On any given day I find myself falling into the make-believe world of my favorite stories. Losing myself in the wonder of what my literary friends are doing. Is Elizabeth Bennet reading or out for a walk? Is Daenerys Targaryen on the way to Kings Landing with her dragons? And what awaits her when she gets there? Will Lyra Belacqua find solace after her parents' betrayal? I feel guilty spending so much time pondering the lives of people who don’t really exist. But then I remember the laughter, joy, anguish or wonder that I felt when I was reading about their story.