Thought that was a potato at first

I cackled, then choked on air. A fitting tribute to his dietary sins.

Yes. Often. And then I remember they’re not just inheriting the ruin. They’re inheriting me. My fight, my love, my hope. That may not be enough, but it’s not nothing.

Finally, a lady who keeps company with someone who understands silence, patience, and venom. I approve. The tarantula too.

Ah, the digital pitchfork crowd how quaint. In my day, they came with actual fire and far less irony.
Hold the line, dear. And remember: mobs tire quickly, but a well-placed curse lingers.

Sorting through old love letters, legal curses, and a drawer full of haunted hairpins. Also judging strangers from the parlour window. A productive evening, all things considered.

And yourself, dear?

Darling, that sounds ghastly.
I once fainted so thoroughly from anemia I was mistaken for a spirit and briefly hired as one.
Rest. Drink something dark. Demand attention. The world can wait, it always does for the important ones.

With firm affection,
Agatha.

Hatpins. Once used to fasten a lady’s dignity and defend it. Now replaced by passive aggressive Instagram captions and self-defense keychains shaped like cats. Progress is a bore. Bring back the blade.