Castles Burning [antikvár]

OneI begged, and often my brother obliged. In the dark when I couldn't sleep, Iván told me fairy tales in a whisper. AU the stories began, in the traditional Hungarian manner, 'Once there was / where there wasn't / there was once a Castle / that twirled on the foot of a duck.' The tales were always intrinsically just. They progressed from peril to joy, they spoke of an orderly, predictable world, where the virtuous were rewarded and the wicked were punished. The prince rescued the princess. Losses were restored, and the near dead revived. Lack of caution was not a fatal error.Over the years of these whispered fables, I realized that my brother loved to tell them as much as I loved to listen to him. I also realized, with a thorn, that as the years passed, I believed the substance of these stories less and less. And then, less yet.II