This is Sphère. Here, the French language is the lingua franca.


A bog covers most of this land. From it, the plants grow extravagantly. Here and there, gas belches from its water and its compost.

Throughout the day, a cool fog covers the land. Sometimes, it rains.

These are Welsh lands. Because the Walloons already protect the Bretons, they also protect the Welsh and Scottish. So far, it's been a good investment. The Walloons, for some reason, don't seem bothered that the Welsh are allegedly so na?ve and poor, that they cook cheese atop toast, and call that rabbit...

Not too far away, in a warm cottage, a boy helps himself to some Welsh rabbit. To him, it's one of the best things. So what, if there's no rabbit in it? Seriously; some people could afford to learn to imagine a little. Life's too short to be real, after all...

He savors the bite he's on...and swallows it. He looks down, and probes his fork for more, and...

An actual roast rabbit has filled his plate. It smells good.

Confused, Kyle takes his time, as he tries a bite. He likes it. He keeps eating it...worried that he's going to snap back to reality any moment now...

Someone's at the door. In a hurry, Kyle wipes his mouth, and attends to it.

It's an adorable chick. She smiles, and asks to be let in. Kyle does. He locks the door behind them, and takes her raincoat for her.

"I'm Jenny, BTW," she tells him. "Jenny Gordon. Dan Gordon's my uncle.

He hangs her coat. "I'm Kyle. Kyle Gwydion. I have six brothers. I hate them all."

She laughs, looks over at the table, and gawks. "Is that roast rabbit?! It looks good! Where did you get it from?"

He scoffs. "Honestly, I'm still trying to figure that out..."

As a show of hospitality, Kyle makes some more Welsh rabbit. She sits at the table, and talks to him, as he cooks. He likes it. He almost wishes she'd stay...as much as he understands why she'd want to move on from here, before morning.

At last, he sits across from her. He scoots the rabbit over to her, and starts eating his second helping of Welsh rabbit. Ms. Gordon seems confused...but she eats the rabbit anyway.

"Mm," she comments. "It's got gravy. Did you make it yourself?! It's just SO good..."

"I don't know. I think I made it, but..." He studies his arms. "I'm not so sure..."

She scoffs. "What are you talking about?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. So, you're a Gordon. Does that make you a cricketeer, or a builder?"

She giggles. "It makes me the scion of a foreign affairs ministry worker, actually. My parents live in Mauritania. Crazy shit... Don't worry about it, though. Mauritania's far from here."

He wipes his mouth. "I know. I sometimes have dreams about being there myself."

"O, really?!" She leans forward, and rests her chin on both hands...which is a keystone for her arched arms. "Care to try to tell me about one? You don't have to try, if you don't think you're ready."

He laughs, and closes his eyes. He tries to imagine such a vision.

She waits, in sweet anticipation. Very rare, does Ms. Gordon meet a guy who can talk about his visions with confidence...

Behind her, a rug levitates off the floor. From the kettle on the stove, a glowing colored mist spews from the spout. A hookah tries to conjure itself atop the coffee table...

Kyle sighs, and gives up. Around them, the rug drops, the mist from the kettle vanishes, and the hookah vanishes.

Kyle shakes his head. "I'm not ready. It's just...too much."

She smiles. "I understand." She looks around. "This is a nice cottage. How long have you been here?"


Over the bog, night falls. Far away, a wolf howls...

The moon rises. It adds even more lunacy to the bog than it has. And that's seldom good for the locals...

All around the cottage, white flowers bloom. This is strange; there's not even any sunlight to encourage this...

For the night, Kyle has retired. He's in briefs. He lies alone on a bed. His hand is down the front of his briefs...

Baroque and rococo furniture surround him. They're extravagant, in how they're designed. A fresco dominates the ceiling. It's of an order of blonde she-angels, surrounded by a sun-shiny and white-cloudy utopia... A lot of these angels are topless... (Ah, baroque times; you gotta love them...)

In the chambers in which Kyle sleeps, a window opens on its own. Through it, a mysterious storm blows through...

Kyle's about to go through a revolutionary transformation. Tonight, he becomes the Chosen One...as he is the seventh son of a seventh son...

As his body transforms on the inside, his eyes open. Bright yellow light shines from them...

Across the chambers, yellow lightning flashes. Kyle sits bolt upright, and looks right into the bolts...

It all ends. The wind dies, and the curtains around the open window rest at ease.

Kyle's eyes stop shining. He feels exhausted. So, he falls over on his back, and passes out. His briefs are on crooked...and he's in the buff otherwise. Good thing Ms. Gordon doesn't barge in on him... But then, with her luck with boys, she'd probably want to about now...

The night passes. Kyle lies where he is. When he wakes, he'll be living in a different world. And Ms. Gordon will HARDLY be the only girl this boy ever meets...

A framed painting hangs on one wall. The woman in it looks astonishingly much like the singer Terri Clark...