I paint very messy. I throw paint around. So when I let myself do the same sort of thing with my writing, and I would just write and write and write and revise, that's when I found my rhythm in writing.
Magic is secret and secrets are magic.
The circus arrives without warning
And there are always those who would watch Alexandria burn. There always have been. There always will be.
And so Time goes on as it should and events that were once fated to happen are left instead to chance, and Chance never falls in love with anything for long.
Celia, wait,” Marco says, standing but not moving closer to her. “You are breaking my heart. You told me once that I reminded you of your father. That you never wanted to suffer the way your mother did for him, but you are doing exactly that to me. You keep leaving me. You leave me longing for you again and again when I would give anything for you to stay, and it is killing me.” “It has to kill one of us,” Celia says quietly.
