"This little back-and-forth between me and the soldier went on for another two hours or so. ……… …… … By the end of our intensive debate, I had just about an entire novel’s worth of backstory. A story about a forlorn young (and beautiful) girl, brutally transformed into a slime by an evil mage. In the midst of our tit for tat, if you want to call it that, the soldier’s questions helped me weave a grand story of heroic tragedy in my mind. I was a young prodigy, a girl inherently gifted in the arts of transformation and illusory magic. A cruel witch had cast a terrible spell on me, and I was traveling to rid myself of the curse. Why did this have to happen? And why did I turn myself into a magical girl along the way?! And the worst part of it was, whenever I said something that wandered off-script, the soldier’s next question would help me fix the mistake. Oh, right! I’d say to myself as the tale meandered its merry way down the path. By the end of it, both myself and the soldier were enthralled, hoping against hope that the girl would somehow succeed on her quest. Our eyes burned with passion— at least, his did."