Marguerite found herself being seated in a cafe.  The place was near the campus of Story University in Culture, a small territory shared for the purpose of higher education in Faithful.

The cafe was called Faithful Favorites, as the front of the menu attested.  The walls were dotted with film posters.  A giant shelf of books partly divided the cafe’s two dining areas.  At the other end of the seating area where she sat was in was a small stage.

She ordered something small and, in the end, indisputably tasty.

When her empty dish was removed it was replaced with a book.  She noticed the same was being done for others who, like her, did not have a book at hand.

On the other side of the bookcase she could see a crowd mesmerized by a film, to which they each seemed to have private audio access since the cafe only resounded with the voices of patrons and waiters, dining ware clanking, and pages flapping.

Just then the waiter was passing by again and she signaled to him.  “Is the owner of the establishment available?  I’m on a mission from Queen Faithful.”

He eyed her suspiciously then, deciding she was trustworthy, bowed dramatically and announced for all to hear, “I shall deliver your message.”  Her only self-conscious thought was, he probably had occasion to appear on the stage at the far end of the room.

She found the story posters on the walls bewitching.  Each was unlike the others.  Its uniqueness was its impression, its impression was its appeal.  The story each promised was like another reality.

The book on the table in front of her had a plain, hard cover.  Navy blue with a light blue-gray binding.  She leafed through the first few pages, found the first full page of text, and read silently,

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Reflecting on the words as they began to harken her, she saw them like a friend waving her over with thoughtful introductions to make.  She felt the desire to oblige, to know what the world of its author's imagination held.

It would have to wait though. She looked up and a man was motioning her to the stage.  He was the waiter, but now dressed as a fairy.  A woman, dressed in gross imitation of the Queen, strutted across the stage and flopped onto a divan.  It all seemed to appear out of nowhere while she had been engrossed in other things.

Most of the people sitting at the tables shifted their attention excitedly the stage.  Others, mostly in the corner booths, kept to their books.

Vivid was the best word she could think of to describe the experience.  She could see no reason not to oblige the faux-fairy’s request so she made her way to the stage, wondering what would happen next.  She was handed a script and a giant fake compass on a string.  She hung the later about her neck.

“Woe is me.  Having faith in Faithful is so hard,” the faux-Queen began theatrically.

Marguerite examined the script and looked up.

“I’ll make you feel better.  Watch me do some tricks!” exclaimed the faux-fairy, and he jumped, fluttered and finally tumbled.  The crowd laughed.

It was Marguerite's turn.  Someone just off stage tooted a trumpet, which was her cue.  “Let me restore your faith Queen.”  Her tone was uncertain; her voice, monotone.

“Not very inspiring,” the Queen improvised, speaking only to the crowd.  They jeered.

With feeling Marguerite repeated, “Let me restore your faith Queen.”  The crowd encouraged her with cheers.