Deep beneath the city, where the lamplight never reaches, there’s a place called the Underground World of Lost Objects. It smells like old library books mixed with warm cinnamon, and if you listen very carefully, you can hear the tick-tock of a thousand forgotten watches. The walls are covered in something strange—soft as a kitten’s belly but sticky like honey, making every step a little squelch.

This is where Roman found himself one afternoon, his shoelaces untied and his pockets full of marbles that kept clinking together. He hadn’t meant to come here. He’d only been chasing his favorite hat—a bright red one with a pom-pom that bounced when he ran. But the hat had rolled down a manhole (Roman had *accidentally* kicked it while pretending to be a soccer star), and now here he was, surrounded by mountains of lost things: keys that jingled like wind chimes, stuffed animals with fur as fluffy as clouds, and a pile of mismatched socks that smelled faintly of peanut butter.

Roman scratched his head. "Hmm," he said, "I should probably find my way back before dinner." But just then, a voice like a squeaky toy piped up behind him. "Psst! Hey, you!" Roman spun around and saw a tiny, round creature with glasses as big as teacup saucers. It was a Truth Sprite, and it was balancing on a stack of overdue library books.

"You look lost," the sprite said, adjusting its glasses. "But I can help! Just follow me to the Truth Tunnel!" Before Roman could ask what a Truth Tunnel was, the sprite zoomed off, its tiny wings buzzing like a bumblebee. Roman tripped over his shoelaces (again) and went SPLAT into a pile of pillows that smelled like lavender and grandma’s hugs.

The Truth Tunnel was a long, winding path made of mirrors that reflected Roman’s face in funny ways—sometimes tall and skinny, sometimes short and round. The sprite hovered in front of him, its wings shimmering. "The rule is simple," it said. "You have to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth—or you’ll be stuck here forever!"

Roman gulped. He *had* told a little fib earlier that day. He’d told his friend Leo that he’d seen a dragon in the park. (It was really just a squirrel with a bushy tail, but Leo’s eyes had gone wide like saucers, and Roman had loved the attention.) Now, standing in the Truth Tunnel, his stomach felt like it was full of wriggly worms.

The sprite crossed its arms. "So? What’s the biggest story you’ve ever exaggerated?" Roman’s cheeks burned. He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, which felt scratchy like sandpaper all of a sudden. "Well… I might’ve said I saw a dragon," he mumbled. "But it was just a squirrel."

The sprite gasped so hard it nearly fell off its stack of books. "A DRAGON?! That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!" Then it burst into giggles, rolling around on the pillows. Roman’s face turned even redder, but then—something strange happened. The mirrors around him stopped showing silly versions of his face. They showed the *real* him, the one who loved telling stories but didn’t want to trick his friends.

The sprite wiped its eyes. "Okay, okay, I’m done laughing. But you know what? That squirrel *was* pretty cool. Bushy tail, right?" Roman nodded, and the sprite grinned. "The Truth Tunnel lets you out if you promise to tell the truth from now on. Deal?"

Roman stuck out his pinky. "Deal." The sprite hooked its tiny finger around his, and suddenly, the tunnel filled with a warm, golden light that smelled like fresh-baked cookies. Roman felt a whoosh of wind, and then—

THUMP. He landed right back in the park, his red hat sitting neatly on his head. Leo was there, kicking a rock. "Hey, Roman!" he called. "Did you really see a dragon?" Roman took a deep breath. "No," he said. "But I *did* see the coolest squirrel ever. Wanna hear about it?"

And as Roman told the story—this time, *just* the way it happened—Leo’s eyes went wide again. But this time, Roman didn’t feel the need to add any dragons. Because the truth, he realized, was pretty amazing all on its own.

The end.