Twilight floated a second fritter up to her mouth when she realized the first was gone. “What is in these things?” “Mostly love. Love ‘n about three sticks of butter.”
Nothing special here, move along, nothing to see, just ignore the lump under the sheet and the red stuff...
"Gold for the merchant, silver for the maid / Copper for the craftsman, cunning in his trade / 'Good', laughed the Baron, sitting in his hall / But iron - cold iron - shall be the master of them all."