“I feel incendiary, a wildfire. My spirit licks at the gates of a very elaborate, customized, and distracting emotional Hades.”

“Elaborate burial customs are a sure sign of decadence.”

“Beauty ensnares hearts, captures minds, and stirs up emotional wildfires.”

“Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another.”

“Carrie? Hello?” “Keer-ee-eh,” I said, emphasizing the middle vowel.  Normally, I don’t care if people mispronounce my name, unusual as it is, but I was annoyed at the distraction. “Like the song?” Turning, I leveled a glare at my interrupter.  Not very good of me, customer-service wise, but I was not feeling myself. “Yes, I was named after the pop song,” I said. “Exactly.” “Why would your mom do that?” Because when you’re eighteen and pregnant and unmarried and homeless and that song comes on the radio, it holds a lot of spiritual and emotional meaning to your immature and overwhelmed little self.  But I didn’t say that.  Instead I shrugged. “Lots of parents name their kids after songs.”

“(Emily frowned, then turned about in her saddle to scan the inner bailey.)Milady? What do you seek? (Simon)A marker announcing this as the gate to Hades. (Emily)”