Once I knew a girl named Eve. She was short and skinny and wore glasses, and everywhere she went she was all elbows. She mispronounced her R's and climbed trees barefoot and saw fairies where others only saw fireflies.
Eve loved to read. Stories clung to her like a velvet cloak. Her bedroom was an Eden cast in mint green and populated by books new books, old books, books with all the secrets of the world hidden inside them.
She brought her love to school with her: sometimes, the teacher would send her out into the hallway for reading during class. Haha, wouldn't want us to actually learn anything in school, we used to joke.
There were those who hated Eve for being the way she was, and she despised them in turn. She hated openly; there was never any secret of her contempt. It was a good system.
Eve loved to create. She wrote and sewed and sculpted, she dreamed up places and people too large for real life. She played and mimicked and invented. She was a stickler for accurac