A story? Well, I would suppose. That's what I'm best at, after all. If nothing else, I can give you these half-shapen half-truths, preserved and twisted through time. Would you like to hear them?

Oy! You there, at the piano! Give us a tune, to start!

Let's set the stage. The year is Unnecessary, as the story is eternal. We are in a place unknown, with only one constant. There is a perfect man on the stage playing a lute. He alone remains.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful siren. She magicked her tail into lovely legs and strutted into the nearest bar, quite like this one! And she did what she knew best. The siren sang.

And the little girl wandered deeper and deeper into the forest, losing almost all sight of the place from where she came. The birds sang from the trees, songs of mocking, of getting lost and never again getting found.

And the young lady returned to the beast's castle, not because she had to, but because she wanted to. And the beast sang to her a beautiful song, not because he wanted her to love him, but because he already loved her so much. And they lived happily ever after.

What's that you said? You there, in the back. You don't think magic is around any more? You think magic is gone forever, that words don't carry power of their own? Well I'll ask you something in return. Haven't you ever heard a witches' reel?

Well, thank you all, but I really must be going. When will I return? Oh, who can tell? I'll return when the wind here calls my name, for sure.