Seventy nine years ago, Carol had decided that she wouldn’t grow any older. And, as far as anyone could tell, she hadn’t. She still had the same figure and the same complexion; she moved around at the same speed as ever and with equal dexterity; she was as attractive as ever and remained seldom short of suitors; and her mental faculties were as sharp as pins.

There had been no tremendous trick to what had happened. Somehow, the simple certainty of Carol’s decision had been sufficient to make it so. Her body had, quite simply, failed to age for almost eight decades. Indeed, Carol often wondered why everyone didn’t do the same: simply decide not to get any older.

Carol had spent much of the past seventy nine years in quiet contemplation of the world around her, and in methodical study of the mathematics and geometry of her everyday life. Informed by this, she built amazing structures using unique patterns of her own devising which puzzled her neighbours at first. But eventually, they grew to appreciate their beauty.

Carol grew to understand the world around her and could not only tell which way the wind was about to blow, but could sense both danger and opportunity in equal measure. Carol was therefore adept at protecting herself against impending disasters and was also the first to take advantage of changes going on in the world around her. She thrived, forever young.

But since Carol was a very small spider, living in the sand dunes on the Northumberland coast, nobody was any the wiser. Except Carol who was, of course, much, much wiser.

But not older.