Traveling into the short stories had been all Conner could think about since he'd first had the idea. Naturally, the circumstances to warrant the trip were terrible, but he still felt like the luckiest author in the world. Who else got to visit the worlds and meet the people that existed only in their imagination? Conner often fantasized about seeing a film or play based on his writing one day, but this would be much better than that. It wouldn't be someone else's interpretation or adaptation of his words; everything would be purely as he'd envisioned it.