Pulling back the paper hood from his wrinkled face, the old man
caught the eye of his pupil. "Lucky Starfolder," he said, "the folds are
strong with you."

     "I don't believe in the folds," said young Luck. "Just a page out of
a children's story."

	  
     The old man chortled, then sat heavily on a paper chaise lounge.
"Never underestimate the force of the folds, Luck. Although the power of
folded paper increases harmony, it can also be bent towards destruction.
Your father, you know, succumbed to the reverse side of the folds. He is
the reason for this ever widening rip in the Peace of Paper."

     "But Foldy-One-Papyrus, my father is dead."

     "No, Luck. He is just crimped beyond recognition. He lives for the
glory of showing off his twisted folds while squashing the folds of
others. He pirates away origami supplies, depriving us of square-cut
paper and foils; hence his name . . ."

	  
     "You don't mean my father is Dearth Paper!" Luck exclaimed.

     "Your father is the fold's mortal enemy. And you, Lucky Starfolder,
are the fold's final hope."

     Foldy-One-Papyrus unfolded from his chair and gave Luck the square
sign. "May the folds be with you."

*   *   *