1. Prologue I
It's not real. It's just a dream. There is no black-headed boy sticking his head in a bathtub, listening to an egg sing to him.
'Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground.
And while you're searching ponder this,
We've taken what you'll surely miss.
An hour long you'll have to look,
To recover what we took.
But past an hour the prospect 's black,
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.'
Just go back to sleep- Blythe Vague