Storybook ******* finds a hero riding in on horseback with grave purpose and noble intent. Saving the day, or the damsel. Kissing the problems awake, rending the wolf's innards to find her. Building the machine or spell that somehow fixes things. Hard and dark, like burned wood, are his eyes. Broad and strong are his shoulders. Trite and compromised are his deeds. And so, in fiction we are saved. In fiction we somehow still need saving. Karma is a lie, kismit doubly so. If there exists a path through the dark it is only because other damaged and broken people trod it there. We don't have noble intent, we don't have hard eyes, but we occasionally accidentally build the mechanism that fixes things. Not in whole. Not completely. And not even well. Almost never is it perfect, occasionally it is better. But it is change, nonetheless. It is change! It is a start. It is grave purpose. Storybook ******* be ******.