Behold: Kali Tragus, the Russian thistle. A bushly lump of plant, green flowers vanishing into green leaves. Its stem, striped red and violent as a bruised wrist. The leaves are lined with spikes, sharp like stitching needles. You are advised to wear gloves when handling it, if you must handle it at all. Should the thorns prick you, pretend you don't feel it. It doesn't do any good to gripe in times like these. There are worse wounds to be hand than a thistle prick. Much, much worse. -Prologue

"Welcome, my ultimate babes, you thieves and lovers, to the greatest spectacle this side of the Mississippi!" -Chapter 1