Bedtime meant a glass of chocolate milk. It meant that another chapter of another exciting book would be read. It meant that both music boxes would be played. It meant pajamas and stuffed animals. It meant that all of the exciting things that had happened that day would be recounted. And then, it meant lying in bed for a long, long time, snuggled under the quilts and in pajamas and with stuffed animals. And that meant quiet, and dark, and the perfect time to tell herself stories. She liked the stories that were read out of books for her, because from them she learned lots of things she hadn’t known before. She also liked to have many of the same stories read again and again. But every night she made up new stories for herself, and she liked those stories best of all–because they were her very own.