"Okay, tell me what's going on," Jon said. "This isn't like the stories."
"Yeah, well. Stories are usually exaggerated," the elf said.
"So, what's the North Pole really like? I mean, some of the details are right. Elves, toys, Santa. But it's like it's all been twisted."
"Maybe it seems like that for you, but for me and the rest of the elves, it's been like this for centuries."
"Centuries? How old are you?"
"It's not nice to ask someone their age, you know," the elf said. "But, since you deserve some answers, I'm over seven hundred years old."
Jon looked down at the small man. If it weren't for his short stature and the fact that he had pointed ears, Jon could have sworn that he wasn't older than thirty or thirty-five.
"So what happened?" Jon asked. "How did the stories get it so wrong?"
"Well, at one time, this place was a lot like the stories. But then about three hundred and fifty years ago ..."
