So she listened hard. And she began to evolve, because stories work their magic that way. They build conviction and erode conviction in equal measure.

Why lock yourself in your own cage when someone is handing you a key?

Old Flossie settle down on the other side of What-the-Dickens and dragged some handiwork out of a sack. She armed herself with two thorns shaped into knitting needles. A wodge of curlicued metallic scrubbing pad supplied the threat. 'I knit handcuffs as a hobby,' explained Old Flossie happily, and set to work. 'Idle hands get up to no good, so I like to be prepared in case I meet up with any idle hands.

No one controls your destiny. Even at the very worst - there is always choice.

They moved together, blue diamonds on a green field.

No wonder Wonderland isn't funny to read anymore: We live there full time. We need a break from it.

... the decades looked on and didn't notice her passing. They stared from their fixed mounts across at each other and didn't see revolution striding between them, on her way to destiny.