She loved the crisp fffffwwwwt as she turned the pages. The panels spoke to her. Segments of story that meant nothing alone, but pieced together told the salvation of humanity. A quick pow! or snikt! made her soul dance. Though young, she knew the truth. The truth of fictions. She didn't care what she heard. These fictions were hers. Those which made sense of an ugly world. Where a cape could block out the sun.