I had to be careful. Inch them in the direction I wanted them to take, use my bait to draw them gently, imperceptibly, toward a prettier story than the one they had their eyes on. A delicate operation. Their eyes start to shine, and their grasp on the little chip of truth would loosen, until it dropped from their hand and fell, disregarded, by the wayside. It never failed. A good story is always more dazzling than a broken piece of truth.
-Diane Setterfield

How long have you stood at the edge staring at the universe, mocking its skies, its stars and moon, its decay and glamour, its paradoxes and contradicions?

Tell me the truth.

An ironic demand.