Thanks, Cynthia Morgan! You made me cry again at the end of Misericorde, like the hormones aren’t doing that already? I cry at a bird chirping, a butterfly dancing through my milkweed, unicorns and rainbows, burgers sizzling on the grill. But an archangel watching over a young human girl sleeping, after releasing all the pain she endured saving his sorry heavenly butt – well, that will do it too. Then again, like Lourdes, having read your story I had a lot of pent up anxiety that needed to come out too– good thing my little dog was here to hug. I think most of the angst was already there, having raised daughters and currently living through one of the other horsemen’s handiwork, our current apocalypse replacing people with cardboard cutouts at Dodger stadium. I actually left the game in the middle to continue this book – though it was like 30 to 2 or something anyway, still. I suppose I know now the workings of a female mind under pressure watching your mind argue with itself, though I am pretty familiar with it already, having lived with mine without the biological affirmation, until recently, that is; never-mind. Of course, I have a penchant for wordiness over action, thus my inclination for Nathanial Hawthorne, Gore Vidal, Mary Shelley – who wrote another glorious end-of-the-world book, after her husband drowned yachting – so you’re in good company. Excuse me,, must feed kids (it never stops). Ok, I’m back. Poetry, I read all of Shakespeare’s sonnets as methinks you did too, then wrote some of my own, forcing my parents to listen to them – tears in their eyes, for reasons I now understand -they were pretty bad. So how can I compare thee to a summer’s sonnet? Your prose has it’s own meter and rhyme, which I found hauntingly beautiful (what rhymes with pain?). Like the house of Seven gables, I knew what lie waiting, and it wasn’t a cat, but it was so fun getting there. I don’t know how you took such pains (sorry for pun) getting us there – rather inclined to turn and flee once you did. But we mortals have a softness for archangels, especially those of us brought up steeped in the scriptures, also feeling like screaming during long winded torturous services. The poetry of your words caused me to pause and reflect while moving the verse along through the dungeon halls so that i forgot all the chores i had to do, like feeding the cat, the children too, for that matter. Oh they can all go hungry for a few hours, Jeez! I like the dialogue, big T’s indifferent tone to these grubby mortal conscripts. I like Lourdes inevitable outburst and the foreshadowing of her name, I adore all your characters. Your prose is so detailed it hurts, i relate to your protagonist, i want to take care of everyone too, maybe be violated as described , its the way things are, Okay? Anyway, your painfully engaging descriptions drive me nuts, but that’s what’s keeps me coming back; i love these two characters! A romance between the gods and the bridesmaids of Christ, such as we are..