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A bright, piercing bell chi nued the numeral 34 in the air

A long counter perched at the head of a vast ballroom full of custo harps and hurdy-gurdies, sta out their wares like fresh fruit: Vintage Mallows, ten for a Kiss! Commemorative World’s Foul Airht froht blue-and-yellow theatre rinned down fro, slow ticker of numbers peeled out of its no at what ed fro her place in the queue

“Shall I fetch us a number?” said Hawthorn shyly

“Certainly not,” replied the Red Wind “Rules are for those who can’t think of a better way I in line!”

The Red Wind shuffled in the pockets of her wild ruby gown and caician’s fan of tickets, each with a merry little number written upon it

“Let’s see…12? 21? 122? 697? No, no, I know I’ve so in the forties here”

“Miss Wind,” Hawthorn said as she shuffled through the underside of her breastplate and boots searching for more tickets, “I want to ask you a question, and I want you to answer me seriously and not call me any baby names or make fun of me”

“Hmm? Oh, of course, my…Hawthorn And you can call htedness, you know”

“Why did you take me out of Skaldtown? Do you take very ?”

Hawthorn was quite certain the Panther of Rough Storhed at him

“That’s rather ive you rather more than one set of answers” She cleared her throat drahtfully dull place with nothing at all to do on a Wednesday night Two: Goodness, I couldn’t possibly re, you si is a little bomb dropped by Fairyland upon the human world for fun and profit”

Up ahead, the gloor ladies in short black capes bustled forward, s their hair so as to impress the mail

“I said nofun,” said Hawthorn

“One: I was bored Two: I have been known to spirit a child or tay, I shan’t lie It is in my nature to Swoop In and Make a Mess of the Garden Three: Trolls h quite a lot and enjoy violence Four: A Changeling is the sort of child who cli shiny that he wants If you were not already a Changeling, you would have told e and your father’s snoring and to please be on my way”

They took their place in line Everyone towered above Hawthorn—but do not worry, little love! When you are a grown troll no one will tower over so much as your left elbow