It is finally quiet. You close your eyes and listen. You hear faint bumps and squeaks coming from somewhere. Your nose tickles with the cold peppercorn fragments you breathe in. You feel warmth on your neck, and you open your eyes and turn to see sunbeams pouring in through the window, shining through the drawings taped to the windowpanes. Soft golden rays drift down to a lonely stuffed dragon on the floor, whose head is squished between the wall and the creamy but dirty carpet. You sit down, and something new catches your eye - a storybook. On the cover, a wizardly old man in a tapering red robe seems to be handing three peasant children a round white ball of yarn, which sparkles faintly with green dust. You remember this book. You used to get lost in the pictures for hours...

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