Funny story. So I’m at this quiet writing session at a local café, determined to pen some legacy words for the first time in three months. So far, I’ve stared at this page for a solid twenty minutes, trying to convince myself that I can write without caffeine. I can’t figure out where the self-serve coffee is, and the only way to find it is by blindly wandering through a minefield of easily-disturbed introverts.
Needless to say, addiction won out over anxiety (this time) and I made the expedition. Turns out it was ten steps long and only involved eye contact with like three people, but I still feel accomplished.
Now that we know how pathetic I am, let me remind you all what happened at the end of last chapter.
Frieda: What is that thing cleaning up our dishes? Did you buy an ogre slave?
Sky: Oh, that’s your son. I made him ugly so he can find his inner beauty and stuff.