And then he tells her stories. Myths he learned from his instructor. Fantasies he created himself, inspired by bits and pieces of others read in archaic books with crackling spines.

This is not magic. This is the way the world is, only very few people take the time to stop and note it.

The truest tales require time and familiarity to become what they are.

It is perhaps both a blessing and a curse that fictional worlds spring into my mind nearly fully formed and it takes quite a while to sift through everything to find the story.

I am a fan of magic and fantasy, particularly when it's grounded in reality.

A woman I should like to think I know rather well and a woman I had always considered a mystery, are in fact the same person.

To be rather than to seem.