No One Was Normal, Not Really.

I’m A Succubus.” He Shook His Head. “no, You Aren’t.” “yes, I Am.” “you Aren’t.” I Was A Bit Surprised To Be Having This Conversation. “i Am Too.” “no. Succubi Are Flame-eyed And Bat-winged. Everyone Knows That. They Don’t Wear Jeans And Sweaters.

The Nice Thing About A Series Is You Can End On Cliffhangers All The Time. You Can Be Like, 'you Know What? Here We Go, This Person Just Died, End Of Book.' And With The End Of The Series, You're Very Conscious Of All The Plotlines That Were Left Hanging. There's A Balance There To Wrap Those Up But Still Leave It Exciting.

He'd Written Me Up A Proposal Of Why Dating Him Was A Sound Decision. It Had Included Things Like "i'll Give Up Cigarettes Unless I Really, Really Need One" And "i'll Unleash Romantic Surprises Every Week, Such As: An Impromptu Picnic, Roses, Or A Trip To Paris—but Not Actually Any Of Those Things Because Now They're Not Surprises.

I’m Sorry Ma’am,” I Said. Really, I Had No Idea What Else To Say. I’d Spent The Weekend Caught Up In An Epic Battle To Save Humanity, And Now… Jean Shorts?

I Was So Tired Of Being Told Reasonable, Practical Things Whenever Something Went Wrong With My Life.