Prologue
A tale is like a story. A story is like a rug, but you weave it with words. Each peace of thread comes from something, just like the words come from within. Combined, the threads weave together a wondrous thing, blooming with detail. And the words of a tale spin with joyous words. Today I will weave the Tales of Mythical creatures, Castles, Fairies, and Witches. Some of these Tales are very precious, they came all the way from Alneidaya. If one of these pages fall out and rip, Take some string and sew it back in immediately. This is the last of its kind. There is only one other book in the whole world, and many people will do many harsh things to you to get to this book. Do not let anyone else read it. No adults are allowed to. Hide it. Keep it secret. Keep it safe.
---Ms. Catherine Bogner.
The Tale of the Lost Half-Hour
Once upon a time, there was a very old widow. Her husband was dead, and she had three children t take care of by herself. Her first two young men were clever enough, but the old widow’s youngest son, Boiyo, was more foolish than a turkey. As only a young boy of twelve, Boiyo was always getting into trouble. All of his mother’s yelling’s, and scolding’s seemed to do no good at all.
No comments:
Post a Comment