Proud descendant of Hex Throwing Goons. Writer. Total sweetheart. Daintiest stroll since Mae West. Giggles and Grenades! Always claps back.
“I have a deadly nightshadeSo twisted does it grow-with berries black as midnight And a skull as white as snow The vicar’s cocky young son Came to drink my tea He touched me without asking now he’s buried ‘neath a tree”