It took even less time when they saw the great Green Man walking behind him, high as the hills, coming for vengeance.
(Conor glanced again at the monster’s massive arms and legs, at its raggedy, toothy mouth, at its overwhelming monstrousness.
He imagined what the queen must have thought when she saw it coming.) (He smiled.)
The subjects stormed the queen’s castle with such fury that the stones of its very walls tumbled.
Fortifications fell and ceilings collapsed and when the queen was found in her chambers,
the mob seized her and dragged her to the stake right then to burn her alive.
(“Good,” Conor said, smiling. “She deserved it.” He looked up at his bedroom window where his grandmother slept.
“I don’t suppose you can help me with her?” he asked. “I mean, I don’t want to burn her alive or anything, but maybe just–”)
The story, said the monster, is not yet finished.
THE REST OF THE FIRST TALE
“It’s not?” Conor asked. “But the queen was overthrown.” She was, said the monster. But not by me.
Conor hesitated, confused. “You said you made sure she was never seen again.”
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