Folding his arms, Mg. Thane leaned against the table and asked, “What is the story written on?” “What sort of question is that?” “The kind you should answer.” Ceony’s eyes narrowed. His tone carried an air of chastisement, but his expression seemed lax enough. “It’s obviously written on paper.” Mg. Thane snapped his fingers. “There we are! And paper is your domain now. So make it mean something. And calm down,” he said, almost as an afterthought.
-Charlie N. Holmberg
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