In all histories, fictions, tales and realities, the principal players should demise, dissipate, in an atypical manner. The hero most admirably, the villain abominably, the angel spiritually, the diablo monstrously, both the average and extraordinary soul in utter nonentity, for thus reflects doth the actual reward for participation.
I can be the lion, tinman, scarecrow, most easily, for they are but faces of the one wizard, nothing more, nothing less. So tell me a story, rhyme me an allegory, punctuate quite pithily, enunciate explicitly. Perform for me as my Dorothy, windswept entirely kempt, be my Alice, fallen but completely upright. I need a suited counterpoint, an exquisite invigorating rub up the right way, smoothing, shining, emphasizing my illustrious sheen, emboldening my glinting gloss. Superlatives are a vital ingredient of any fables entertaining longevity, aiding to establishing the import and relativity within the enormous lexicon so readily available to we are willing students. We all own a favorite myth implanted deep within our psyche.