She had lost too much blood, which was flowing between the fingers grasping her stomach and from the corners of her lips. ‘Please, save me. I can gi...e you so much knowledge…Knowledge you can use in your crusade against my overlords,’ Viriquesesh pleaded. ‘You’d betray your own kind?’ Trenton questioned. ‘You human’s do it all the time, and you’re His favored creation. Betraying my evil brethren could only gain me holy favor…correct?’ she asked. ‘It’s possible.’ Trenton once again pondered the. (RIP, dear Phil, I still often think of you.) The poems: are by George Gordon, Lord Byron, Alfred Tennyson (not ennobled at the time of this story), and Robert Herrick. Picture of carousel sign. I cannot bear it, I cannot bear it, I cannot bear it! When the feelings rise up in me, I try. I do try. Mama sees the truth. She gives me a look. I tremble so, for fear she will punish me again, and the feelings come rising up — choking me. I try to look down, modestly, to still my beating heart, to. More

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