What Are Stories For If We Don't

Dustfinger Closed His Eyes And Listened. He Was Home Again.

The Fairy's Dress Rustled As She Turned. Human Women Dressed Like Flowers, Layers Of Petals Around A Mortal, Rotting Core.

But After All, The Villains Are The Salt In The Soup Of A Story.

Mortimer's Face Twisted When The Piper Pressed His Knife Against His Ribs. Oh Yes, He's Obviously Made The Wrong Enemies In This Story, Thought Orpheus. And The Wrong Friends. But That Was High-minded Heroes For You. Stupid.

The Books In Mo And Meggie's House Were Stacked Under Tables, On Chairs, In The Corners Of The Rooms. There Where Books In The Kitchen And Books In The Lavatory. Books On The Tv Set And In The Closet, Small Piles Of Books, Tall Piles Of Books, Books Thick And Thin, Books Old And New. They Welcomed Meggie Down To Breakfast With Invitingly Opened Pages; They Kept Boredom At Bay When The Weather Was Bad. And Sometimes You Fall Over Them.