You’re a girl. Young. No more than five or six. You sit on the floor, legs tucked under you. Mom perches on the couch, a blanket on her lap because she’s always cold. She props the hardcover book in one hand and holds it aloft like a prize. The cover has a sheen to it; the title lifts in silver foil. Mom tips the page toward the lamp, clears her throat, and pronounces, “Once upon a time…”
The story begins. Your breath hitches in your throat. Her voice changes, pitching and piping as she shifts between characters. The hero. Just an ordinary boy. But then–swept away! Taken to a magical land. He faces foes. Swords. Curses and spells. Hardship and shed tears when things go wrong. Then he mounts up, takes the sword, and declares his bravery! The battle begins. We’re so close to victory–
But then she breathes. Tucks the bookmark in the page and closes the book. Sets it aside. “Until tomorrow. Goodnight!”