Start with a bit of bubble water. Add a few feathers you found on the ground. Throw in a silver penny and an old whistle. A pinch of black pepper and pollen for sneezes in summer. A dash of glitter for sparkles. A pair of old glasses for squinty little eyes. Stir well, and let simmer for twenty-three years. Then pour into the funniest looking box you can find. Extra points if it plays music.
Serve at seventy four degrees or higher. Any colder, and she whines.
. a curse laid on me
Another play with the new tablet. This one came out much better, to Gary Higgin’s Unable To Fly.
Deals with a little headcanon I had one day, that God’s cursing of the Serpent meant that despite gaining a human form, Crowley is doomed to crawl in the dust still, in that he will never fly again, no matter how obsessively he cares for his wings.
Sometimes it gets to him.