said she.

“What? Go into the storm? We will be killed!” Yalos squawked.

“I must!” Nehelennia insisted. “You do not have to. Return to your people.”

Yalos shook his head. “I cannot. We are too far – but that does not matter. I have not fulfilled my oath.”

The argument would no doubt have continued, but no storm moves as fast as the one between the worlds, and it struck them as they spoke! The gryphon struggled, beating his wings hard and dodging the flashes of lightning and the worst downdrafts, as did the nereid, fighting to maintain control as the waves began to rise and tower nearly the height of the Red Cliffs themselves!

Nehelennia was losing the battle for control. A creature of the sea, she could not drown, but neither could she control where she was thrown. The waves buffeted and threw her about until, with a sudden jerk, she was yanked upward into the storm instead. Yalos had scooped her from the foam.

Traveling upwards within the clouds, both beheld a sight they had never seen before: as the clouds roiled and broke, between them snatches of land and sea could be seen – but not the sea they left. Worlds mundane and exotic flashed past, until finally the nereid pointed and yelled “THERE!”

Yalos threw them both through the gap without thinking about what he was doing, and suddenly the storm was gone. Instead, they floated above a calm green sea, with islands on the horizon.

“What has happened?” the gryphon asked, amazed.

“The storm between worlds, dear Yalos. We have crossed,” the nereid replied.

She looked around, and a smile began to spread on her face.

Yalos looked at her. “Is… is this your sky?”

“It is not… but it is one I have seen before. Perhaps we can follow the trail backwards. Through the storms.”

Thus began the hardest time in the gryphon prince’s life. Through storms and strife, barren worlds and worlds rife with deadly creatures, the two of them traveled, always seeking out the Storm Between Worlds when it touched down. With Yalos’ wings, they were able to choose between the worlds they glimpsed among the stormclouds, rather than being at the mercy of the waves to toss them through as Nehelennia had once been. Still, it was nearly a year and a half by Yalos’ reckoning when finally their journey came to an end.

They passed through the storm to a foggy world with no clear horizon, and touched down gently upon the waves. The fog bank proved to be nothing more than mist and blew away, and when it did, Nehelennia looked up and shrieked with delight.

“Look! The Dancers! The Anglerfish! The Waterspout! See the stars, Yalos? We are finally here! This is my sky!”

The gryphon smiled and flew a grand loop in celebration. With the familiar stars overhead, it was only one more night before Nehelennia directed them both to a lagoon surrounded by a reef – a lagoon within the sea. “This is the Brightwater. This is the place where I was born, and where my family…” She trailed off and watched him land.

Yalos settled down on a reef to rest. “Good, good. If this is the place, then you are home. I am glad. Allow me to rest here a short time, and I will… be on my way.”

They looked at one another, and at the same time realized what Yalos had done. He had crossed the storms, driven to keep his oath, and come as far from his home across as many worlds as Nehelennia had been when they first met. Nehelennia, for her part, looked about the deserted Brightwater and realized that she had not been the only one swept up.

Yalos put his head down on his forelimbs. “I cannot deny it. I am lost. But you are home now, my oath is fulfilled, and with guidance of the Egg I may yet find my way home.” He closed his eyes and shuddered, thinking of the journey ahead.

Nehelennia hopped up and sat beside him upon the reef. “You have shown me a greater kindness than I ever imagined. You have taken me across the worlds, and kept me safe, and never once thought of your own journey home.”

She laid a hand on the feathers of his head and stroked gently. It was the first time they had touched for a reason other than the necessities of the journey. “Let your fear be eased. By the Dancers on the Deep… I will take you home.”

The gryphon began to protest, but it was as futile as her own had been before. When Yalos left the reef, Nehelennia came with him, and together they plunged once again into the storms.

That is them there, as you may have guessed. Even in a place such as this, a gryphon is a rare sight, and it is hard to miss the blue maiden of the sea. You may wonder how they came here; why, they came as most do, blown in from the storm. And they have stayed, for one very important reason.

They did not tell each other at first that they were alone. Yalos’ actions on Nehelennia’s behalf earned him, if not the status of an exile, at least the status of an insubordinate, and among the Gryphons of the Red Cliffs that is nearly the same thing. Nehelennia’s home had been devastated by the storm, much more than she had known before her return; all that she had known was gone, and the work to rebuild would be great indeed.

But the reason they stayed was to keep their promises. For neither had promised to bring the other to a place, but rather promised to bring them home – and after the trials they had faced together, for each of them, ‘home’ could be anywhere…

As long as that is where the other is.

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321

Living Myth Magazine Podcast – Episode 1 – July 2017

Culture, Podcast

July 2, 2017

Welcome to the first episode of Living Myth Magazine Podcast.

We are glad you are spending some time with us.

Your hosts Anne Honeycutt and Aaron Golden really appreciate you.

This episode features two interviews, a short story and a piece of music created by wonderful creatives.

Interview 1:

FAMILIES ACROSS CANADA with Jo Dworschak

The great adventure of Jo Dworschak and her son Luke starts on Canada’s 150th birthday in St. John’s, Newfoundland. From there they will find their way back to Vancouver, British Columbia. It’s an 86 hour drive! Along the way, they’ll be seeking diverse families to meet with. Collecting stories and connecting Canadians from coast to coast!.

You can hear more about this project and support Jo and Luke by liking their Facebook Page:  https://www.facebook.com/ohmanshow/

Website: https://familiesacrosscanada.wordpress.com/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/familiesacrosscanada/

And finally, donate to their GoFundMe! They need gas money: https://www.gofundme.com/familiesacrosscanada

You can also contact them to tell them they are doing great or to meet up with them so that your family can share their story by emailing Jo at jo.dworschak@gmail.com

 

Interview 2:

ZEROD20 with Jalyn Euteneier

ZeroD20 is an inclusive “representation matters” tabletop gaming podcast franchise that recently started a collaboration with Living Myth Magazine. They have plans to be at Geek Girl Con (https://geekgirlcon.com/) this year in Seattle and want to make the gaming world a better place for all.

You can follow them on the internet using the following!

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/pg/ZeroD20

Twitter: @zerod20_

Website: http://www.zerod20.com/

and you can support their Kickstarter Campaign!

Our Short Story Feature This Month

Take You Home by Abbey St. Brendan which will be available to read in its entirety along with the full audio read by Michael McIntyre on July 13th (Link to be added when the story drops)

And last but not least! Our Featured Song!

She Waits by Andrew Mockler

You can get all the news on show dates and how to purchase his music on http://www.andrewmockler.com/  also feel free to follow him on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/andrewmocklermusic/

Do you like what you heard? Do you want us to celebrate your creativity creatively? Drop us a line at podcasts@livingmythmedia.com and Anne will totally get back to you 😀

 

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191

Fiction: Dearly Beloved

Books & Writing, Culture, Short Fictions

June 13, 2017

Beyond the end of the world, the end of all the worlds, is a place where they all meet. All manner of creatures and beings come here; it is a place of refuge, of shelter from the storm. And there is always a storm somewhere.

Time passes here, though not always in step with the many worlds it touches, and even here there is change. Consider the proprietress, the young silver-haired woman all in white whose true nature is betrayed only by the small nub of shimmering ivory in the center of her forehead. She accepted the task when her predecessor tired of it, the latest in a line of innkeepers stretching back through time immemorial – the latest in a long line of beings who found so much solace in the World’s End that they chose to remain here for much of their lives, abandoning the worlds that birthed them. They had each their good reasons for doing so, each a past so riddled with sorrow or anger that ‘home’ lost all meaning.

The lands of the fey are very beautiful, as are many of the fey themselves. The lands of the fey are also deadly to the unwary, both in body and soul, as are many of the fey themselves. Even in lands of such magic and beauty, a unicorn is a rare thing indeed, and much hated by the darker fey for its purity of nature and its magical light. Most of them are for this reason shy and retiring, preferring to hide among the ever-present foliage in the Summer Queen’s Great Forest, but this one could not.

Dahlia Shining Sun named herself in traditional fashion for the flowers that grew around her birthing nest when she came of age, for unicorns are not born of unicorns, and no matter their good intentions, her sire and dam could never hope to understand their daughter. Dahlia was never by nature the sort of creature that could easily hide. She grew at first bored and soon deeply frustrated with the self-imposed exile, and craved friendship; more than that, she craved adoration.

And this is how she nearly lost her life.

To we outsiders, the fey seem capricious agents of mischief. And indeed they are, but within the chaos is a core of rigid order. All fey owe their unswerving fealty to either the Summer or Winter courts, to lofty Oberon and distant Titania, or to dreaded Cernunnos and mad Maebhe, and the main part of that fealty is war. The Summer and Winter courts have been at war for so long now that not even the Kings and Queens remember why, but it is a deadly and vicious war for all that.

Oberil Wheatwhistle was born to and was for many years a member in good standing of the Court of Titania and Oberon. Their orders were easy enough to fulfil until the focus of the War shifted to bring the fey of the Wheatwhistle lands into direct conflict. Oberil was and is a pacifist, claiming that choosing to harm another creature, even a vassal of the Winter Court, is the greatest sin there is.

Thrice did the Queen and King of Summer ask Wheatwhistle to take up arms for the Summer; thrice the refusal came. This was itself an honor beyond measure – not the order to battle, but the three times asking. The monarchs of the Fey brook no disobedience and have destroyed others on the spot for far smaller infractions. Oberil may have somehow been blood of their blood to receive such a favor, as well as the sentence passed: exile instead of death outright… though exile from the lands of Summer means only the realm of Winter, and death would still be the inevitable result.

In the Winter lands, the sun had not set thrice before the young elf noble encountered a disturbing sight. In a clearing were many lesser creatures of the Winter court, boggarts and redcaps and kobolds, trolls one and all, stood in a grand circle laughing and jeering. In the circle was the unicorn, battered and bloodied but unbowed; the creatures had found her in the Summer fields and lured her with promises of love and adoration to the Winter lands, where they began their terrible sport. Whichever way Dahlia faced, whichever way she tried to charge to end the torment and break free of her captors, the rocks and arrows and blades that harried and tortured her came always from behind; in front, she encountered instead pikes and torches that would drive her back to the center.

Oberil’s heart melted at once. Here was a better reason to take up arms than a thousand thousand years of politics. If protecting innocence was not a noble battle, nothing was. So the exile charged into the ranks of the trolls and scattered them to the four winds; they were no match for the singing blade of a full-blooded Summer Court warrior, exile or not.

This done, the elf went to render aid to the unicorn, but instead of gratitude was met with fury. Blinded with rage and terror, Dahlia charged her would-be savior, her horn cutting a furrow into Oberil’s side. Realizing she thought herself still under attack, Wheatwhistle ran; and when Dahlia gave chase, the young noble realized that after all this time in the dark lands, the only way to save the unicorn would be to lead her back to the light – despite the terms of exile imposed by the Summer Queen.

For three days and nights they ran, and whenever they met Dahlia inflicted another wound on Oberil before the elf evaded her and ran again. Oberil refused all this time to simply escape, leaving Dahlia still in the dark, until finally they burst into the Summer fields, where the noble collapsed.

Dahlia rushed in to destroy her quarry, believing this would free her once and for all, but at that moments the clouds parted and the shock of the bright Summer sun after all the darkness cleared her mind. The unicorn realized she was free, and it was her liberator she was about to kill. She fell to her knees instead and cried over the still form of the elf that risked everything to bring her back into the light.

They say unicorn tears can heal. Sometimes… they are right.

True love does not come at first sight, no matter what the stories say. But sometimes it is fated, and blossoms from even the harshest of beginnings. Oberil Wheatwhistle is an exile from two lands of the Fey that both promised an undeserved death, and finally found solace here beyond the end of the worlds. And Dahlia is here because there is nowhere else in all the worlds or beyond she would rather be than here, with the elf who proved more noble than Summer and Winter combined.

And she calls herself Dahlia Dearly Beloved now, because after all those years, she finally is.

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390

Fiction: My Bad Dream

Books & Writing, Culture, Short Fictions

May 13, 2017

Beyond the end of the world, the end of all the worlds, is a place where they all meet. All manner of creatures and beings come here; it is a place of refuge, of shelter from the storm. And there is always a storm somewhere.

Among them, strangely even for this strange place, is a child. A girl of eight or nine in a nightdress, flaxen-haired and blue-eyed, the very picture of innocence. One might be worried in this place that she is somehow a trap, a monster hiding, but it is not so. Goldie really is a little girl, but she is a dreamer.

Goldie fell asleep one night. It was a strange falling asleep, but she remembers nothing more about it. Then the terrors began. Night after night, week after week. The teeth in the woods, the house of blood, the gray faces, each more terrible than the last, the nightmares haunted and tormented her. Even in sleep, there was no rest.

But time passed. It always does, even if it moves strangely beyond the veil of worlds. One can eventually get used to anything, and though Goldie really is a little girl, she had been a little girl now for a long, long time. One day, with the teeth snapping at her heels again, she tired of the chase. She sat under a gnarled, blackened tree, picked up one of the fallen branches, and waited.

The snarling and howling stopped the moment she sat, and in short order, intrigued, the nightmare appeared to her, taking the form of a tall, dapper man whose body seemed to be made of black fire.

Why do you not run? it said, the words being remembered without ever being spoken.

“I’m tired.” she replied.

But you are asleep, it said, For years now. How can you be tired?

“Not sleepy,” said she, “Tired. Tired of running. Why do you torment me?”

The nightmare paused. This was something it had never considered. How could it? Do fish wonder why they swim, or flames wonder why they burn?

Finally, it spoke, without speaking: I am your Nightmare, it said.

“Mine?” Goldie asked.

Yours and yours alone, it said, as long as need be.

The girl stood. “You… are mine? You belong to me?”

Confused, the nightmare nodded, for was that not what it said?

Years of darkness change anyone, even someone who really is a little girl, and there in the gloom and the dark Goldie smiled for the first time in years, and ran forward, embracing the burning man who did not really burn.

“You’re MINE!” she said. It was the first time she could remember that anyone or anything was truly hers, even from before the strange sleep began. And the Nightmare, for it was made of her dreams as much as her fears, to its surprise wrapped its burning but not burning arms around her and hugged her back.

This, gentle traveler, is how you may meet the dreamer who has been young for so long in the place beyond the end of the worlds. Beside her always is her traveling companion, her Nightmare, which brings her from dream to dream wherever darkness touches, teaching her now the joy and laughter that lives where light doesn’t reach, for it already taught her everything it could about fear and pain. The nightmare is itself, himself, young in many ways, and does not always understand the places they travel. But it knows two truths that are clad in iron.

Firstly, he is HER Nightmare. Without her, he does not know what he would be, perhaps the nameless dread in the dark again, and it would be awful to go back to that sort of nonperson after finding this richer life.

And secondly, he looks really good in that hat.

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