Just before Ronia was leaving for a flight, she addressed me in a serious tone. It's the tone I use when I'm not being serious at all, so I should have clocked it immediately. For example: I might lean my shoulder against her doorframe, and say, hey. I don't know if you heard the recent news alert. But there was an incident at the zoo's Darkfang exhibit, and one or more of these terrifying serpents was inadvertently released.

It's clear by this point that she's not taking the threat seriously, which means I haven't communicated the very real danger such creatures present. "It's like a Ghost Snake," I'll say, my brow knit to stitch the mortal threat into place. "Even an ordinary snake constitutes a wily opponent. Imagine if physicality itself were no object! Imagine if a snake had mastered Death."

"Release me," is her typical response. Anyway, this time, she said, "Dad, if you go to Florida… please. Please," she said. "Make sure that cookie tea."

"Daughter," I replied gravely. "Only one beverage has this power."

Concerning Comics That Do Not Exist