this is the beginnng of one of my favourite stories.
Once upon a time, in a gloomy castle on a lonely hill, where there were thirteen clocks that wouldn't go, there lived a cold, aggressive Duke, and his niece, the Princess Saralinda. She was warm in every wind and weather, but he was always cold. His hands were as cold as his smile, and almost as cold as his heart. He wore gloves when he was asleep, and he wore gloves when he was awake, which made it difficult for him to pick up pins or coins or the kernels of nuts, or to tear the wings from nightingales.
( Lampito rise with the moon, go to bed with the sun, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 15:26, 1 reply, 16 years ago)

I love this
And the Wonderful O.
( warmfuzzies Isn't here, Fri 12 Jun 2009, 23:46, Reply)