There was a system to all the envelopes hanging in her house; a system only she knew. The black ones for the characters never published, the white ones for the ones who have not decided which story to appear in, and then there were the red ones.

The red ones were few and rare and sealed tight forever. Those were the stories that she had sold to others. She sometimes stood below a red one and tried to guess which little marvelous idea of hers was in that...