I am no queen, but I write of them. True, I talk of dreams, of books that are among the offspring of my active brain, begetting worlds, and countries, and gods, and heroines, and diverse creatures of unruly fantasy.

My carriage goes through demigods’ brains, and they dream of heroes and lost loves.

Over the necks of the undead, and they dream of cutting foreign throats against breaches, against curses, and pray for a living queen.

I prick foreign knights with their own curving swords, to torment them with a fortuneteller, who has the dead within her basket, whose skirts are trained by ghostly pets and can read the past of murdered queens.

Within these fantastical lands, I found a princess, discounted like many, but who rescues others with feats of arms and knowledge,

You might read others, whose books have passed with a gatekeeper’s blessing and onto your shelves, or those of a mean practiced art who are as inconstant as the wind, and woo you to their unedited books…

But I, Mab, hire editors and artists, and write of these fantasy lands, and will one day venture to the stars, and create more worlds, and more people, gods and queens to befriend you.

I, Mab, am glad to greet you, for I will bring you many books.