I was that sickly child. The one in books who has glasses from reading too much. I read to live.
And, because my mom was super picky about what I read, I lived well. When “real” life seemed too hard to bear, well, I’d go somewhere else. My favorite places to go were the Seven Enchanted Isles with Prince Caspian. Or the highlands with David Balfour and the incorrigible Alan Breck.
When I was about thirteen I discovered the beauties of Pemberley and sighed with contentment when Lizzie was able to live there, after all. And to this day, whenever I need to, I open the worn blue cover of a favorite, and run out into the Hundred Acre Wood with Pooh.