Evelyn Grimsby fell in love only once, when she was twelve years old. It was a moonlit summer night, and fireflies were dancing in the air. She was in the deep forest with her dear friend Aloysius Wulf, and her foster father, Lord Ichabod Grimsby. The three of them stood, all covered in blood, before the gates of an ancient monestary.

 Then it happened. A thunderous detonation--a massive explosion from deep beneath the structure.

 "What was that?" Evelyn asked Lord Grimsby.

 "That," the old man said with a wink, "was for good measure."

 Another detonation shook the earth, and then another and another. Stone and mortar split and buckled, and the monastery turned in upon itself and collapsed. When it was done, nothing but rubble and ruin remained.

 "Explosives," said Mr. Wulf.

 Explosives. She turned the word over in her head and took its measure.

 And that was it. She was in love.