Books Have To Be Heavy Because The

Reality Is A Fragile Thing.

No Prince Had Lived In Those Wretched Hovels, No Red-robed Bishops, Only Farmers And Laborers Whose Stories No One Had Written Down, And Now They Were Lost, Buried Under Wild Thyme And Fast Growing Spurge.

The Book She Had Been Reading Was Under Her Pillow, Pressing Its Cover Against Her Ear As If To Lure Her Back Into Its Printed Pages.

Don't Let It Worry You, Not Being Able To Speak,'dustfinger Had Often Told Her. 'people Tend Not To Listen Anyway, Right?

What's That Sticky Stuff Called? Basta: Duct Tape. Yes, Duct Tape. I Love Duct Tape.