“Do you
remember meeting a prince?” Robert asks his wife.
“At a
ball, yes,” she replies, “He was rather boring actually. Why?”
“He's
rather besotted with you, I'm afraid. He's spent a year looking for
you...”
“Can't
be me,” Fiona interrupts him, “I only met him yesterday, or maybe
the day before, it's sometimes hard to keep track.”
“Time
passes differently in the Weave,” the Angel tells them, “And not
in any uniform kind of way. A life can be lived in the blink of an
eye, a moment stretched into days.”
“It was
definitely you,” Robert tells her, “There was a giant portrait.”
“So he's
looking for me,” Fiona says, “What's that to do with unreal
girls?”
“He's
imprisoned every girl that's your age and shoe size,” he says, “And
now he's going to kill them, one a day, until you return.”
