The trouble was, September didn't know what sort of story she was in. Was it a merry one or a serious one? How ought she to act? ... Of course, we would like to tell her which. But no one may know the shape of the tale in which they move. And, perhaps, we do not truly know what sort of beast it is, either. Stories have a way of changing faces.
— Catherynne M. Valente in 2011