Where am I?” Magnus croaked.”Nazca.””Oh, so we went on a little trip.””You broke into a man’s house,” Catarina said. “You stole a carpet and enchanted it to fly. Then you sped off into the night...

My mind may be sober, but my confidence is high!

The moon looked like melted mozzarella to my bleary and blurry vision. Was I tired, intoxicated, or in love? Or was I sober, asleep, and alone?

My voice falls into Southern drawl when I am tired, drunk, or in trouble. Too often, my accent is attacked by all three of these realities.