Curse Us Eh/i'll Make You Pay!/i Don't

Her Hair Is Smoldering. Her Face Was Smudged With Soot. She Had A Cut On Her Arms, Her Dress Was Torn, And She Was Missing A Boot. Beautiful.

Oh, Lord. I Was Beginning To Think Like Neith. Soon I'd Be Huddled In An Underground Bunker Eating Army Rations And Cackling As I Sewed Together The Pockets Of All The Boys Who'd Jilted Me.

Teach You To Try Marrying Me, You Idiot!

Then There Was Nico Di Angelo. Dang, That Kid Gave Leo The Freaky-deakies. He Sat Back In His Leather Aviator Jacket, His Black T-shirt And Jeans, That Wicked Silver Skull Ring On His Finger, And The Stygian Sword At His Side. His Tufts Of Black Hair Struck Up In Curls Like Baby Bat Wings. His Eyes Were Sad And Kind Of Empty, As If He’d Stared Into The Depths Of Tartarus—which He Had.

I Feel Incredibly Fortunate To Have Had The Level Of Success I've Had. I Was Just Writing Stories For My Own Sons.