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There once was a toy who lived in a world that doesn’t exist, the world was made up of imagination, fantasy, and dreams, but nothing real. The toy was like a Jack-in-the-Box, but not quite. Instead of a clown or a jester inside, there was a graceful dancer.

This toy made lovely music that was nonsensical, but pleasant to listen to. When the song slowed to a near stop the dancer would burst from the box and begin to dance. How she loved to dance! But she was never a puppet and would dance for no one but God.

One day the toy was broken into a million little pieces and the dancer could never dance again. The music box was broken too, and no one knew how to make it play once more. And the funny thing is, the dancer got so numb that she didn’t care. In time she was melted down and reshaped into a pen that now writes prose.

But the prose often doesn’t make sense, and she can never understand her past. She is no longer a dancer save with the last shred of her heart, and she fears she will soon lose that, too. She is neither dancer nor toy, neither pen nor proper prose. She is what she is. You must not try to understand her, for she cannot even understand herself.

In the real world, she is simply a pen scribbling attempted writings. In the real world, she does not even exist.

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