zornhau

My pink-clad daughter descends on discarded drafts of Dark Age mayhem. The princess makes two folds, two snips with zigzag scissors and repeats. Soon a scatter of paper snowflakes bedecks the glass of the garden door. My words of war and death are become a mere frost framing glimpses of winterbound slide and sandpit. Even so, a little girl's laughter cannot save the burning mead hall.

I am reluctant to let a bunch of mobsters drive me out of LJ, but I'm starting to think that I don't want to be the last rat off the sinking ship.

Just in case they clear out inactive blogs.

LJ is starting to annoy me, in subtle ways. However, my blog is still over there for now.