Coining a new oath every other fortnight or so, the gallant whisperer thrilled the cistern with a folly of fables unknown to humankind before or since.

Having severed all ties with Severin, Ginger felt the lash of a fortune of augmented specimens, unleashed to dash the myriad dreams of sailors and tailors against the Once by the Pacific. Frosted flakes had little appeal to stimulate the buttresses of peculiar fences whether they made good neighbors or not. Britches of birchbark filled the apple barrel of ice and fire, quenched by the forge’s bellows below. A peculiar retrospective staunched the flow of cudgels assembled from strudel, but cudgeling no one on the sconce, they purloined the few scones here and there that fell through the cracks in the cellar door.

Proclaiming Ginger’s favorite pastime from the past obsolete, she absconded with the funds and made her way to Trinidad and Tobago–both at once as befit her bifurcated personality.