scrubjayspeaks | Lake Lewisia #688

"I don't think I understand," she pronounced in that careful, strangely adult way she had that made some grownups nervous. Small hand held firmly in her aunt's, she looked around the field from booths of corsets and hand-stitched leather, to rings where weekend knights sparred with blunted swords, her eyes careful and curious as an anthropologist. "Not everyone remembers as many whens as you do," her aunt reminded the young time traveler, "so for them, all this does feel like anachronism."

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LL#688