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"Will you?" said Styg, repainting his nails for the third time that day. The jitter of the train left a rough purple edge on his cuticles. "It's only once a week. My mom knows the Graylings' butler, and he's supposed to be nice. Plus, aren't you curious about The Pit?"
Olive lowered her face around an arched eyebrow. "The Pit? For real? Do you know it's really ... real?"
"Oh, maybe," Styg waved the tiny paintbrush around in his flared-out fingers like a bobbing peacock, "there's only one way to find out."
"Yeah ... if it is," said Olive, "if it ... hm." The Pit wasn't much talked about among humans because nobody knew if it was true; and among the Creatures, it wasn't polite to mention. "A hole to nowhere," is how Olive's mother had once described it, and Styg's mother had put the topic to rest by adding, "a fine way to say goodbye for good."
Olive fingered the lump in the hem on her coat again, and thought.