Tag, You're It.

Falling in undulations before her was That which the Little Girl had coveted. Casting an oblique glance, she was certain that she was next in line.

Others had urged her to turn tail.

"In a little while," she whispered. "Just a little longer."

Bolstered reassurance lulled in the likes of the garden variety.

Genial specifics, however, whittled and rendered her incapable of motion, emotion and finity.

Chiselled notions were cosigned to oblivion.

Then, the Little Girl, posited in repose, wept bitterly.

She saw.

She knew.

Would The Boy indicate an inkling?

Or would He bring forth words of fancy as always?

Why did He ask Her to Stay

If Cupcakes perforated the line and Muffins were out of place?