I Drag Myself Out Of Nightmares Each

My Guess Is That Fearful Events Are The Hardest To Root Out. They're The Ones We Naturally Remember The Best, After All.

But Because Two Can Play At This Game, I Stand On Tiptoe And Kiss His Cheek. Right On His Bruise.

Poison. The Perfect Weapon For A Snake.

Maybe I'd Think That, Too, Caesar," Says Petta Bitterly, "if It Weren't For The Baby." There. He's Done It Again.

The Woods Always Look Different At Night...as If The Daytime Trees And Flowers And Stones Had Gone To Bed And Sent Slightly More Ominous Versions Of Themselves To Take Their Places.