Malta

[peace_inthe_violence]

This is a fairy tale of blood and bullets
It is the story of three men and three women and a small island between Italy and Africa.
This is a story about tragedy and pain, about healing and hope, but mostly it is about
love.

Comments

[peace_inthe_violence]

It would heat quickly, and probably even quicker considering the milk was from the market run that he'd only gotten back from just before he'd come out into the garden. The milk was still slightly chilled from the morning, but it hadn't come from the fridge that was tucked into the back corner of the pantry. They hadn't been a thing when he'd started imagining this kitchen, but it had fit well enough there.

He looked a little puzzled at her answer, but he let it go with a small disgruntled sound and a thump of the eraser against his notebook. "Well, when you go shopping here, the eggs will not be refrigerated." He scrawled a few more items onto his list, absently twirling the wooden utensil in his fingers as he pondered.

It was another ten or so minutes before he glanced up from the list again, his internal clock tickling at him that the milk should be coming up to the proper temperature range.

[notariver]

She had just given a shrug at that first statement, "Just as long as I don't have to actually fight a chicken for them, I'm good." She'd had both eggs from the supermarket and eggs from the neighbors' chickens growing up, and her brother had always been better at collecting the eggs than she had.

It was right about when Nicky looked up that Nile was testing the temperature again, "Couple degrees shy, what should I be preparing to do?"