So This Chocolate Princess. Her Knight In

I'm Told There's No Going Back. So I'm Choosing Forward.

The Handwriting Was A Girl’s. I Mean, You Can Tell. That Enchanted Cursive.

The Desert Adapts. The People Adapt. Live. Die. Struggle. Suffer. Create. The People In The Real World Beyond Demesne's Ring Are Not All Manufactured Perfection. They Deal.

I Figured Being A Bed Salesman Was A Job Of Biblically Bad Paradox. I Mean, Here He Was, Forced To Stand For Eight Or Nine Hours A Day, And The Whole Time He’s Surrounded By Beds. And Not Only That, He’s Surrounded By Shoppers Who See The Beds And Can’t Help But Think, Man, I’d Love To Lie Down On That Bed For A Second. So Not Only Does He Have To Stop Himself From Lying Down, But He Has To Stop Everyone Else From Doing It, Too. I Knew If I Were Him, I Would Be Desperate For Human Company.

The Best Is When We All Go At Once, Like An Army Of Interrelated Popcorn Zombies Who Laugh The Same Laughs And Gasp The Same Gasps And Aren’t So Germ-phobic With Each Other That We Won’t Share A Ginormous Coke With One Straw. Family Is Useful Like That.