The melody faded like a rainbow after a storm, or like winds calming down at last; and what was left was calm, and possibility, and relief.

I mean, evil and boredom. Evil and ennui. Evil and the lack of stimulation. Evil and sluggish blood.

And a puzzle is for the piecing together, especially for the young, who still believe it can be done.

Don't wish,"said Rain, "don't start. Wishing only...

She is no longer I, she is too long ago, she is only she.

...but the tale itself is a trickster and doesn't hesitate to lie. It is anachronistic with a vengeance. It emerges always and everywhere, overt or disguised, pureblood or hybrid, and healthy as sin.

Children are wickeder than adults, they have no sense of restraint.