You Told Me Love Was Fickle And

The Circus Arrives Without Warning. No Announcements Precede It. It Is Simply There, When Yesterday It Was Not. Within The Black-and-white Striped Canvas Tents Is An Utterly Unique Experience Full Of Breathtaking Amazements. It Is Called Le Cirque Des Rêves, And It Is Only Open At Night.

Old Stories Have A Habit Of Being Told And Retold And Changed. Each Subsequent Storyteller Puts His Or Her Mark Upon It. Whatever Truth The Story Once Had Is Buried In Bias And Embellishment. The Reasons Do Not Matter As Much As The Story Itself.

The Boy Spends Most Of His Time Reading. And Writing, Of Course. He Copies Out Sections Of Books, Writes Out Words And Symbols He Does Not Understand At First But That Become Intimately Familiar Beneath His Ink-stained Fingers, Formed Again And Again In Increasingly Steady Lines.

I Think Looking Forward Will Be Better Than Looking Back.

Kelly Link Is Inimitable. Her Stories Are Like Nothing Else, Dark Yet Sparkling With Her Unique Brand Of Fairy Dust. This Is The Most Marvelous Kind Of Trouble To Get In.