"Unty Wraithvine, I don' feel so good, read me a story, please?" -- Anon Guest
The book was thick, and may have been weight training for the small child. It had been read many times and handled by many readers. Generations had added to some pages. Some scribbling illustrations in the margins, others colouring in the woodcuts. At least one baby had teethed on the hard cover. It was a relic of many generations.
Wraithvine handled it with the reverence it was due. "Do you have any favourites?"
"The Devil and the Faeries," said Wit, curling up with her teddy bear and nestling under a blanket. She rubbed at her emerging horns with her palm and whimpered.
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