Leda Riordan

Writer, autodidact,
hedonist.

Weaned on rattlesnake in the middle of the desert, I absconded to Europe for my (mostly extracurricular) education like the great bonnes vivantes before me. There, I got published, learned to cook crab soufflé, saw many things, tried many things, and somehow got spat out in another desert, where I am hopefully writing many things.

I like doing what I do. Some of the reasons for this are because I am picky with my companions, because my body is a temple, because we only spend time together if we both enjoy doing so, and feel more alive from it, and like what makes a man and a woman different is the same thing that makes flowers grow and tides change and the sun rise and set. Should our meeting not have this effect, you will at least be ambushed by the memory of it at inappropriate times.

You: trained to ride, shoot with the bow, and speak the truth. A gentleman, or you pretend to be one (same thing).

𝘾𝙪𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜: Charlemagne by Johannes Fried