"We don't just hug people, Twyla," Bastian lectured, in a sing-song voice. He had lifted her up and plopped her in front of the Dresser.
"I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be sorry. You just have to remember next time. Now let's get some clothes."
Bastian opened the door and ushered her in.
Twyla was still awed by the amount of clothes that this space held. "How long have you been doing this?" she asked.
"What? The Dresser?" Bastian clarified. He thought about it for a minute. "I guess, a few centuries."
"Centuries?!"
"I told you. I'm old."
"Huh." Twyla knew he was old but hearing out loud that he'd been alive for centuries made it more real. "Wait. Then why are all the clothes… Like…" she wasn't entirely sure how to put it. "Um… Newer…"
"You mean not completely crazy and uh vintage like me?"
"Well....."
