The gods have no mercy for the hero. They swat her around like bored cats with a spider. This is the thing about will—one can always choose not to play. But the tragedy of no is the refusal of maybe. It is saying “the end” before even getting started. Say yes. Open your eyes and find yourself lost. Step forward. Weave your way through the labyrinth with your frayed ball of string.

I cannot tell her story if I am not in it. Time stops. Blank pages. Stars dance in each other’s orbit, spinning faster and faster until they lose control. There are two choices: fuse together or fly apart. In one part of the world, she is sleeping. In one part of the world, I am not. Once upon a time.