OVERTURE — Skyblue’s questions

As a child, she had tried very hard to be like everyone else. It never worked. There was always a question that slipped out at precisely the wrong moment.

“It is an honor to belong to an enchanted village of dragons,” her teachers would repeat, looking solemn.

Their solemn faces made her laugh. And laughing too much was one of the things adults found most upsetting.

Then came the questions.

“Why do they collect so much treasure if they never use it?”

Or this one, which was worse:

“Why is one dragon more important than another just because he has more stones?”

The adults did not consider these suitable questions. Skyblue would have been happy with an answer, but what she usually got was a scolding.

Whenever something disturbed the peace of the village, the grown-ups shook their heads.

“That was Skyblue.”

Sometimes it was. Sometimes she hadn’t even been there. Explaining made little difference. Parents told their young to stay away from that girl. She was a magnet for trouble, they said.

Skyblue wanted stories to end happily and games to be fun for everyone. Once, she suggested a game in which no one would lose.

“Then who would we make fun of?” the others asked.

“Nobody.”

“What’s the point of playing, then?”

“To have fun.”

She couldn’t convince them. Nor did things go any better when she asked a teacher how long it had been since he last laughed. She was curious, but he thought she was being rude.