... rejected this reality, replacing it with her own.

<shimmer, shimmer, flash!>

She now stood on the beautiful sun-drenched beach, alone with wee Tommy, all grown up. They were both tastifully atired in fine kilts and puffy silk blouses. Somewhere, in the background, the soft skirling notes of a bag pipe wafted in on the warm afternoon breeze. (Or, maybe someone was stangling a cat with a vacuum cleaner in the village?)

"Come hither, my pet!" she purred, sitting down on one of a pair of lounging chairs.

Tommy, Calabash in hand, sauntered over to the proffered seat and flopped down on it. "What wust thou of me, fair maiden?" he asked in a very awkward, yet strangely endearing fashion. "I am at your disposal, heart and soul. Speakest thou thine wishes and I shalt comply, forwith,... or even sooner!"

Sophie looked at the odd Scot in perplexed confusion. What the heck had happened to her reality?