Ariorl.
Three thousand miles below the Atlantic, size being enough to make Atlantis look like a pea.
Tarina.
A small girl, living in Ariorl, in fact, small enough to make her father look like a giant.
The story begins, well at least most of it begins, in London.
"Underwater city! Read all about it!" Cries of newspaper sellers everywhere, pockets bulging with dirty 50 pence pieces. Johnathon looked at them in disgrace. Huh, he thought. What terrible stuff. A city in the Atlantic? I think not. He walked on back to his house. A bungalow, it was, although very strange. The first room you come into is the bedroom. He sat down and started to read.
Words buzzed through his head.
The story, in which Johnathon was in the middle of, went like this:
Said Davis. And he walked off. Tarina swam off into her cave, where she wept, and wept, and wept.
