Hope. Nothing Is More Intoxicating.

My Dear Elinor, You Were Obviously Born Into The Wrong Story,” Said Dustfinger At Last.

She Wanted To Return To Her Dream. Perhaps It Was Still Somewhere There Behind Her Closed Eyelids. Perhaps A Little Of Its Happiness Still Clung Like Gold Dust To Her Lashes. Don't Dreams In Fairy Tales Sometimes Leave A Token Behind?

If You Take A Book With You On A Journey," Mo Had Said When He Put The First One In Her Box, "an Odd Thing Happens: The Book Begins Collecting Your Memories. And Forever After You Have Only To Open That Book To Be Back Where You First Read It. It Will All Come Into Your Mind With The Very First Words: The Sights You Saw In That Place, What It Smelled Like, The Ice Cream You Ate While You Were Reading It... Yes, Books Are Like Flypaper—memories Cling To The Printed Page Better Than Anything Else.

Memories, So Sweet And Bitter.. They Had Both Nourished And Devoured Him For So Many Years. Until A Time Came When They Began To Fade, Turning Faint And Blurred, Only An Ache To Be Quickly Pushed Away Because It Went To Your Heart. For What Was The Use Of Remembering All You Had Lost?

Where Did The Love Come From? What Was It Made Of?