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“Thank you love, all the magic in the world couldn’t make me a good cook.” He chuckled to himself, scribbling on the blank pages of the back of a bible with a self made pencil out if burnt sticks. charcoal if you would. “Stories my dear are the back bone of history. With chaos there will still be stories with sadness there will be stories. There are stories already being told about things that didn’t happen yet. Sex is the story of bodies, murder is the story of flesh. Tears are the stories of stories we wish to forget. But a story is a story is a story. Never forget your stories.”She had never felt more comfortable then now. If only…
“Good grief the things that come out of your mouth now” she smiled at him giving him a quizzical look. She went back to what she was doing making something decent out of what was here. “Now then why don’t you tell me a story, eh?” Almost finished up with the cooking.
“Alright then I will tell you my favorite story. You know I am, well was King Arthur right? I’d love to tell you about this mess of trouble Merlin and I got into in my younger years pretending to be a human.” And so he went on, telling the story with vivid recollection. Having such love for the events that his words seemed to make the exciting tale come to life.
Source: thegoldenageofenglandisover
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