VI
Frog ripped off his lapel microphone and walked out of his news studio. The studio was on the roof of the Frog Tower, his home in the middle of downtown. The sky over the roof had been magicked to look like a studio ceiling. Lights and cameras floated suspended in the air, shining down on him. A faint pink wall surrounded the studio, and every now and again he saw the city through the glowing membrane. But he preferred the simulated bog just outside the studio, a spell he’d learned from Lord Dark the First to recreate a natural space from a memory. It had still water, mud, and even lily pads and cat ‘o’nine tails just like the only real home he’d ever known. Even the sour, mushroomy perlite smell was the same. He positioned the bog in front of his desk in the studio so he could see it
