Elizabeth Snow
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elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
Elizabeth Snow
@elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
1.8K followers 290 following 6K posts
Call me Ez, any/ae/aer (like air), a baiman (not woman or man but both) dealing with chronic illness, mental health, ADHD, faith, & parenthood. Writer. Queer. Story and character nerd. Freelance editor.
Lionstoothediting.com
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elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
Close up of a sunflower, the petals in the top right quadrant folding down into the center, and a bumble bee on the left edge. The sky is a twilight purple in the back.
October 25, 2025 at 10:55 PM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
It's the perfect night to share another picture of my lovely new home. This is the den, on the first night of the season to light a fire. I'm currently binging Gilmore Girls, to round out the fall vibes.
A picture of a den. To the left is a tall wooden shelf holding a variety of games, and just past it is a double window sized opening to the room beyond, under which is a sorry wooden shelf with a drum standing on top of it and videos on it. A tiny shelf holdinh a few books on the floor next to a corner gas fireplace with lovely glowing flames. The fireplace itself is a dark wood mantle over a marble front with a brass framed opening and brass vents. On top of the fireplace are a couple of fall themed gnomes, a couple scarecrows, a glad pumpkin fill of pine cones and acorns, a small treasure box, and a couple jar candles. On the far wall, over the fireplace, are four framed photos of German castles (taken by my father-in-law in the 80s), and next to the fireplace is a medium sized wooden shelf full of books, an inkle loom on top, and a decorative pumpkin flanked by a raccoon and squirrel front and center on the second shelf. To the right of that is a large TV on a glass console with a long thin window. In the corner is a movie rack. Just in front of the movie rack is a rainbow basket of blankets. On the right/outside wall hang a 2k piece puzzle of The Starry Night and a 1k puzzle of an antique style world map. In the foreground is a brown sofa, draped over the back is a blanket with a pattern of fall leaves over a cream background.
October 22, 2025 at 11:59 PM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
Work for the state, they said. The job security (historically) & benefits are worth it, they said.

I'm reading policy today. I'll be reading policy in a month. I'm making a list of typos to keep myself from zoning out completely.
An open binder with eyeglasses in front of it and an ink pen propped against the closest ring for reference: there is easily two inches of paper on the right, maybe 1/3 of an inch to the left
October 14, 2025 at 6:43 PM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
#LGBTQWriteAThon
Star book is the project title, it's working title is currently Shadowlight, & here is the only moodboard I've worked up for it so far.

It's about a sentient star, a disabled nobleman who just wants to be left alone to his science, & a consummate politician & a power hungry church
Moodboard collage with the title SHADOWLIGHT centered. Three small panels display a series of scientific flasks, an English country estate, and some test tubes with various contents gathered on a white surface. Six larger panels display a library, a chessboard set up before an ornate chair, the silhouette of a man on a mountain top appearing to catch a falling star, a gloved hand holding an open pocket watch, a blooming rose with a long-exposure light swirl looping around it, and a man's eye with a glowing starburst over the iris and pupil.
October 2, 2025 at 9:37 PM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
#SFFChat
Going with actors I'm remotely familiar with, here. (I would personally like to see cis actors cast as trans & trans actors cast as cis characters, but I'm just enby, so I'd be willing to give up any say & cast a trans actor as my trans character. This is just a silly game.)
Alstair & Bast
Head shot of Daniel Radcliffe Head shot of Jack O'Connell
September 23, 2025 at 10:09 PM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
I love my new house! The lighting in the place is gorgeous. In the evening, the library/dining room is like a painting.
A room with a window the middle of Billy in bookshelves on the far wall, a record player on a small table between the window and fireplace to the right, a low wall separating off the front wall, a row of bookshelves along the left wall, a dining table in the middle of the room, an arm chair and small TV in the corner, and an open fourth wall framed by spindle/columns leads toward the camera and the room beyond. Cool natural light comes through the window to the right creating a beautiful effect of glow and shadows.
September 23, 2025 at 8:27 PM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
#WriteSky #WritingQ
Jake, the first to recognize the feminine in Trent and the only one to address it, has gone off on his own, to do something presumably dangerous

(Page 20 is as far as I've gotten with chaos gremlins)
“Trent, buddy,” Alex said cautiously, “what ya doin’ there?” He’d noticed I was only partially paying attention. Considering the subject matter, I can see how that would have been concerning. “What do you think she’s doing?” It was the first time Val had ever referred to me in the feminine, and it got my attention. I looked up, and she met my gaze as she she continued. “She’s making a list.” It was her way of saying she understood what he meant to me. I nodded at her.
September 17, 2025 at 10:31 PM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
#SFFChat
Have a good long snip of my secondary WIP, sometimes referred to as chaos gremlins.
What he does is sit in the restaurant or lobby for hours, sipping a cup of coffee, reading news from home. (I think he has someone collect it just for him.) While he reads, he also watches, and by the time he’s done reading, he’s made a choice, and he goes to the front desk and settles the bill of whoever he’s selected, for however long their stay happens to be. I have never been able to figure out how he knows their room numbers, because he rarely relies on their names, and Val pretends she doesn’t know he does it all. I’ve tried asking him about it, but he swears he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. Anyway, he makes his choice, pays the bill, and goes back upstairs at 9:30 to wake Alex. Val has been swimming, showered, eaten, made three phone calls, and written a book. Okay, maybe she hasn’t written a book, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s read one. I’ve gone for a run, showered, eaten. Gone for another run because I was bored, and showered again by the time 10 finally rolls around. At the elevator, Alex runs back because he’s forgotten something—his allergy to being on time. Jake is in a fine mood, but on the ride down, he slips into his “I would rather be anywhere else” face. Sometimes, he makes armory runs like it’s a trip to the candy store, but this guy had upset Val enough that she had cast him as a grouch, so he was going to play the part. Ten fifteen, we strolled into the lobby, and Val gave the nervous man a tight smile. Jake waited until the guy was drawing breath to growl. “Well? Can we go?” Val’s smile softened as the guy jumped, stammered, and tried to offer and ‘after you’ gesture. Jake rolled his eyes. “You’re the one who knows where we’re going, remember?” He was doing the Batman thing with his voice. Val had a genuine smile as Jake ushered her after our contact. She doesn’t object to our antics because she cares about professionalism or feels bad
September 14, 2025 at 7:23 PM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
#SciFiSeptember
Bast is down bad, two and a half conversations in, and Alstair is completely unprepared
There was something about his manner—the stuttering without shrinking, the apparent acceptance of his particular strengths and weaknesses with due confidence—that was admirable. More than that—it was attractive, perhaps even more so than the well appointed features on a frame that promised to fit comfortably in the palm of Bastiane’s hand no matter how he was held. And now, with the expression of such a flat pragmatism—Bastiane lost himself and broke out laughing. “You are remarkable. Do you know that? Truly remarkable.” The blush returned to Somerset’s face and neck. “I kn-know I… I’m strange—” he stammered. Bastiane reached out without thinking, taking his jaw in the palm of his hand, fingers reaching around to the back of his neck and head. “I said remarkable,” he growled, “not strange, and when I say you have captured my interest, I do not mean the manner in which you may be useful. Do you understand?
September 14, 2025 at 6:51 PM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
#QueerWritersChat
Took me a minute or so to pick a snip. The narrator is Trent, a baby enby. The WIP isn't very long, yet, so I don't have many explicit/direct description of sensations.
Some asshole was hassling a poor girl who had obviously already expressed her disinterest more than once, so I stepped between them and suggested he get his hearing checked. I was trying to be nice and give him the benefit of the doubt or something, officer, I swear, and the next thing I knew, Jake was kneeling in front of me asking if my vision was clear. “Yeah,” I said, blinking to make sure. “Yeah.” “Okay,” he said, sighing in relief, “but we’ve talked about this. What are you supposed to do if you meet a cave troll?” I groaned. My head really was starting to hurt. “Call for you,” I admit a bit petulantly. “Good girl.” He only calls me a girl or Love or Doll or something when he’s worried about me, when he’s very very angry at someone else, and keeping his manner soft until he’s sure I’m all right. I don’t know how it started. It might have been when someone called me a girl as an insult? Regardless, I find it incredibly reassuring, and anyone who thinks it’s patronizing can take it up with him, because I like it. I probably tried to nod, because I remember wincing. “Come on, Doll.” He took me under the arm and pulled me to my feet. “I’m very proud of you. Now, go back to the table with Val. Alex has some ice waiting for you. Be sure to let them know if you feel dizzy or sick.”
September 13, 2025 at 1:41 AM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
#SFFChat took me a minute to pick one...
Bast has asked Alstair about his stutter, as he has extreme difficulty speaking in some situations and absolutely none in others. This is Alstair's explanation.
Alstair opened his mouth, hesitated, and shook his head. He considered how to answer for a long moment. After taking a sip of his wine, he took another breath. “I have to consider everything,” he said slowly. “I always have. Every word, every movement. To be certain I understand, and then certain I’ll be understood. Part of it is anxiety, from my mother and my oldest sister. Mostly, though, I think it’s just how I think—slowly.” He shrugged and rearranged the food on his plate. “Often in high stress situations, I could speak more evenly: in class, giving a speech, performing… It was in social settings, when everything moves quickly, when everything moves…” He shook his head. “Then the star complicated things further. It wants to process everything. Every sight. Sound. Texture. In your parlor, I was seeing the curtains, the cushions, counting the chairs, considering how far the piano was from the fireplace and how well someone could play to one group while another spoke on the sofas. I was noticing how many small tables were available and convenient to collect glasses and where exactly the bell pull was for you to summon the butler—that I had somehow taken your customary seat. And I was speaking with you, noticing your patience, your curiosity, your amusement. All of that while trying to keep the star calm. It is—overwhelming. The stutter isn’t distraction or hesitation. It’s malfunction. My mind is so busy with everything else, I forget how to speak.”
September 11, 2025 at 11:29 PM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
#SFFChat
Have Alstair's new favorite sound
“What am I reading?” Alstair was still trembling, so he pulled the blankets higher and sent the flame of a candle Forster had lit into the grate to start a proper fire. “On the table at hand,” Alstair said, pressing even closer. “From the mark?” Bast asked, collecting the novel he found. “The beginning,” Alstair mumbled. “I want your voice, more than I want to follow a tale.” Bast read until Forster brought the dinner, though Alstair fell to sleep before the close of a chapter.
September 10, 2025 at 5:44 PM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
#SSFChat
To accompany the ScifiSeptember snip, have a glimpse of Bast's reaction to the attack on Alstair. At this point, he's spent perhaps a total of 4 hours with the man. It may not have been love at first sight, but it was certainly at first understanding.

Pog is in-work slang for aristocrat
By the third day, he had the identity of the Pog that had set the attack and sent word that he would be calling for High Tea with full expectation. It was an old custom, largely unpracticed, but it had not yet been outlawed, and it was simple in concept if elaborate in design. Two peers would sit down to a light meal with upmost formality, a delicate, single use pistol a prominent feature in the place setting. They would either rise from the table with a new understanding, or one would rise with certain assurances and a debt to the heir. It was a costly choice, to be sure, but few estates equaled his, and Bastiane had so far enjoyed the drama stirred by his revival of the practice. He felt it was time he followed through, lest any dare suggest it was only a bluff, and he could think of no more worthy subject than a coward sending thugs into the night.
September 7, 2025 at 8:55 PM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
#ScifiSeptember
Considering that one of the secondary characters is a sentient star, I have quite a few to choose from, so I just went with the very first occurrence. Bast hasn't even spent two hours with Alstair and already he's losing objectivity😅
As Bastiane rode through the night, a sharp light pierced the darkness ahead of him, and he spurred his horse into a gallop. Lord Somerset was a well-known mage, and few possess the skill necessary to gather that much light from moon and stars. That he would do so on his journey home could only indicate trouble. If he had taken the time to consider what he was witnessing, he would have realized the light wasn’t being gathered from the surrounding night, but he was in a hurry. If he weren’t so worried about Lord Somerset, he might have realized that between Somerset and brigands, the odds that the scream of a life being ripped from a body should be his were in fact rather low, but the simple realization that Somerset was in danger occupied his entire mind an admitted no other consideration.
September 7, 2025 at 8:45 PM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
#SFFChat 4
Not exactly first lines, but first page. The beginning of Alstair's relationship with Bastiane.
“Lord Somerset,” a clear, firm, resonant voice pierced the room. “Welcome. To what do I owe the honor?” Lord Bastiane entered, still pulling on his own gloves, apparently having hurried to answer the call. He was nearly a head taller and considerably broader than Lord Somerset, and Alstair found his presence almost oppressive. It was unsurprising that they had never met—there were many in the Mysterium and upon the Court whom had never made the acquaintance of the young Mastaire, after all. He almost entirely sent an agent to Court in his stead. Realizing that he was staring, that Lord Bastiane was waiting with apparent patience, Alstair cleared his throat and took what he hoped would be a steadying breath. “Y… you have a m… m—an c…” He closed his eyes against the thoughtful crease forming above Lord Bastiane’s watchful eyes.
September 4, 2025 at 5:19 PM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
I got my depression bunny from @plushiedreadfuls.bsky.social today; it's the blue one with the mohawk. I've got space for the anxiety bun left, but I might relocate non-binary so I can fit ibs up there, too. Then I'll have all of my diagnosis. My collection is nearly complete!
A grainy picture is a headboard with a line of stuffed bunnies sit on it, all from the plushie dreadful line, including the non-binary, ADHD, depression, fibromyalgia, pots v2, eds, functional neurological disorder, and migraine bunnies with a space between non-binary and depression for one more bunny.
September 3, 2025 at 2:40 AM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
Bent tip & long knife nibs give you some variability in line width, which is useful for calligraphy/art.

The clear pen is a fine kakuno & wrote the teal top/right line. The white/tan pen is a fine forest pen & drew the middle brown line. The last line is from the silver pen-a .7mm zebra ball point.
Three pens and three lines on an otherwise blank page. One is a clear kakuno fountain pen with a fine nib, one is a cream and tan hongdian forest fountain pen with a fine nib, and one is a zebra f 301 .7mm ballpoint to provide reference for the line widths. The outside line is real, from the kakuno, the middle line is brown, from the hongdian, and both are just noticeably larger than the third, black line from the ballpoint.
August 29, 2025 at 6:27 PM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
#QueerPrompts
I don't have a meeting with the villain yet, but here's Bast learning more about Alstair's mother.
Alstair scoffed. “It is the best I can explain the phenomenon. When my father died and my mother began lecturing me on my obligation to save the family from his reputation, forcing me to dress like my sisters and dragging me to church—” he brought a hand up to span his eyes and squeeze his temples. “Two weeks of it and I went deaf. I could not understand a word that was spoken to me.” He dropped his hand and studied his fingers. “That was when her father came to live with us. He had someone brought out to tutor me, and Forster, in gesture formed communication. It was only once I felt some degree of… stability. Once I had Grandfather and Forster grounding me in a world, a life, I recognized, that my ability to understand speech returned. Mother still thinks I was faking it.” “I should probably never meet this woman,” Bast said, earning a cough from Forster.
August 14, 2025 at 5:33 PM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
I need ideas. Our new house has this patio space in the front that's partially sheltered from the street by a half wall. I want to do something more interesting w/it than just set a table & chairs. The back yard has a nice patio for our grill & fire pit & a small porch I'm going to screen.
The front door of a brick house. There's a front stoop at the door, and a walk that leads from the door and around some sort of front patio. The 'patio' is roughly 7 x 8 and floored with smooth rock gravel. It sits in the corner made by the original house and a later addition and it's partially shielded from the street but a low brick wall with a pattern of holes where bricks were intentionally left out. The fourth side is bordered by the walk to the door and is left open. A view from the front door of a red brick house into a semi sheltered sort of patio space that has a 'floor' of smooth rock gravel. The house makes a corner and walls in two sides of the space, and the street facing side is partially obscured by a low brick wall built with a pattern of open spaces between the bricks. (There is a ladder in one corner, but it's not important)
August 14, 2025 at 12:36 AM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
#WritingLifeMonthly
Bast isn't very good at talking about his emotions, so he's found a way to occupy his nerves while he says what needs to...
Bast held them there for a long moment, breathing in the scent of the man in his arms. “Please,” he said at last, “stop,” his voice became a low growl against Alstair’s ear, his hand working its way deeper beneath Alstair’s clothing, “acting like you’re alone.” He’d somehow captured both of Alstair’s wrists in his hand and had them pinned to his chest. “All morning,” his grip tightened as his other hand found the heat between Alstair’s legs, “you’ve struggled alone.” He held firm as Alstair squirmed and bucked against him. “Even after all you said as we dressed.” He withdrew his hand and Alstair whined until Bast’s hand was beneath him, cutting off the whine with another gasp. “Tell me,” his voice was even huskier now as his clever hand pressed deeper, “what you need.” “More!” Alstair choked. “Take—” he cried as Bast obliged, “—control,” he whimpered. “Make it stop,” he managed to gasp as Bast waited for him to relax. “Make me stop thinking.” “More?” Bast asked, barely above a whisper. “Please,” Alstair begged.
August 10, 2025 at 10:16 PM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
#WritingLifeMonthly
This is the closest I have to a lingering goodbye so far
Having seen his rather surprising guest off into the night, Lord Bastiane stood in his hall for some moments contemplating the evening. Whatever had truly brought the young lord to his door, it had been clear the man lacked connection. His position at Court was unassailable, yet he had no known allies and a rather unrefined agenda, which accounted for his lack of success despite his progressive ideas. The reason for his persistent absenteeism was obvious. Then, with no clear moment of decision or conscious motivation, Lord Bastiane called for his own horse, determined to see his visitor safely to his own door.
August 10, 2025 at 12:36 AM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
#WritingLifeMonthly catch-up
7-first kiss-Alstair just absent-mindedly bit through his lip & Bast just healed it
“You fascinate me,” Bast admitted. “Few have surprised me as often over years as you did in a single day. And I seem to have you enchanted.” Alstair could hardly argue. He could hardly think. Bast pulled him all the way to his feet and bowed to press their lips together. Holding Alstair by the head and lower back, he opened his mouth, coaxing Alstair to open and explore the heady warmth and taste of a kiss before taking his lips between his teeth and pulling. “I’m the only one who bites these lips,” his voice rumbled low and smooth. Alstair had no words with which to respond, so he merely nodded.
August 8, 2025 at 10:35 PM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
#WritingLifeMonthly catch-up
Monthly goal is to just be productive again
2/3-1st sight & 1st conversation are at the same time
4-the 1st involuntary touch is Bast's
5-1st voluntary touch is Bast picking up an unconscious Alstair, so I'm going with Al's 1st involuntary touch instead
6-1st waist hold
“Lord Somerset,” a clear, firm, resonant voice pierced the room. “Welcome. To what do I owe the honor?” Lord Bastiane entered, still pulling on his own gloves, apparently having hurried to answer the call. He was nearly a head taller and considerably broader than Lord Somerset, and Alstair found his presence almost oppressive. It was unsurprising that they had never met—there were many in the Mysterium and upon the Court whom had never made the acquaintance of the young Mastaire, after all. He almost entirely sent an agent to Court in his stead. Realizing that he was staring, that Lord Bastiane was waiting with apparent patience, Alstair cleared his throat and took what he hoped would be a steadying breath. “Y… you have a m… m—an c…” He closed his eyes against the thoughtful crease forming above Lord Bastiane’s watchful eyes. “Collecting t… t… t-” he pressed hard against the word gathering in his mouth and forced it into the room, “-exts f-” he sunk into himself as the next word caught as well, “-or you.” The blush returned to Somerset’s face and neck. “I kn-know I… I’m strange—” he stammered. Bastiane reached out without thinking, taking his jaw in the palm of his hand, fingers reaching around to the back of his neck and head. “I said remarkable,” he growled, “not strange, and when I say you have captured my interest, I do not mean the manner in which you may be useful. Do you understand?” Somerset looked startled, his breath becoming quick and shallow, but he did not pull away. “No,” he admitted. “Then I shall have to show you.” Bastiane could have pulled Lord Somerset into an embrace just then and there, claimed the lord’s lips with his own, but he was not certain, as yet, of the lord’s inclination, and, either way, it seemed the touch was shocking enough. Neither was he interested in frightening a man as skittish as a fox into the undergrowth. He was nothing if not patient. “I could have killed you.” The mere thought was horrifying. It had been difficult enough wrestling with the responsibility should something happen to the staff. It had been years before he trusted himself to face anyone while emotional, to speak of meals or plans or to allow Forster to lend aid. Now he had put at risk one such as Bast, someone who would not be compensated. “No,” Bast said in the same steady voice. “Never.” Alstair opened his eyes at last and looked up into the blue with the power to transfix him, calm him. “You’re so certain?” “Bast ran the cloth over Alstair’s forehead before answering. “Of course. Not only because it would never be you,” he ran the cloth over Alstair’s cheek, “but because you would never allow it.” Alstair caught Bast’s hand and brought the back of it to his lips. “We’ve met thrice,” was all he said. As soon as he’d done so, he froze, his eyes closed. Bast had bathed him twice now, caressed him, kissed him, but somehow it still seemed audacious—that the first time he should reach for the other man it was in so familiar a gesture, even as he protested Bast’s claim. “Hm.” Bast freed his hand to continue with the cloth, the corners of his mouth twitching. He’d noticed. Bast shoved himself to his feet and paced the room. Leaning over the foot of the bed, he growled. “Were you attempting to protect me from risk or responsibility?” “What responsibility?” Alstair scoffed bitterly, twitching back to wakefulness. “Because your Tea spurred them to act? It was only a matter of time.” He’d all but settled onto his side, curling up on himself. He wasn’t pulling away from Bast, precisely, so much as he was trying to escape the entire conversation. Truth be told, it was the public appearances that troubled him most. Those and Bast’s outrage on his behalf. Emotion was something he’d avoided as a matter of necessity since he was fifteen. To have someone emotional on his behalf felt unconscionable. Bast sat on the bed next to him and rested a hand on his head. “You will not be alone.” Without thought, Alstair pulled himself forward to rest his head in Bast’s lap, one arm around his waist, one curled under his bent knee. “I have been,” he muttered, “since I inherited.” Bast rubbed his back until Forster arrived with the tea.
August 8, 2025 at 10:32 PM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
#WritingLifeMonthly
I'm actually being productive on the WIP, so for added motivation, I'm going to try to keep up.
Bast was pulling delicate strands of light from the fire and stitching shut the hole he had put in his lip. It was hardly the first time he had chewed until he tasted copper, but it was the first time it had been thus cared for, and as the warmth touched his skin, he lost the thread of what he had been saying. His work complete, Bast took Alstair’s chin in hand, ensuring a level and unbroken gaze. “You are obviously more than a distraction. And even if that were all you are, I take care of my interests. Do you understand?” Alstair blinked. Bast raised his thumb and ran it across Alstair’s now healed lips. “Know this, Alstair, I do not take people in lightly, and I am possessive when I do. You are mine, now. To hold. To protect. No one will harm you again.”
August 8, 2025 at 10:21 PM
elizabeth-snow.bsky.social
#SFFChat
I opened my WIP to find a section with particularly dense dialogue, but I found this bit first & wanted to share it. Alstair & Bastiane have just met, exposing Alstair's significant stutter, but he surprisingly, to them both, accepts an invitation to stay for dinner. This is Bast's response
“I trust you found the roads well on your ride out,” he said rather prosaically. “I went riding yesterday and found them still awash from our last rain. There is nothing I abhor more than dressing to call and being sprayed over with mud.” He had talked rather past when one was typically bound to respond, and Lord Somerset was bewildered by what to say. Well before he had gathered himself and constructed a reply, Lord Bastiane had begun to muse about the benefits of traveling by horse and those offered by a carriage, all without seeming to imply he found Lord Somerset’s choice in any way strange. And he continued on like that throughout the meal, rarely requiring more than a word or two from his guest in response or encouragement. Neither did he talk so much or so steadily as to appear to be rambling. Somehow, it seemed to Alstair also that the conversation was not fully one-sided as one would suppose. Bastiane was steadily taking a more personal tone, or at least a more familiar one.
August 8, 2025 at 1:23 AM