Everyone's immortal until they're not.

I almost always start with setting! I have to know the world before I know how to populate it. I have a tendency to play with doors - between life and death, human and monster, mundane and magic - and with 'ADSOM,' I knew I wanted to play with the physical doors between worlds.

She used to think that if she stole enough, the want would fade, the hunger would go away, but maybe it wasn’t that simple. Maybe it wasn’t a matter of what she didn’t have, of what she wasn’t, but what she was.

Dammit Bard, you're going to set the cat on fire.

Holland stared at his own hand, the knife’s edge crimson.
They left they body where it fell.
And brought another in.
“No,” snarled Holland at the sight of him. A boy from the kitchens, hardly fourteen, who looked at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Help,” he begged.
Then they brought another.
And another.
One by one, Athos and Astrid paraded the remains of Vor’s life before Holland, instructing him again and again to cut their throats. Every time, he tried to fight the order. Every time, he failed. Every time, he had to look them in their eyes and see the hatred, the betrayal, the anguished confusion before he cut them down.
The bodies piled. Athos watched. Astrid grinned.
Holland’s hand moved on its puppet string.
And his mind screamed until it finally lost its voice.

Wait, so is it waves, or doors, or conversations?"
"It can be anything you like."
"You're a wretched teacher."
"I warned you. If you're not up to it–"
"Shut up. I'm concentrating.