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“An error occurred,” your computer said, “the wizard must be stopped.” Sighing in resignation, you get out of your chair, and grab your sword.
By the time you reach the top of the tower, you’re sweaty and a little out of breath. You shift your grip on the sword and step out into the night. It’s raining, because of course it is, with thunder and a crack of lightning for a dramatic flair. The wizard stands on the parapet with her arms outstretched, robe billowing around her in the wind. She laughs, and the storm makes the sound into something unearthly.
You cough, and the wizard turns to face you. Her eyes light up.
“Hi, sweetie!”
You fold your arms, trying to look intimidating but failing miserably. Having a scabbard digging into your armpit will do that. “Agnes, dear, you’ve got to stop doing this.”
“Oh, but you know I love a good storm,” she says, hopping down from the parapet to approach you. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Of course it is–her storms have always been awe-inspiring. It’s one of the things that drew you to her, all those years ago. She’s been by your side through many storms, meteorological and otherwise. The memory softens your irritation, just a little. But you still have to have your say.
“It is, but Aggie–that silly box is acting up again. I think the lightning disagrees with it.” You pull the sword out of its sheath and offer it to her as she reaches your side. She taps it with a finger, and it turns into a polka-dot umbrella. You open it and hold it over both your heads. It’s a relief to be out of the rain.
Agnes pats your cheek with a fond smile. “Oh, you and that computer. What were you doing, Rosie? Updating the SwordBroad blog again?”
You can’t help returning the smile. Agnes knows how important your readers are to you; you’d hate to miss a post and disappoint them. “No, I posted it half an hour ago. Top Ten Helmet-proof Hairstyles already has over a thousand views!”
“Oh, lovely! And did they like the bonus knife-throwing tips at the end?”
“Of course they did.” You start towards the door. “But then I tried to watch Game of Drones, and the silly old box kicked up a fuss.”
Agnes puts her hands on her hips. “You were going to watch it without me? But it’s our show!” It’s a little funny, two wrinkled old ladies hanging on every word of a televised drama. But those poor underpaid office workers have wormed their way into your hearts. You just have to know what Stacie and Robert and Alex and Jo will get up to next. The episode with the missing paperclips had you on the edge of your seat.
“You know I would never!” You say. “I was only going to watch an old one while I waited for you to come back.” You open the door and step aside for your wife to go ahead of you. “Umm, Aggie? Before we go, could you…? It’s making my arthritis act up.”
Agnes puts a hand to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry love! Hang on.” With a practiced twist, she winds her wild hair into a neat grey knot at the back of her head. As she does, the thunder dies away, and the rain slows down to a trickle. A few stars peek out from the clouds.
“Better?” Agnes asks, taking your arm.
You close the umbrella, which turns back into a sword. “Much better, thank you.” You return the sword to its sheath and follow Agnes through the door. “Now, how about we make some tea and watch the new episode together?”