Greta beams, her hands clasped in front of her chin in a moment of unabashed giddiness. "Oh, that's perfect," she says when he tells her the title. "I'd found most of the others in storybooks -- Jack and Cinderella and Rapunzel and so on -- but I was beginning to think my husband and I had been erased on purpose or something."

Apparently, they haven't. Maybe it shouldn't thrill her so much, but it's hard not to feel vindicated. That will show all the versions that wrote them out. "You have to tell me everything," she insists, wide-eyed. "How does it go?" She stops just short of asking if they defeat the second Giant or not -- that seems like cheating -- but there's nothing to suggest that she'll even remember any of this when she goes back home. It might not matter what he tells her.