"You do better making up your own, you ask me," says Crowley.
(Nobody did, but this is a dream.)
The wine seeps blackly against the glass, glitter-free; leaves a deep red leg; curves away towards the other side.
"Dancing to the beat of your own tune, sort of thing."
After all, just because something's written doesn't mean it isn't written differently somewhere else, where other people can't read it. In bigger letters.
Re: Fortify yourself with contentment, for this is an impregnable fortress.
(Nobody did, but this is a dream.)
The wine seeps blackly against the glass, glitter-free; leaves a deep red leg; curves away towards the other side.
"Dancing to the beat of your own tune, sort of thing."
After all, just because something's written doesn't mean it isn't written differently somewhere else, where other people can't read it. In bigger letters.
Underlined.
Twice.