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Geege

Good morning, dear Gigi. Forgive my peasant ways. Here I am, rushing in on a first-name basis, wearing a sweatshirt with a marinara stain from 2007, forgetting to curtsy. I’m not even sure what title befits your dignity. Should I address you as Your Eminence? Is it Your Grace? Or may I call you Geege?

Moonchild

Brave little moonchild, how I yearn to be like you. I will never have your feathery silk coat, all shimmering sable. Yours alone is the lunar energy that whirls you like joy’s dervish. But, Luna, if you teach me even a fraction of your courage, I may yet learn to shine.