The mystery boy:
From my dream:
he spins out stories like spun gold; like Rapunzel brushing her auburn locks, like Penelope weaves her endless tapestry. he spins out stories so fine, so intricate, stories so delicate they cannot bear the weight of scrutiny. He spins out stories, yes, such marvelous stories, that she can't help but get the lines tangled up, wreaking awkward, fumbling destruction upon his web of lies.
one by one, her hapless questions poke holes in his fragile constructions. Like a bull in a china shop, or a blind museum patron, she flies past the untouched story only to search haplessly for truth.
he spins out stories like spun gold; like Rapunzel brushing her auburn locks, like Penelope weaves her endless tapestry. he spins out stories so fine, so intricate, stories so delicate they cannot bear the weight of scrutiny. He spins out stories, yes, such marvelous stories, that she can't help but get the lines tangled up, wreaking awkward, fumbling destruction upon his web of lies.
one by one, her hapless questions poke holes in his fragile constructions. Like a bull in a china shop, or a blind museum patron, she flies past the untouched story only to search haplessly for truth.