"A pen is to me as a beak is to a hen." ~J. R. R. Tolkien
"Help me!” She mouthed urgently. James had nudged Calvin and nodded towards Snow. Calvin’s face lit up and he waved to her enthusiastically. James excused himself from the group and Calvin followed a bit more elegantly, kissing the lady's hands and sweeping bows to the gentry (socializing was his thing).
"I cannot believe I'm up here chasing a fairytale!" I yell, knowing that the only reason I'm talking out loud is to keep the slowly growing fear in my stomach at bay. I hike my drenched hoodie over my drenched head and keep plodding along, hoping to find either my guide or a cave or even a mountain lion to put me out of my misery.
Corliss rolled her head from side to side, unkinking her neck as she turned to view her appearance in the mirror, unconsciously biting her lower lip. She had to look perfect, better than she ever had before, because this was it. This is the night she had dreamed of for so long. The night where her one wish would begin to come true.
The Irregular Undómiel 