tell me a story

"I like stories," She said, "tell me a story."

The girl, a small brunette creature of nine, was sitting with her legs propped up on a chair, leaning forward on the hard wooden furniture.

"But isn't there something else you'd rather want?" Her older brother, exceeding her by 12 years was a tiny bit guilty; it was her birthday after all, and he had not managed to secure her a present that day.

"No," She said, ignoring the piles and piles of wrapping paper that littered the floor, knowing that this was the most 'priceless' gift she was going to receive that day. Her brother was more of a guardian than both of her parents combined, with all of their wealth. They were always away on business, occasionally lying that they would come home in a week or two. The times that small Lottie actually had seen her parents were countable by under 10. Most all the contents of the ravaged wrapping paper and pretty ribboned boxes had been jewels; things that were inconsequential to her, though they would make a poor thief on the streets cry for joy.

The brother sighed, twirling some of the ribbon in his hands. He ran through the labyrinth of imagination and knowledge contained in his head, quickly piecing a story together worthy of her entertainment.

"Alright," He said, "I've got one."