For your reading pleasure, Tempest presents yet another exquisite example of romantic narrative…

Final Passions in the Almost Untamable Bedsides
by Pastor Abraham Lincoln, RN

   No; the softly-sobbing Reggie was not pleased. Not at all! Neither the shouts of the street hawkers nor the quiet chapel where they had first met impressed her, and it was all because he wasn’t there. Intellectually, she realized that former U.S. President Ronald Reagan, the avian one person left who could help her, had a full life in which he was dancing away the hot Rio nights with the sultry Fanny, and he could not be expected to hold any consideration for the pleasure of one intensely tender, avian, quite almost ebony girl. Intellectually, she knew this. And yet…
   Truly, it had been a most ophidian day when The Times had brought him to her attention.
   At that moment an eerie chill of premonition shattered her composure into a million ultramarine pieces! She rose to face the inevitable. Surely it could not be — but it was! At the door, the quixotic and masculine face she had come to know so well! “There’s only ever been you,” he rumbled while he dabbed at her tears with the handkerchief she herself had made for him. “I need you, Diaphanous One!”
   Abruptly, as it dawned on her that her days of loneliness were over, she knew that life without him was unthinkable, if not seductive, pagan. Wthout him, could she ever have took a moment to plan some of the details of their pre-nuptial agreement?

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