I’ve always had my head in the clouds, and I’ve always at least half believed about 90% of the crazy stories about dragons and wizards and werewolves and superheroes. People say I’m just imaginative, but it’s more than that. If I don’t believe that at least some of those stories are true, if I don’t believe that there are werewolves hiding in the dark, dragons in the remote corners of the world, or that sometimes the fireflies I see outside my window are faeries, then I’m afraid that I won’t be able to face the world, as boring as it is. If there’s no magic and mystery, then what’s the point? If I don’t believe that one day I could go on an adventure that I’ve only ever heard about in books and movies and TV shows, if I stop believing that there are things in the dark, good and bad, if I stop letting my imagination make new realities, then that means that everything is exactly as it seems. And that idea terrifies me.