Doors

[Locked to Elise D]
[After this.] How fucked up is your boy, baby?

[ If the book answers back, she figures, why can't it answer questions? ]

The Mayor?

So this Valentine thing, I enjoyed it. I have always liked gifts.

[Locked to Harry]
So? What do you think? I know it's a muggle thing, and the costumes are bloody ridiculous, but it sounded - fun.

(Cael makes a rare trip back to his studio to get dressed for work. For a minute, he stretches across his bed with feet on the wall above his pillows and picks up the phone.)

RING, RING

[Locked to the Calendar Sibs]

[In the hours after he's home from the outpatient procedure, still a bit on the drugged side. The handwriting is a messy scrawl, made worse by the left-handed nature of it.]

So.

Did I tell you.

That Hansel is gone?

[Batfam et al]

Hey.

[luke h]

max and i well, there is no max and i, and there never was you just got married, the last thing is you need is to hear about my problems

[wren m]

you were right I heard the news from Luke. In case he didn't pass it on already, I wanted to give you my congratulations. I only wish I'd been able to be there.

[sam a]

You'll be surprised to hear that I followed through.

[public, anonymous]

[Locked away from Luke H, Wren M, and Max M. Just to get it out of his system, essentially. Written in a quick hand, not really expecting anyone to read it or respond.]

O garment not golden but gilded,
O garden where all men may dwell,
O tower not of ivory, but builded
By hands that reach heaven from hell;
O mystical rose of the mire,
O house not of gold but of gain,
O house of unquenchable fire,
Our Lady of Pain!

O lips full of lust and of laughter,
Curled snakes that are fed from my breast,
Bite hard, lest remembrance come after
And press with new lips where you pressed.
For my heart too springs up at the pressure,
Mine eyelids too moisten and burn;
Ah, feed me and fill me with pleasure,
Ere pain come in turn.

In yesterday's reach and to-morrow's,
Out of sight though they lie of to-day,
There have been and there yet shall be sorrows
That smite not and bite not in play.
The life and the love thou despisest,
These hurt us indeed, and in vain,
O wise among women, and wisest,
Our Lady of Pain.

[Phone Call to Seven M]

Ring!

[Locked to Morgan C]

I hope you liked the scarf.

[Locked to Luke H, anonyme]
[She copies Jack's entire public post, here.] I believed someone should see this, and you seemed the best choice, given the circumstances, monsieur. I cannot be certain it is he, but I believe the sentiment and poème suggest it, oui?