“Reality, real, really?” asks Lucy the writer who happens to stumble upon her words. “How real do you need your words to be? Does an author not want their lies to be taken for truth? Isn’t this whole writing malarky set up to spin truth from lies, from figments of imagination?” She laughs as she remembers how every lie has to have a seed of truth in order for it to work. “Magic,” she says. “The words of an author are to be like magic, transporting the reader into the web of lies making them take those lies for truth. A well spun lie is often better than truth, for who really wants to wake up and smell the roses, or rather the stink of reality and all it brings.”
She shivers as the outside cold creeps in. “Winter is coming and I need a well spun lie to keep reality at bay. To complement the heat of the fire warming the outer shell, I need the heat of the lie to warm the inner most self.” She gets up and walks to the kitchen to put the kettle on. “Tea will do the trick, but true flames within need the heat of the lie of love. Real or make believe, because who knows how real, real love is. For all you know it is a well spun lie an author feeds you for truth.” And Lucy laughs as she thinks of a specific ‘author’ who created ongoing lies and the whole world feasts on them, young and old.