As Old As Time

by Liz Braswell

While the rest of the world was fighting for control of new lands across the seas, inventing ever more deadly weapons, and generously gifting their own religion to foreign people who didn’t want it, this kingdom just splendidly was.

As soon as she opened a book, this little town disappeared into a vast map of countries both real and imagined.

c’est bon, n’est-ce pas?” The queen made a little kissy noise at her son.

“You can’t have adventures without risk. You can’t have great things if you constantly fear loss.

Almost everything was fluttering and shuffling: the china was indeed waking from whatever slumber it enjoyed; dishes were very carefully shuddering themselves to life; teacups were bouncing and trying to get out of their glass cabinet prison. The stove, which seemed so cheerful and warm and fiery at the end of the room, now began to yawn and stretch its great black iron arms and exhaust pipe. Belle drew into herself a little, alarmed. Stories of witches with their fires and stoves and terrible, terrible endings played through her head. Baba Yaga, Hansel and Gretel…

The victims of kidnapping often wound up sympathizing with the perpetrator. It was a sickness, a very scientifically predictable one.

“Magic always comes back on itself,” Rosalind whispered. “And also kindness,” Maurice pointed out.

Life is a strange mixture of all of these genres, she mused, and it doesn’t have nearly as neat and happy an ending as you often get in books.

Everyone is different. Each person has his or her own soul and is master of his or her own destiny.”

Everyone should have a journey—and everyone should also have a home, too. Go out into the world for adventure, come home for love.”