Penelope quickly shakes her head on that one. “No, it’s the same as last time.”We need to figure out something.“You know, maybe you just didn�...�t give it a shot last time.”Excuse me?“You know,” the witch prompts. “Maybe last time we should have explored what it was like being like this.”Oh, I think we explored that enough. We explored to the limits and beyond.“No, I mean,” she pauses to flip a few pages. “My mother has a spell to summon tentacles. Maybe we can...”Hold that thought, roll it up in. Her? Our? Story in poetical prose of rhythmic stanzas that will curl a girl’s toes. No rings she donned, “I’m a free woman” her song, As she crossed her long shapely legs, And looked at me impishly one table away, I safely went back to my book and read. I felt young eyes staring at me, With self proclaimed liberty, The phantom raising a glass of wine, To make a toast only it can find, So her eyes burned in me. Like an itch you can not scratch, At least not publicly, Not wishing to look but. More

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