Reading your own diary

The two royals, still dressed in their costumes, snuck around the house. First, they crouched behind the hedges, but couldn’t see much of anything. Then, they crept around to the garden and perched in the kale patch. From there, they could see through a window. The witch was sitting on her couch, holding a book. Maybe she was reading it? Maybe she was writing in it?

They decided if they were going to be spies, then they needed gear, so they went into town and bought what they thought spies would need: pens, notepads, and binoculars. With their new stuff in tow, they crouched back in the kale.

She was still sitting on her couch, with a book. Now with powerful lenses at their disposal, the royals could see that the book was a diary. In fact, with a turn of the lens, they could see the title, written on the front, was “Wilma’s diary”.

“Why is she reading her own diary?”

“I’ve done that,” said the Empress. “It’s fun sometimes.”

She sat there, still reading, for a long time. The day wore on and the sun started to set. The witch got up, disappeared and then sat down with another book. The title on the front, handwritten in black ink, was “Wilma’s diary”.

“Another one.”

“It’s like she’s reading her own story.”