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Forfleb I\oab 
Claire often was said 
to be the most 
beautiful. Her mother 
kept her in a glass 
box on her vanity, 
only opening it on 
holidays. She would 
rather like to open 
books, she said, but 
her mother fed her 
carrot cake and dropped 
a Polly Pocket into 
her hand. Her 
father was a religious 
man and would 
read her bedtime stories, 
never leaving out the scenery 
or unsettling end. 
He would leave her 
skylight open 
so she could see the stars 
and get rained on 
(never in the same 
night). She lived 
like this until her mother 
died, and her father, widowed, 
married the church. 
On her nineteenth birthday 
she emerged much 
a girl, talked to rabbits. 
She never looked 
at maps but would 
walk in straight 
lines and, finding 
herself lost, would 
nest with the owls 
she found there. 

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