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“I lift his chin and gaze into his face, so darkly beautiful, and I lower my mouth to his without a word... Sometimes, there is no need for words. It is not a romantic kiss, but a reassuring one. "You need to let me go, Brian..." "And you, I, Matthias," he says sadly, as I lift my head, and gaze into the eyes of Timothy, my husband, who has silently approached us on foot, sword drawn. As I have just stated, sometimes words are unnecessary. Timothy looks as if the weight of the entire world has fallen upon him. His eyes are wide and solemn, his face, gaunt. One solitary tear trickles down his cheek. His wings drag on the ground, the feathers filthy and dark with mud. "Matthias, how could you?!" he whispers huskily. "You...of all people...betray me, with a...with a kiss?" I open my mouth to protest, but no words emerge. Indeed, what can I say?”

“What kind of lube do you want?" "G-god, I don't KNOW," I stammer, blushing furiously. "Just pick one." He smiles cheekily, eyes sparkling with mischief as I'm standing there, half naked and DYING. 'That little fuck is really enjoying this,' I think affectionately, as he chooses a jar with a saucy grin and bats his eyelashes at me. "So, what did you find?" He grins wickedly. "Banana custard!" "Absolutely NOT!" I shout, and he grins. "Just kidding. Penis colada?--oops." He blushes, and I roar with laughter. "Was that a Freudian slip, My Love?”

“Morgan and Simone are a younger couple. Morgan, an albino with long, silver hair, is from Belfast, Northern Ireland. He's always joking around, and is very dramatic. He has been an actor and an artist's model. His husband, Simone, is very quiet. He's from Mexico, and is very artistic. We've spent countless hours together drawing, painting, and working with clay...Daddy Matt joined us one time, and sculpted a gift for Father Timothy. Father took one look at it, turned scarlet with embarrassment, and promptly hid it in their nightstand. I felt rather sorry for Dad, because he had worked so hard on it, and Father didn't proudly display it in the front room as he did with my work... I don't know why. It looked like a perfectly good hot dog to me. I told Father so, and he promptly sent me to my room, which was completely unfair, as I was only asking a question.”

“Indeed, everyone is seemingly smiling and laughing, except for the large group of gypsy boys, and other followers of Tim's, whom have been sectioned off from the others. Knowing full well the risk of publicly supporting Timothy's ministry, they have nonetheless very bravely come to offer moral support, and to pay their last respects. My eyes fill with tears at their dedication and loyalty; as humble as they are, every one of them is grander than any earthly king to me...”