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Quote by Tricia Levenseller

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Daughter of the Pirate King

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Tricia Levenseller

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“I met a boy and he told me a story. There was a lady long ago who spent her life coughing up feathers. And one day when she was gnarled and gray, she stretched from a woman into a black bird. From then on dusk held her in its thrall and night's great yawning mouth swallowed her whole. He told me this and then the boy kissed me with vinegar lips from the chips he was eating and I decided that this was my favorite story of all. That I wanted to be a bird when I was gray. ... After that, how could I not run away with him.”

“You won't miss me anyway," I tell Sebastian, my voice breaking on the last word. "You have each other." I turn on my heels, leaving Carole and Keith to reason with a still-arguing Lucia. I keep my head down as I descend the hill toward Rockford Manor, not noticing that I'm being followed until I feel a hand on my shoulder. "It's not true, what you said." I turn around at Sebastian's voice, feeling a strange swooping in my stomach as I face him. "What isn't true?" "That I won't miss you. Because I will. I'll miss you every summer and every holiday if you don't come back," he says, looking at me earnestly. "I'll miss you every time I see a bellflower or anything else that reminds me of my friend Ginny Rockford." Tears prick at the back of my eyelids as he speaks. He can't know how much his words mean to me; how they make everything simultaneously better and worse. But before I can answer, Sebastian bends down and brushes his lips against my cheek. I gasp, reaching up to touch my face in awe. Nothing should be able to make me feel happy after all I've just lost--- but this kiss, platonic though it may be, gives me a moment of pure joy. "Goodbye, Ginny," he says softly. "Till we meet again." "Goodbye," I echo, still touching my cheek as he walks back to rejoin Lucia. When he's no longer within earshot, I whisper, "I'll never forget you.”

“A Christmas Without Mistletoe by Stewart Stafford What a holiday season! No deliveries of mistletoe, Could it be a Grinch-like, Cancel culture embargo? At the rate we're going, We'll have no chance to kiss, Can the Scrooge supply chain, Find salvation after Christmas? So save up your kisses, Dampen down your ardour, And maybe we can smooch, In January's restocked larder. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”