A Longing for Lethe

Today

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 03:43:22 GMT

Today I was chuck full of symbolism. I wore my pent necklace, a dragonfly pendent that was a gift from a dear friend, and a lovely blue diamond ring that was also a gift.

Chuckles not sure what that was about, but it was what I picked out to wear.

Since my last post

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 04:29:45 GMT

I still don't know how many pans I need. I've not started school, and work is making me insane. So all in all as I expected, just once I would like to be pleasantly surprised by the world around me, rather than quietly disappointed.

I know of course that if you expect to fail you have no one to blame but yourself, and yet it feels as if failure is all that I am able to to.

So I am throwing my plans out the window. In fact I have decided that I will make no more plans. I will not plan to do anything and perhaps than I will manage to do something.

Thoughts for a rainy day

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 20:45:01 GMT

How many pans does one person need? Now I know your thinking what kind of pans? Baking pans, pots, pressure cookers, double boilers. There are so many pans you might need, it all depends on what you are going to do with them.

I've been living in a trailer without running water for nearly a year, and as such cooking with actual pans has been a rather rare occurrence. It's amazing what you can cook in a microwave. It is also amazing how that can make you miss actual cooking, or baking.

I want to make real mac and cheese the kind that involves grating cheese, and milk, and boiling tons of macaroni on the stove, mixing the cheese with milk or half and half, and throwing it all together in a baking dish and pouring more shredded cheese on the top and putting it in the oven to bake. hmmm

Back to the question at hand. How many pans do you need. A sauce pan, a pot big enough to boil lots of spaghetti. A pan to sauté in. (I could get ride of all of it and buy new ones. I've never bought new pans before. I know they are pricey, but maybe that's what I should look into, or look and see what one of those sets contains and use that as a guide. Room is at a premium in here so I need to make sure i am not waisting it.

hmm will have to take a look

Mabon!

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 04:21:16 GMT

Mabon was in a word. Fantastic.

We were missing a member, which saddened me, but as she was not feeling well, it was perhaps better to have set this one out.

The circle was amazing, it lit my skin afire, I think as odd as it sounds I had forgotten, forgotten how it felt to run the energy with that kind of intent. I think it meant more, was more than it had been in a very long time.

The ritual was simple. Easy really, but the amount of energy we pulled left me giddy and euphoric.

Cats?

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Fri, 14 Aug 2009 16:06:11 GMT

Did you know that cats actually will get scared in the oddest situations. Apparently my one cat was outside while my dad was loading up the two cows we just sold. For what ever reason the whole thing must have really freaked out my cat, cause I went up to talk to my dad outside, and I can hear a cat crying, and as odd as it sounds I know my cat's voice. I know that sounds strange, but I know when it's him meowing rather than something else. I actually was rather worried cause they don't talk too much. If they want out or they have something important they want like being in your lap. But not random crying.

SO I called him, and he always comes running, he's my kitty so he answers me just like a puppy would if you call it's name. I picked him up, and he was all cuddly, which isn't unusual for him, but the boneless way he was behaving is a bit odd, and I think he was actually scared and looking for me cause I am home.

And people say animals don't have souls or emotions. Shows what they know. Poor baby -- he seems better now.

:)

Writer's Block: I May Be Crazy

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 01:59:31 GMT

What does this Rorschach blot look like to you?

View 560 Answers

It reminds me of a goblin mask. Like one of those paintings, where the faces are peering out at you from the crowd.

From the desktop of...

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 03:41:19 GMT

So this post comes straight from the desktop of Saille, courtesy of her loving mother. It is fantastic to have a mom who will help you out if need be. This computer is fantastic, it's not at pricey as some, but it will do what I want it to. I can finish working on my novel, I can start school, which is my real want and concern. I have to print my application.....soon.

So I can finish with their sign up process.

Yay

Computer issues, and my mom does love me

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Mon, 27 Jul 2009 12:28:33 GMT

So it turns out that my laptop had enough. The screen finally stopped working. Now what is actually wrong with it I don't know, other than it doesn't want to work. Could be cables, could be the inverter, could be, but most likely isn't the lcd screen itself.

My mom ordered me a new desktop, which is fantastic, because when I start school, I really want to have the option of a desktop, and this will afford me that. A person I work with used to own a computer repair biz, and he's looking at my laptop. He'll figure out what is going on, and if it is worth fixing.

Writing is going well, though I apparently left my flash drive in my computer bag, which is now with my co-worker, so I am working from little to no notes.

Chapter one is looking good, needs a little more detail.

School is also looking good. Have to finish signing up, and pick what classes I will attend in the fall.I am still not sure how I want to do it, but that's just how it goes.

Love and Light

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 15:50:00 GMT

More Ambrose and Ophelia

The first time she healed him, he shied away from her touch, and she made soothing sounds in the back of her throat as if he were a wild animal. Her hands when they touched his broken flesh burned with an almost pleasant warmth. When those fingers made a tender track across broken check and along bruised eye, pleasure fused the burning, and the scent of bright growing things filled his head.

The second time, he leaned into her touch like some huge predatory animal seeking a scratch behind the ears, nearly purring at the warmth that seeped into his bones courtesy of a magic brighter than sunshine.

The third time, her hands stripped ragged cloth from his flesh, and warm water washed blood and grim from skin. Careful hands rubbed cleansing lotions thick with the scent of lavender and sandalwood into his flesh. He shivered under those hands, naked and vulnerable. His response unwilling, but unavoidable, and she did not falter, did not even acknowledge the painfully clear arousal that swept over his abused body in the wake of her touch. Just gentle, careful hands and rising heat that filled him with bright ecstasy, and when inevitably his body coiled tighter, and tighter till it burst, she made no sound, and washed the mess from his body in companionable silence.

When it was over, and skin was freshly knitted and pain only a memory her mouth was soft, and tasted of spring rain. He knew this was not what she wanted, even as her lips moved easily beneath his. Cooperative, but not passionate, he drew back and rested his forehead against hers.

"Forgive me" he whispered. Worried that she would not understand the need that burned into him. To be near her, closer to her, enveloped by her, but her lips curve into that smile he knew so well, and all rights itself.

"Think nothing of it." There is soft laughter in her voice and living in her eyes.

He nodded, and wondered what place they will find in the coming war? Sides must be chosen, and he knew where he was expected, but all he wanted was to be where she would be. Even if it's the wrong side. He wants to loose himself in her, to get lost in the warmth of her smile, and the pale sliver blue of her eyes, if only for the moment...

Well what say you jan?

Character Traits

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 03:24:33 GMT

For Jan Jan

Please keep in mind, my darling Jan, that this little bit of silliness has nothing to do with the story I am currently, writing, but as always, numerous fictitious characters have taken up residence in my over crowded mind. Now, let me see if I can put this into order, or at the very least give you an idea who you are about to meet. Ambrose (Ambrosius) and Ophelia clearly her mother did not know it was unkind to name her child after such an ill fated character, but this Ophelia has more in her head than rocks and thoughts of love, she's got magic in her veins, and revenge in her heart.

Foreshadow
To present an indication or a suggestion of beforehand; presage.

Her voice carried easily over the expanse between them. He glanced up at the sound combined with the scent of fresh warm blood. He gasped inaudibly.

A white bandage stood out in sharp contrast to the pale pink of her arm, just above the delecate lattice work of vessels that traveled from wrist to hand. A hand that curled easily around a mug that appeared to be filled with deep crimson liquid.
"Phia," he whispered raggedly. He barely held himself back, barely leashed the wildness within him that would have demanded every last drop of the heady mixture that still moved beneath her skin. She walked closer, but kept what she believed to be a safe distance between them. She held the cup out before her, as if an offering to a god of old, and the strange symbolism of the action nearly brought a laugh to the surface, even as he marveled at the strangeness of this singular female.

She released the mug as soon as his fingers curl around it, and takes numerous steps back until the distance between them is actually somewhat safe. He lifted the cup to his lips, and held her eyes, wanting for some unknown reason for her to see the dark in him, to be faced with the reality of what he was. He groaned inwardly. This blood was freely given, and it lacked the fear he could normally taste in the vile swill that Anderson normally forced him to subside on. Power, it was heavy with power and concern, such and unexpected combination, like the woman herself.

She might not be the savoir he'd been told to wait for, but he sensed great strength in her, and a kindness of soul rare in creatures with such power and potential. She offered him the only solace he'd had in years, and it was given without expectation, which had made it somehow sweeter.

kay so what do you think Jan, interesting?

Trying, Doing, and any combination there of.

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Fri, 17 Jul 2009 05:07:33 GMT

If you tell yourself, you will only fail, it gives you permission not to try. Trying isn't exactly something I am good at, I like to say I am, I even like to pretend I am. To myself and others, but the fact of the matter is that I am not good at trying. I am very good at doing, doing certain things, and making it look like trying was involved, because trying implies that failure is a possibility, and most of the thing I do, and try to do, are things I know I will not fail at, they are those things that are like breathing.

Writing not something I do very well, it's not something I pretend to try at, but it is something I fear failure with, but equally I fear success, some people say that it's because I am female, that the fear of success is ingrained in us, that on some level we think we should not be successful, that if we succeed, than someone else failed, funny that's true when anyone succeeds, regardless of gender.

I know I fear success, but it's not for the reasons that some people do I think I fear it not because of any of the reasons I've ever put into words, I think I fear it because if I do it, and I manage what I want, than what if I do it and someone else tries to say it was a fluke, what if it was a fluke, what if it was dumb luck, what if....too many what ifs. Gonna do it anyway...

The Order of Things

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 03:40:24 GMT

Order is not now, nor has it ever been a strong suit of mine. Order has always been one of those things I've longed for, like the endless calm that some people have, the kind of calm that makes you think they've seen everything and come out on the other side not unscathed, but stronger for the journey. The kind of people you aspire to be, but which there is no instruction or guidance for how you become that sort of person.

There are a million different moments that inform who you are. A thousand different choices that create the person you are. It's in the words spoken by your parents, in the hand offered by a friend yet to be. It's thousand different introductions of people, places and things, it's in magic, and music, and art, and words.

Words most of all, at least words for me, words to music, words written on the page, words lingering in the mind, never spoken, but thought.

There a thousand stories in my mind. Images of places, and people who have never been, memories of never was.

So much to gather up, piece together and send out into the world.

The order of things to come the choices we make, the paths we set before ourselves. The time of choosing is upon us, and we find out wings.

Computer Issues, Fortunes and Dreaming

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Thu, 09 Jul 2009 04:29:14 GMT

My poor laptop is not doing great, it keeps having screen issues. hopefully I will be able to get a new desk top, so that when this actually has to have whatever part is going replaced I can still have a computer for school. IF not mom has promised me the use of her computer, which is something.

I was thinking about what happened when my friend and I went to Atlantic City in February, and aside from feezing our asses off for a long walk down the pier it was fantastic. Her car also broke down and we set on the side of the freeway for hours before her friend rescued us, not so much fun that, but we each had our fortunes read. She ended up forking over a lot more cash than I did, but than I made the woman stop once she read my cards. I have to admit that I was impressed with how easy it would have been to let her keep going. I admit that it would have been more out of the curiosity of wondering what other silliness she would come up with, and actually believing she was going to tell me something useful.

Cause according to her, I met the "man" I am supposed to be with when I was 22. Now I imagine Meet could mean a lot of things, and by met, it could have been in passing, and that I won't even remember it, but when I was 22 most of the people I knew or got to know were either, Gay, Dogs or taken. And by dogs I don't mean how they look, I just mean the general way the interact with women, which is to say they wanted to get SoME where ever, and when ever possible, and had no inclination of creating a more lasting bond. They wanted to hook up and get off more like. I suppose it could have been one of them and they've finally grown up, but when I turned 22 the only other man I met was in my dreams.

Which leads me to the whole Idea of Dreaming. I have always had powerful dreams, linger images that steal over me, and refuse to let go, my best writing comes from those dreams. He is in those dreams. Always the same. It's a dimly lit room. Richly furnished, the only light, flickering wall sconces. He's sitting in a high backed leather chair, easy, comfortable, and I'm--she's settled at his feet, resting her back against the chair beside his legs. Her hands resting easily in her lap, her head against the outside of one leg. His fingers curled into the mass of dark brown hair, he's clearly been playing with. He'd lulled her into that place that only someone playing with your hair can put you, and he seems extremely pleased with himself.

There are other dreams and in them, he drinks tea and sits in a cafe, and watches people walking by, and always I pause outside and our eyes meet, and the first time I dreamt it I thought he was character from a story I read, or was meant to write, but I don't think so now. He doesn't talk, he only tells me not yet, in that strange almost ragged sounding voice of his. Not yet he says, and I wonder what he's waiting for. He just smiles as if he's heard my thoughts, and that smile seems to say I'm waiting for you. Get yourself in order it says, cause until you do, it won't work. I can't tell you.

So here is to ORDER.....

Today is Better

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 12:27:45 GMT

Today is shaping up to be better. Haven't hurt myself, the foot is still tender, but no where near as painful as yesterday. I have to work today, have to dress and leave in a very few minuets. Now work, work will be trying, because all I really want to do is work on the story I am currently outlining. I'm getting antsy and that's good. The other interesting thing about this story is just how clear and well formed the ideas are becoming. It's almost odd how each idea or notion takes a bit of time to form, but when it's right, when it's what it meant to be is sticks around. Not slipping through my fingers like so much dust. .

Best be off, wouldn't want to be late.....

Home design for the simishly inclined

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 16:00:46 GMT

So if you've ever played sims, ever trolled around online for simish merchandise you know how much fun it can be to play sims, to design houses, and how frustrating it can be to not be able to get something to work the way you want.

So I've been looking for stuff to help create my castle for Annwn, and let me tell you it has been an adventure. First my computer crashed, and I had to uninstall all my sims stuff. IT was having hissy fits. Than I lost my games for the last week or so. Have to check on my sims, and see if my vampire sim's house is still vampire safe, since I can't remember when I did that for her.

Than personally I had a crap day. I hurt my foot, feels like I broke my toe, I know I didn't, but boy was it painful. Spilled a half a bucket of water in the hallway, when I hurt my foot, and to top it all off have now burned my hand. See I should have stayed in bed today.

working...

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 14:26:24 GMT

I am as it turns out, trying to work on designing a set for my story. Trust me I know that sounds strange, but the fact of the matter is I need a blue print. A way to keep track of what is where inside some of the places in this story.

For instance there is a castle. Have you ever tried to figure out how many rooms are in a castle, what room you have to go through to get to the next one, and how they might be put together. Luckily I have fantastic help, in the from of my much loved KestralSage. I'd be lost if I didn't have her voice of reason to guide me.

Most of the action in the story takes place in and around a castle. I need to make sure I don't have my characters go left to get somewhere and than go right in another scene to get to the same place. Don't want those kinds of mistakes.

Not in my story. We don't want to leave anyone in the garden for the rest of the story....

Outlines

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 00:35:31 GMT

Now those of you who know me, know I don't normally use outlines, but I am nearly finished tweaking the one I am currently working on, and looking forward to beginning the actual writing of the story. I never knew how helpful it would be to really know where your going, and how your getting there before beginning, but it has proven to me, to be a rather fantastic tool. It's taking me some time, I am slow at figuring out the exact way things will happen in my novels, but I am pleased to be able to say that it is working.

There is something about IMVU

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 16:01:05 GMT

I am of course not the sort of person who normally spends hours chatting, but since installing IMVU I have spent a great deal of time doing just that. Sometimes with friends, sometimes with the random people it will send your way. It has proved to be rather fantastic, if a bit distracting.

I've also begun playing sims 2 which is another thing I never thought I would actually be into. Not that there is anything wrong with sims, There isn't I understood what it was, but not what would be so attractive about playing it. Now I think I get it, it's escapism at it's finest. You create lives for these little creatures and help them the best you can get the things they want. It is a game, you want your sim to live out his or her life happily.

I don't think I am doing very well with that. I have the nightlife expansion pack and when I started there were only three vampires, and in a couple days two of my sims had been vamped and at the moment there six vamps in town.

lol

Something about me and vampires apparently.

This I need to learn to do.

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 05:35:21 GMT

1. Finish what I start.
2.Not be such an addictive personality.
3.Have faith.
4. GO.
5. Work on what needs to be done.
6. Do my job well.
7. Write without concern for the possible outcome.
8. Write!
9. Did I mention write?
10. Finish what I begin.

So there is a theme. Write! must write, a lot and often, and finish the things I begin. Accept that sometimes it won't be easy, it doesn't mean it't a bad story, or not worth the time an energy.

It's getting very late.

Like Alice

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Sat, 20 Jun 2009 14:55:00 GMT

Others thought of their lives as divided. They thought of their lives in terms of before and after. Defining moments cataloged and taken down for posteritity. It wasn't like that for her, there was no singular defining moment. No sudden light bulb that led her to the path she currently walked. She didn't divide her life into before and after, only into now and than. She learned and in learning changed. She changed and in changing learned even more. Each new facet intrigrated into the whole, until who she was, and who she had been resembled each other not.

Labradorite

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Fri, 01 May 2009 03:37:42 GMT

Labradorite
Calcium Sodium Aluminum Silicate

Stone of spirit, stone of fire
in your flesh is our desire
Earth, Air, and Sea
there will also be
from within to without
form the circle around about
Guardians of the quarters we call
in spirit and matter we welcome you all
to stand and guard be our request
the north, south, east, and west

Saille 2009

I did it again

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 03:37:25 GMT

you would think I would get it together eventually. It's not so hard, not so complicated, and yet I still find myself failing, failing to succeed, failing to attempt is more like it. It's easier, I think sometimes to just pretend and not actually have to take steps into the unknown. It's easier than attempting and failing, or attempting and succeeding. It's fear, and it's paralyzes you. It's fear and it leaves you stuck where you are. It's fear and it should be the opening of another door and yet all I can hear is it slamming shut. I know I do myself a injustice, sometimes I think I do them a bigger one. All those characters that form in the depths of my mind. I draw them out and entice them to the fore with the promise of life on the page, and than when I realize that it's not going to go smoothly, or be easy, or finish itself I grab the world from beneath them and thrust them back into the darkness of the abyss.

What it must be like to be one of them, one of those lives I've looked in on. Wonder as I've seen a beginning exactly where they've gotten to by now. If I asked do you think they would tell me. If I went back and looked in all those fogged up windows and searched in all those dusty archives that they would speak to me again?

Some have never stopped. There is still the occasional dream, populated by the man who reminds me of death and life all wrapped up into one, who wears nice, well-tailored suits, who drinks earl gray tea and smells of leather and smoke. He still comes once in awhile, but perhaps it's because he also insists that he's not a figment of my imagination, and perhaps he's not, but he is a fantastic conversationalist, and he tends to point me in the right direction.

Odd is it not, that I get the best advice from a fictional character, but than, perhaps not so odd, perhaps he's not so fictional. Perhaps he's merely borrowed, or passing through, and I am just a convenient stop on his track across the night sky.

The fear is still there, am I crazy, am I wise, does magic burn in my soul and dance in my fingertips. Am I a little crazy? A little weak? Lost in the idea, frightened to finish the dance?

Oh yes, yes I am fear is a powerful thing, it motivates people, but it can also leave you stock still, I'm tired of being still, I want movement, and change and perhaps this is the start.

View - Strange and Mystifying

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Thu, 12 Feb 2009 04:05:48 GMT

View [vyoo],
–noun
6. a particular manner of looking at something

Strange things come and dance with me in the darkness.
Shying from the light, there is poetry of motion here, fact twining with fancy.

It's odd, but I think I finally found myself.
Didn't realize I was so lost until tonight.
It sounds odd, but it was right there on the wall.
Just waiting to be seen, or in my case remembered perhaps.

I forgot, I could see them, I forgot I could notice such things,
Like walking around half deaf, and blind, only seeing things through a dirty lens.

What reminded me you might ask? Simple I reminded me, or the wall, actually the wall reminded me.

The wall's strange inhabitants.
In the bathroom at my parents house there is swishy, swirly, blue paneling. It's not remarkable in anyway, not really, not unless you look at it just so.
Than suddenly, a whole world opens up to you, cast in shades of swirling blue and cool white.
A world filled with strange grinning faces.
Bent figures, and pointed noses, droopy eyes, and heavy brows, funny hats, over crazy hair.

It's something that I forgot how to do for some reason.
That seeing those lovely, beautiful things.

I had - in high school an art teacher who liked to have us see what we would notice in random patterns, if our minds would create images from them, recognizable things in the depths of slashes and swirls. I was always able to do it, always, only I stopped for some reason. I stopped looking at the world like that I lost it.

How do you loose that?
How did I find it again?
How do I make sure it doesn't get lost again?

pretend

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Thu, 12 Feb 2009 03:42:21 GMT

pre⋅tend [pri-tend]
–adjective 10. Informal. make-believe; simulated; counterfeit: pretend diamonds

The days are long and silent here. Whispered longings overshadow even the sweetest of victories, as learning becomes her only solace. It is not her place to desire more than has been offered to her. This unique offer made out of marble floors, and lush furnishings. Like the shah’s favorite, and yet required to give nothing but her voice as payment.

It did not seem terribly strange, music was the only thing that stirred his soul, and music was the one thing denied her outside these walls. Her voice a danger, her strange and unreliable magic brought to stunning life by a succession of notes.

Music bound her to him. Music bound them to each other in away, but even as he praised her voices beauty and slowly taught her technical. She knew she disappointed him. New that he wished for a song mage and instead found a singer, whose voice set things ablaze.

His breath was warm against her shoulder. His hands were hot on her arms. He stood too close against her back. Invading her personal space, as if it was his right, and a shiver worked its way down her spine.

Sing he whispered. Enticing and inexorable, her voice rose to meet his demand. He stopped breathing somewhere after the fifth measure, his warm breathe no longer tickling distractingly along her neck. His hands remained as if to keep her standing in the proper position, and song poured from her lips continuously. She wasn't aware of breathing herself, though she knew she must be his scent so strong in her nose. When the song ended, he whispered his pleasure against her hair. His lips brushing against the wild strands as he spoke.

She turned slowly, uncertain of his response. She had sung and sung well, but as was custom, no power rose to meet her voice. Though she could not ignore the candles, each burnt to tiny stubs with only the passage of an hour.

"You should go prepare for dinner." He said after a moment, dismissing her easily.

Writers prompts

ladysaille@yahoo.com — Sat, 10 Jan 2009 04:08:01 GMT

I stole this from someone else. It was there prompt board. It was part of the 100 quills challenge. You write 100 stories, short of long, somehow relating to the following words.

001.	Pretend.	002.	Desire.	003.	Fog.	004.	Today.	005.	Freckles.
006.	Thrive.	007.	Sound.	008.	Ends.	009.	Home.	010.	Jealousy.
011.	Dance.	012.	Despair.	013.	Secret.	014.	Disheveled.	015.	Plain.
016.	Sweet.	017.	Deafening.	018.	Exhaustion.	019.	Surrender.	020.	Fluid.
021.	Rage.	022.	Heartless.	023.	Silk.	024.	Box.	025.	Stable.
026.	Independence.	027.	Melody.	028.	Fire.	029.	Years.	030.	Bonds.
031.	Fever.	032.	View.	033.	Snow.	034.	Old.	035.	Waste.
036.	Pretty.	037.	Mystery.	038.	Hush.	039.	Reminisce.	040.	Nothing.
041.	Questions.	042.	Friendship.	043.	Disguise.	044.	Window.	045.	Fade.
046.	Wish.	047.	Fortune.	048.	Tender.	049.	Vigil.	050.	Sister.
051.	Star.	052.	Completion.	053.	Fear.	054.	Ring.	055.	Sorrow.
056.	Bane.	057.	Laugh.	058.	Duty.	059.	Sorry.	060.	Desert.
061.	Time.	062.	Drive.	063.	Haunted.	064.	Seasons.	065.	Devotion.
066.	Flowers.	067.	Vision.	068.	Brother.	069.	Close.	070.	Misery.
071.	Lying.	072.	Nuance.	073.	Hope.	074.	Breathe.	075.	Solid.
076.	Food.	077.	Colorless.	078.	Touch.	079.	Blood.	080.	Candle.
081.	Hot.	082.	Vanish.	083.	Compassion.	084.	Soul.	085.	Twilight.
086.	Truth.	087.	Smooth.	088.	Cruel.	089.	Redemption.	090.	Vigilance.
091.	Foreshadow.	092.	Air.	093.	Search.	094.	Poison.	095.	Sunrise.
096.	Death.	097.	Hours.	098.	Kiss.	099.	Innocence.	100.	Sacrifice.

Now I don't know if I will actually get through all of these, or if I will actually even use them, I might just use them for scenes. Who knows....it just seemed like it might be a fun thing.