Once upon a time, far off, in a small corner of the universe, in a not very extraordinary galaxy, on an average planet, sat a short, painfully bright house.
And inside the particularly bright house, in a room off to the left, with old wooden floors that creaked and moaned, was a girl.
The girl with two yellow pigtails and two eyes that were exceptionally blue -but nothing more-, was perched on the maroon sofa with a book in her hands and a cat drenched in black to her left.
The book was worn, and old, and tired. But it sill loved to be read. And no matter how wrinkled it's pages, faded it's lettering, or dusty it's cover, no matter how familiar it's words were-it was still comforting.
It still got her lost, wrapped up in its story.
And even though she'd had it for many years, and read it time and time again
Even though she had fallen in love with other books
She still loved this one the best.
And she reminded it so, every once in awhile, but picking it up, and letting