Carter, Angela

The Lady of the House of Love

Andrea was kind enough to suggest and supply a sufficiently Halloweeny bit of ghoulishness to reconcile the setback of temporary lack of access to mine own troves. In the hopes of exponentially increasing the sympathy factor, let it be known that in addition to being without books, the chief operating offices of Miette’s bedtime have been largely internet-free for the past weeks, in what would, under normal circumstances, leave a girl like me a little mildewy-eyed, save for the fact that, when I -do- find myself at Some Wretched Faceless Coffeechain Conglomerate, I log on to find fresh stories, and letters, and other epistolary well-wishes from the likes of you, and thank you for it.