“We had a deal!” Blaise cried, teeth chattering and knuckles cracking from the rockling wave that she felt brewing in her stomach’s pit, “You were to take me, not Emily! She was only 20, she had so much life ahead of her, and-” her voice trailing off into the darkness of the chamber.

As the tempo of the racing drums of war thundered louder in her chest, baying her to action, dozens if not hundreds of memories glowed in her mind. A night in February of so many winters ago, a dark shape slinking around the corners of her house, flittering in her peripheral vision. The image of him watching her sister sleep from the window seal out in the darkness. Scenes of blood and anger (the kind of anger she felt now) and fear (the kind of fear that brewed deeply beneath this sheen of glinting rage sharpened as a knife.

Then came new memories, memories of him coming to her for brief moments, to return things she’d lost, to watch over her when she walked alone at night in the big city (Some nights as the glint of the ivory moon bore holes into the ground and through the trees threw strange shapes along the ground, it was unsettling to know this angel lay out in the darkness watching her; some nights she thought back to her childhood wish that he might embrace her and not the young girl set to die in front of her).

She saw in her mind as her teeth ground finer and finer even as she listened; the bone sifted away like delicate sand by her Mulling Masseter. Her blood boiled like flowing veins of liquid rock and molten metal as she could see the faint layer of the deepest eyes she’d ever looked into.

“And?” The man finally spoke with a big and empty voice that you could feel in your soul and that would make your heart drop into your knees.

“And, I’ve wanted you for so long! I’ve wanted you for nearly 10 years! Every time my parents fought when I was a kid and I could hear their screams down the hall, the clattering of plates on the floor. Then in college, when I couldn’t find reason to be a part of the land of the living anymore; I’d cry in my bed at night, praying for the moment I could embrace you, you’d take me in and cradle me in your cloak of everlasting twilight so that nothing could ever hurt me again…and now, today, today you take my sister who still had so much life ahead of her when you were supposed to take me!”

“Your sister was very sick, it was time for her to rest.”

“My sister needed a chance, a chance to make something of herself like I never got to. I never wanted this marriage…”

“What do you want?” The man queried.

“I want you…I’m in love with you!”

Their eyes met and for one brief moment Blaise could feel a warmth in those empty eye sockets that she had never felt staring into the soul of any other. One chased kiss as cold as ice was placed between the angel of death and this beacon of life. He caressed her cheek ever so gently, his cold hand reminding me of the frigid February night when they’d met. She looked again deeply into his eyes and saw there a look of passion, of regret and of restraint.

“Take me with you, I was already there and I can be again. Bring her back, we shared so many happy moments inspite of everything and you’ve showed me so much. I love you, please take me, not her!

“What is done has not been undone. You have brought me so much joy, you truly blaze, just as your namesake. You blaze with fire and passion and for the time we’ve spent together, you have been the Persephone to my Hades and you’ve shown me the most of life I’ve ever known. You made me find new love for the living that I had long forgotten, you make, you love, you fight, you hope and in time, you die.”

“Please…”She whimpered.

There was a subtle glow that suddenly emanated from deep within the skull of this lovely death that began to shine ever brighter, illuminating the crypt and basking Blaze in the frantic, fluttering glow that stuttered now like her heart. As the flame crept ever higher, lighting up darkened beams of stone that cradled the roof of the mausoleum and brought a slight smile to Blaise’s tear-stained face. She had seen this light only 3 other times. As her breath startled and caught in her marvel of the flames; she saw him now the night she’d crashed her mother’s car her junior year of college…The first time she ever saw his face (I’ll be it, she saw but a glimpse of fleshless face and the soft glow of something lit up like a jack-o-lantern through the she sheen of blood and the haze of the concussion that should have killed her…and should have killed her, he had came to her, meant to take her, but at the final moment, he could not bring himself to end something so gentle.

“Not now, it is because I love you that-,” whispered the man resolutely when he could again breath, “You must live, for yourself and your sister. You must find meaning.” and with that the figure was gone…

Apple-Glazed Roast Turkey with Stuffing and Gravy

Apples flavor this turkey from the chopped apple stuffing to the apple juice and jelly glaze.

Prep: 30 min | Total: 3+ hr | Yield: 14 servings

Ingredients

Stuffing

• 12 ounces bacon slices, cut into 1/2 inch pieces
• 4 cups chopped onions
• 3 cups chopped celery
• 1 cup chopped dried apples
• 6 cups chopped pecans, toasted
• 1 1/2 teaspoons dried thyme
• 1 teaspoon dried sage
• 1 (16 ounce) package cornbread stuffing crumbs
• 2 1/2 cups low-sodium chicken broth
• 1/2 cup butter, melted
• Nonstick cooking spray

Turkey

• 1 cup apple jelly
• 1 cup apple juice
• 1/4 cup white balsamic vinegar
• 1/4 cup honey
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 (16 to 18 pound) Butterball® Fresh or Frozen Whole Turkey, thawed if frozen

Gravy

• 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
• 2 (14 1/2 ounce) cans low-sodium chicken broth

Instructions

Stuffing

1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
2. Cook bacon in large skillet until crisp. Remove bacon and drain on paper towels. Reserve 2 tablespoons drippings in skillet. Set bacon aside.
3. Add onion and celery to drippings. Cook over medium-high heat for 15 to 20 minutes or until tender.
4. Combine bacon, onion mixture, apples, pecans, thyme and sage. Stir in stuffing crumbs. Stir in broth and butter. Remove 7 cups of stuffing for stuffing turkey. Spoon remaining stuffing into 1 1/2 quart baking dish sprayed with cooking spray.
5. Bake covered 30 minutes; uncover and bake 15 minutes.

Turkey

1. Heat oven to 325 degrees F.
2. Combine jelly, juice, vinegar, honey and salt in small, heavy saucepan. Bring to boil. Reduce heat and simmer until reduced to 1 1/4 cups, about 15 minutes, stirring occasionally. Reserve 1/4 cup mixture for gravy. Set remaining mixture aside for basting turkey.
3. Remove neck and giblets from body and neck cavities of turkey. Refrigerate for another use or discard. Drain juices from turkey. Pat dry with paper towels.
4. Fill neck cavity with part of the stuffing. Turn wings back to hold neck skin against back of turkey. Fill body cavity with remaining stuffing.
5. Place turkey, breast up, on flat roasting rack in shallow roasting pan. Spray turkey with cooking spray. Place small pieces of aluminum foil over skin of neck cavity and over stuffing at body cavity opening to prevent over browning during roasting.
6. Brush turkey with some glaze mixture. Loosely cover breast and tops of drumsticks with aluminum foil to prevent overcooking. Bake 2 hours.
7. Uncover turkey breast and brush turkey with additional glaze mixture. Return foil to top of turkey and continue roasting until meat thermometer inserted deep in thigh reaches 180 degrees F. Let turkey stand for 15 minutes before removing stuffing and carving.

Gravy

1. Pour drippings into 1-quart measure; skim fat. Whisk in flour until smooth. Add reserved glaze mixture and enough water or broth to make 3 1/2 cups. Bring to boil; reduce heat. Simmer 3 to 5 minutes or until thickened, stirring occasionally.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 1250 Fat 75g Cholesterol 236 Protein 75g

% Daily Value: Saturated Fat 18g 90% Trans Fat 0g 0% Sodium 1500mg 63% Carbohydrates 66g 22% Sugar 30g 0% Iron 15% Fiber 44% Calcium 10%

“I’m not falling for it, Quill,” Fletch glowered. “Pack up your little ruse and I’ll consider not blowing you out of the sky.”

“I’m surprised you’re even here,” Quill said, groaning and shifting her weight in her chair. “Last I heard you were in the Daxalon Nebula. You were the only ship to respond to my distress call.”

Fletch squinted her eyes at the image of Quill on the monitor. She’d spoken with her many times through the comms, yet she’d never seen Quill so disheveled. She seemed to actually be in pain.

“Look,” Quill continued, “I’ve been shot. Life support is down. My crew abandoned me. Ship’s disabled. If you’re going to blow me out of the sky, do it.” Fletch exchanged glances with Paola and Jenkins. “I know you hate me. I’d hate me too. But like I said, you were the only one to respond to my distress call. Is this really how you want our war to end? Me dying at the hands of a crew that hadn’t been paid in months? If you won’t help me, at least come over here and deal the final blow yourself. I surrender. You win.”

The comm went dark as Quill ended the call. A strange and uncomfortable sensation welled up within Fletch. There was something sincere in Quill’s tone and facial expression. Though the captain’s instincts urged her to leave the Bittern in the dust, she was thoroughly tempted by Quill’s offer to look her in the eye and kill her. A rivalry that began in flight school and had escalated to a decade of deep space battles, subterfuge, and endless mocking calls on the comms might finally come to an end. And Fletch wanted it to be a poetic, epic ending. She’d spent too much time thinking of nothing but besting Quill. Even though it might be a trap, Fletch couldn’t resist.

“I’m getting suited up,” she said with a long-suffering sigh. “Paola, I want an escort of no less than ten. Jenkins, I want every gun trained on that ship.”

“Aye,” Paola and Jenkins said in unison. Fletch knew they did not approve of this plan. Yet they’d stood by her through many years of back-and-forth battles with Quill and accepted that being part of her crew meant obliging the captain’s thirst for victory.

Fletch retreated to her private quarters to don her spacesuit. She needed a moment alone. On the off chance that this wasn’t a trap and that her war with Quill had reached its end, she tried to imagine what life would be like without her mortal enemy lingering in the shadows, waiting for her to misstep. What would she do if she wasn’t exacting revenge on the woman who’d wiped out half the colony on Everron 7 where she’d grown up? Though that was the most grievous of Quill’s offenses, their war didn’t start there.

It started in flight school, not the one on the central planets, but the one on Jupiter’s moon Europa. Though the star system that contained the First Earth had largely been abandoned, a few older outposts remained. The Europa flight school cost much less than the one on Haversol, a draw for both Fletch and Quill who grew up on newly colonized frontier planets. Both girls were smart, oversaturated with aptitude and an insatiable desire for success. They fought fiercely against one another for the best grades, placements with the top instructors, and internships on the biggest battlecruisers.

What began as an academic rivalry became much higher stakes when the pair of them graduated with honors and immediately found work on opposing sides of a squabble in the Hyperion Galaxy. They rose through the ranks until they were able to afford their own spaceships and free themselves from fighting other people’s wars. Across their time on Europa and in Hyperion, they’d become obsessed with outdoing the other. It became their purpose, their life’s mission. They chased each other through the cosmos firing their guns at one another, blowing up sentimental places the other cherished, and taunting each other endlessly through the comms.

And now, a decade later, it might be coming to an end.

Fletch bundled her curly hair at the nape of her neck and tucked it into the collar of her spacesuit. She glanced at herself in the mirror, noticing the bags under her eyes and the wrinkles on her forehead. She was only in her thirties, but she looked much older. The war with Quill had exhausted her.

She put two fresh charge packs into her pistol and holstered the weapon at her side. She pressed the button to extend the spacesuit’s helmet over her head. The dome clicked into place with a hiss of air and she was ready.

Leaving her quarters, Fletch met her ten armed crew members at the airlock. Their orders were simple– the crew would secure the Bittern while Fletch went to the bridge to find Quill. Shoot on sight. Take no prisoners. This was a war, after all.

Fletch opened the airlock and a gust of wind flushed from the Starling into the Bittern. She wondered how long the crew of the Bittern had been shivering without life support, waiting for the trap to be sprung.

The automated voice of the Bittern echoed through the tunnel connecting the two ships: “Life support failure.” Fletch heard the repeating warning faintly in the background during her comm call with Quill, but she didn’t expect to feel so unnerved when they finally boarded the ship. The warning was one no star-farer ever wanted to hear, even if it was a farce.

They stepped through the opening and onto the Bittern’s main deck. The emergency lights were flickering and everything was quiet aside from the repeating message that life support was down. Fletch examined the monitor at her wrist, checking the oxygen levels and determining them to still be habitable, particularly with an open connection to the Starling.

“Keep your wits about you,” she said as the crew dispersed.

It was surreal to be on Quill’s turf. Their battles always took place in the vacuum of space or on various planets or moons. They never boarded one another’s vessel. It was more intimate than Fletch thought it would be. How many times had Quill walked these hallways? What conversations had she entertained in these rooms? She passed through the mess hall, noticing dirty dishes still lingering on the tables. She glanced at one of the plates, wondering what Quill and her crew ate when they weren’t planet-side. Spaghetti and meatballs by the looks of it. An old comfort dish from the First Earth. So simple, so plain. So human.

Fletch’s earbud crackled as one of her crew checked in. “The cargo hull is clear.” Then not long after, another message came through. “The engine room is clear. Confirming a missing antimatter synthesizer.” Fletch’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Maybe it wasn’t a trap after all. Maybe Quill had told them the truth. She’d find out soon enough.

Fletch tightened her grip on her pistol as she opened the door to the bridge. It was empty save for the captain’s seat at the helm. All she could see of Quill was the high bun she coiled her hair into, just peeking up from the back of the chair. There was a puddle of blood on the floor below her.

“The crew quarters and med bay are clear,” her crew reported through the earbud.

“So you really did come to see me one last time,” Quill said, her back to Fletch. “At least look me in the eye when you do it. Shooting me in the back of the head is hardly worth the effort of coming over here. Make it a good story at least.”

Fletch saw that the med kit by the door had been opened and a trail of blood led back to the captain’s chair. The emergency spacesuit on the rack against one of the walls had bloody handprints on it. Quill had tried to don the spacesuit but was too injured to do so. A pistol lay abandoned on the floor, indicating that Quill was unarmed.

Fletch’s earbud chirped again. “The ship is clear. No crew aboard. Both escape pods deployed. Your orders, Captain?”

“By now I’m sure your people have informed you that this isn’t a trap,” Quill said, as if she’d been able to sense the communication Fletch had just received.

Fletch was speechless, both to her crew asking for orders and to her rival bleeding out. She gripped her pistol and approached Quill’s chair, wondering what it would be like to finally meet her face-to-face again after all these years. She noticed a hand-knit blanket lying on the floor and a heavily worn copy of The Hobbit next to it. Print books were rare and difficult to find, especially ones originating from the First Earth. She passed around the side of Quill’s seat and faced her.

Quill was wearing gray sweatpants and a black tank top, her hair thrown up into the messiest topknot Fletch had ever seen. She clutched a wad of gauze to her belly, blood dripping from it and onto her sweats. She was shivering, her gooseflesh skin sallow where it wasn’t crimson.

Quill started down the barrel of Fletch’s gun defiantly. Yet, Fletch did not shoot. The voice on the other end of Fletch’s earbud once again asked for orders. She ignored it. Then, of all things, she lowered her gun and tapped the button to retract the helmet of her spacesuit. It had been years since she’d seen Quill through anything but a comm display and she felt she owed her rival one last look at her face.

“Do you remember the atmospheric physics class we took in our second year?” Quill asked. “The one taught by Professor Walen?”

“Yes. What about it?”

“Do you remember when she promised a letter of commendation to the student who could earn the highest mark and our whole study group turned on one another?”

Fletch stifled a laugh. “I remember Arne dumping a protein shake onto my keyboard. They just gave me a new one.”

“It was so dumb,” Quill bantered. Then she shifted uncomfortably in her chair and shivered.

Fletch wondered why Quill wasn’t wrapped in the blanket lying on the floor. She thought for a moment about picking it up and handing it to her, but then realized it was pointless given the circumstances.

“Do you regret it? Any of this?” Quill asked. Fletch wasn’t sure how to answer. “I do,” Quill continued in the silence. “How embarrassing to have made it as far as I have, only to have my crew mutiny and abandon me. I guess that’s what happens when you put all your focus onto an end goal with no consideration for how to get there.”

“You didn’t pay your crew, what did you expect would happen?” Fletch scoffed.

“I know. I flew too close to the sun.”

“That’s a terrible metaphor given that you’re freezing on a ship that can’t fly.”

“If you could get a do-over, one do-over, what would you fix?” Quill asked, ignoring the jab. Fletch shrugged. Quill gazed at her and then sighed. “It doesn’t matter now. Thank you, I suppose, for visiting me one last time and giving me the dignity of seeing your face before you kill me. It’s been an honor, Captain Fletch.” She sat up as best she could and saluted her rival. “Good war. I am ready for it to be done.”

“Captain, your orders?” Fletch’s earbud buzzed for a third time.

Fletch was uneasy, a pain in her stomach filling her with dread and sour bile. There was something so wrong about all of this. This wasn’t the victory she wanted. This was just sad. But beyond that, as she pictured a life going forward, one in which Quill was not there, it felt surprisingly empty. What would she do without someone to chase through the galaxies? Her entire life revolved around Quill and she wasn’t sure what she’d do without her. Her purpose had been to destroy Quill, but now that the moment had arrived, she didn’t want it.

Fletch tapped her computer cuff, finally responding to her crew’s inquiries. “Return to the Starling. Prep the OR for surgery and notify Dr. Hammond. Plasma gun wound to the abdomen, major blood loss.”

“Are you injured, Captain?” somebody asked through the earbud. “Shall we send a stretcher?”

“No and no. I’ll bring her myself.”

“Excuse me?” Paola interjected. “Are you bringing Captain Quill onboard?”

“Yes,” Fletch replied, taking a deep breath and studying Quill’s face. “This war is over.”

“No, no,” Quill protested as Fletch holstered her gun and walked over to the knit blanket on the floor. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do,” Fletch retorted. She picked up the blanket and approached Quill. “Can you stand?”

“No,” Quill whispered.

Fletch nodded, her eyes soft and face calm. She bundled Quill in the blanket and then lifted her up and cradled the woman in her arms. Quill gave up the fight and accepted rescue.

“Wait,” Quill mumbled as they began to leave the bridge. “My book. It’s rare, I spent forever trying to find it.”

Fletch understood. This was the last time Quill would see her ship. Once they were evacuated, it would be scavenged and scrapped by brigands. A ship without its captain or crew was easy pickings. Fletch lowered Quill just enough for the injured woman to grab The Hobbit off the floor. Quill clutched the book to her chest.

Then Fletch carried Quill out of the Bittern. They moved through the passageways and the mess hall, Quill peering around at her ship for the last time. Fletch looked down at the woman in her arms. It was perhaps the closest they’d been to each other since that one night back in the dorms on Europa. Quill rested her head against her rescuer’s collarbone. How had their rivalry begun? They had been friends before they were enemies. It was more than just competitive classwork that ruined their connection. Then Fletch remembered, gazing at Quill’s face so close that she could lean down and kiss her.

Fletch had broken Quill’s heart, rejected her after they’d shared one single night of intimacy. She wasn’t ready for a relationship with another woman. She cared a great deal for Quill, but she was scared. Quill had been in love and did not take the rejection well, seeking out revenge in its wake. That’s where it all started. And though Fletch thought she hated Quill, she reminded herself that hate and love often feel the same.

The opposite of love is indifference. Even a galaxy away, she bolted to the Bittern the moment Quill’s distress call went out. She was the only one to come to Quill’s aid. And here she was, personally carrying Quill to safety. They’d been obsessed with each other for a decade and Fletch’s world revolved around Quill. Wasn’t it obvious why? Sometimes it’s easier to hate than it is to love.

Fletch squeezed Quill in her arms as they crossed back onto her ship, the nearest thing to a hug either had shared in quite some time. She felt Quill’s body relax, comforted by the closeness. Though Quill’s time with the Bittern had come to an end, a fresh beginning was blossoming on the Starling. Fletch was finally ready to try something new.

“You’re going to be okay,” Fletch whispered. “We’re going to be okay.”

“I know,” Quill breathed, her expression of pain melting away. “I know.”

Bacon-Wrapped Turkey Breast

Imagine a turkey breast pounded thin and rolled up with stuffing and cranberry sauce. Nice, huh? Now imagine it wrapped in bacon. Guaranteed. Win.

Ingredients

• 1/4 cup Kraft Balsamic Vinaigrette Dressing
• 1 small onion, chopped
• 1 (1 3/4 pound) boneless skinless turkey breast, butterflied
• 1/2 cup water
• 1 (6 ounce) package Stove Top Lower Sodium Stuffing Mix for Chicken
• 3/4 cup canned whole berry cranberry sauce, divided
• 8 slices Oscar Mayer Lower Sodium Bacon
• 6 fresh sage leaves

Instructions

1. Heat oven to 400 degrees F.
2. Heat dressing in small nonstick skillet on medium heat.
3. Add onions; cook for 10 minutes or until crisp-tender, stirring frequently. Cool.
4. Pound turkey to 1/2 inch thickness. Place turkey between 2 sheets of plastic wrap; pound with meat mallet or rolling pin to desired thickness.
5. Add water to stuffing mix in medium bowl; stir just until moistened.
6. Stir in onions; spoon down one long side of turkey.
7. Spoon 1/4 cup cranberry sauce next to stuffing.
8. Starting at covered side, roll up turkey breast; place, seam side down, on parchment-covered rimmed baking sheet.
9. Wrap bacon, with slices slightly overlapping, around turkey. (Turkey should be completely covered with bacon.)
10. Top with sage; press gently into bacon.
11. Spray foil with cooking spray; place over turkey, gently pressing foil onto bacon.
12. Bake for 50 to 55 minutes or until turkey is done (165 degrees F), uncovering after 30 minutes.
13. Serve with remaining cranberry sauce.
14. Garnish with additional fresh sage leaves before serving.

Prep: 15 min | Total: 1 hr 10 min | Yield: 8 servings

Notes

How to Butterfly the Turkey Breast: Place turkey on cutting board; carefully cut turkey horizontally in half, starting at thickest long side of breast, being careful not to cut all the way through to opposite side. Open like a book.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 290

% Daily Value Total fat 7g Saturated fat 2g Cholesterol 60mg Sodium 440mg Carbohydrate 29g Dietary fiber 1g Sugars 13g Protein 26g

Vitamin A 0% DV Vitamin C 6% DV Calcium 2% DV Iron 10% DV

* Nutrition information is estimated based on the ingredients and cooking instructions as described in each recipe and is intended to be used for informational purposes only. Please note that nutrition details may vary based on methods of preparation, origin and freshness of ingredients used.

Yes, several times.

It was discovered that I was allergic to seafood. My dad took the family out to dimmer at a seafood restaurant. Dad ordered shrimp and lobster for me.

I took one bite and next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital.

No more seafood for the baby, my dad said.

Here was the problem: my elders didn’t “believe in” food allergies and insisted that I was just spoiled and babied by my dad.

My aunt (Dad’s sister who hated me before I took my first breath) made pasta with shrimp and fed it to me. I immediately had a reaction and probably would have died had my uncle (Dad’s brother) not alerted my dad to the situation.

My dad sat with me at the hospital for several days. My aunt just said, “I was just trying to show her that shrimp is fine to eat,” prompting my dad to cut contact for a while. I was never left with her unsupervised, at least not when I was of an age where I was still a bit defenseless.

My uncle made me a peanut butter sandwich. I had an immediate reaction, but no one knew about it; it was a new allergy. My uncle felt awful, but my dad told him it was just a freak accident and I was fine.

Another aunt offered me a bite of her dessert, a strawberry shortcake. Landed in the hospital again. This was also new.

The family all knew this.

Two of my aunts (one maternal, other paternal) got me cakes and supper for my birthday. My paternal aunt got me a German chocolate cake and seafood from Red Lobster (I think, not certain) and took offense when I refused to eat it, calling me spoiled and ungrateful. My dad pointed out that I couldn’t eat anything she brought and it was her own fault that she wasted her money. I think I was about seven or so.

My maternal aunt got me a cake. Problem was, it was a Reese’s peanut butter cake and I almost ate some when my dad snatched it away and read my aunt the riot act. I was about nine then.

Family gatherings were the worst. I would be served something I couldn’t have and was forced to sit at the table until I cleaned my plate. My dad often had to run interference so I didn’t die.

My mother was the absolute worst. She insisted that I was just a picky eater (I was) and I needed to be taught to eat. So one Saturday when I was nine, my mother made me a peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich and ended up breaking it into pieces and forcing them into my mouth and then covering my mouth so I couldn’t spit it out.

Luckily Dad came home right then. I couldn’t breathe and my dad freaked out and rushed me to the hospital. This time I was there for three weeks.

When I came home, my dad took over preparing my meals and fixing my plates at family gatherings. I was never left unsupervised with any of the elders and when my paternal aunt fed me shrimp pasta, knowing I was allergic, my dad pressed charges.

This nearly destroyed the family. It would be years before we reconciled because my dad didn’t feel like he could trust his family not to kill me.

My grandfather understood and would ask my dad what was safe for me. So I spent a lot of time with him. If he got something for himself that I turned out to be allergic to, he would get rid of it, wash his hands and even clean the area we were in, just to be safe. Even though my grandpa loved fish fry Friday’s, he would skip it for my sake. My dad suggested offering chicken as an alternative, but it was fried in the same grease as the fish and that didn’t help.

So my grandpa and dad arranged to fry chicken separately and not in peanut oil. The rest of the community finally understood and kept me safe.

But my own family nearly killed me because they didn’t “believe in” having food allergies.

Allergies are not to be played with and must ALWAYS be taken seriously.

Because someone’s life depends on it.

Will Europeans eat humble pie and beg China and Russia for trade deals, or will EU apparatchiks just continue to watch European decline and de-industrialization?

I don’t know.

How about just talking about Germany?

Rcently, a major hot topic on the Chinese internet is that Germany demolished the Moorburg coal-fired power plant, which cost $4 billion to build.

This was an ultra-supercritical technology power plant.

（This technology is not simple. Only China, the United States, Germany, and Japan possess it worldwide. Moreover, in 2020, these four countries signed a treaty due to “environmental protection,” agreeing not to export it to other nations. Yes, because of “environmental protection,” they stopped exporting it… You read that right. For the sake of “environmental protection”…）

China is among the world leaders in this technology, with the best benchmark (under ideal conditions) being 264 grams of coal per kilowatt-hour, producing very little pollution. The most advanced plants in China operate at around 280 grams during production.

Meanwhile, the Moorburg power plant achieved a high standard of 285 grams per kilowatt-hour. (For comparison, another big player in this technology, Japan, lags behind Germany with a figure close to 304 grams.)

In fact, although China is doing quite well now, less than 10 years ago, we sent several teams of engineers to the Moorburg power plant to learn from their German counterparts.

We absolutely cannot understand why the Germans would blow up their own highly advanced power plant.

There’s been a ton of discussion about this on the Chinese internet.

One conspiracy theory suggests that some politicians invested in other energy projects, so they used environmental concerns as a pretext to eliminate a competitor.

Hmm, that kind of makes sense?

I’d guess that the Chinese are more heated and heartbroken over the demolition of this power plant than the Germans themselves.

I’ve seen multiple netizens lose it, ranting and cursing, and then everyone chimes in to console them, saying, “Bro, are you a power plant engineer or something?”

And sure enough, they actually are.

Good thing my field isn’t coal-fired power generation, or I’d be so mad my blood pressure would shoot through the roof.

I have a pretty good impression of Germany—after all, the revolutionary mentors Marx and Engels were both German.

When I was in elementary and middle school, our school walls always had portraits of these four great figures: Marx, Engels, Lenin, and Stalin. Hmm, it seems China was quite influenced by Europe—two Germans and two Russians… Might as well hang a portrait of Empress Catherine instead？Combine like terms！

Also, I’d like to say: German engineers, if you really can’t accept this, why not leave? Go work in a country that respects engineers, like China?

(At least you wouldn’t have to worry about the food—German cuisine is quite similar to Northeast Chinese cuisine. Things like sauerkraut and blood sausage are really alike. When Merkel visited China, she ate two bowls of that sauerkraut pork dish! And there’s nothing else to worry about either. For example, when Ukrainian scientists came to China back in the day, China built an entire Ukrainian-style town for them, replicating everything from the climate to the food, plants, and architecture.)