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Catch a fallen star . . .
Tristran thorn promised to bring back a fallen star. So he sets out on a journey to fulfill the request of his beloved, the hauntingly beautiful Victoria Forester—and stumbles into the enchanted realm that lies beyond the wall of his English country town. Rich with adventure and magic, Stardust is one of master storyteller Neil Gaiman's most beloved tales, and the inspiration for the hit movie.
“Aaaahhhh.That’s better.” He passed the cup to Tristran. “Sip it slowly,” he said. “It’s worth a king’s ransom, this bottle. It cost me two large blue-white diamonds, a mechanical bluebird which sang, and a dragon’s scale.” Tristran sipped the drink. It warmed him down to his toes and made him feel like his head was filled with tiny bubbles. “Good, eh?” Tristran nodded. “Too good for the likes of you and me, I’m afraid. Still. It hits the spot in times of trouble, of which this is certainly
same color as her dress. Tristran had thrown himself onto his hands and knees and had crawled toward the fireplace. In his left hand he had hold of the lump of wax, all that remained of the candle that had brought him here. He had been squeezing it in his hand until it was soft and malleable. “This had better ought to work,” said Tristran to himself. He hoped that the tree had known what she was talking about. Behind him, the unicorn screamed in pain. Tristran ripped a lace from his jerkin
captain tapped his pipe against the side of the boat. A movement of his hand had already erased the picture of the castle. “Aye. And he’s not the only member of the fellowship with an interest in your return to Wall. Which reminds me, you should tell the young lady that if she fancies trying to pass for other than what she is, she might try to give the impression that she eats something—anything—from time to time.” “I never mentioned Wall in your presence,” said Tristran. “When you asked where I
your house?” asked Madame Semele. “Young people today. One of them thought it would be good sport to fire the house of a poor old woman who has never harmed a soul. Well, he learned his lesson soon enough.” “Aye,” said Madame Semele. “They always learn. And are never grateful to us for the lesson.” “There’s truth for you,” said the woman in the faded scarlet dress. “Now, tell me, dear. Who rides with you this day?” “That,” said Madame Semele, haughtily, “is none of your never-mind, and I
myths: four-colour fantasies, which include men in brightly coloured costumes fighting endless soap opera battles with each other (predigested power fantasies for adolescent males); not to mention friendly ghosts, animal people, monsters, teenagers, aliens. Until a certain age the mythology can possess us completely, then we grow up and leave those particular dreams behind, for a little while or forever. But new mythologies wait for us, here in the final moments of the twentieth century. They