“Hold it, hold it, hold it!” cried the boy.

His grandfather looked up from the book. “Yeah, what is it?”

“Westley already died once, but it wasn’t real. He’s just faking again, right? Right?”

“No, kid. He ain’t faking. He’s really dead this time.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

“But he can still come back, later, if Miracle Max brings him back to life!”

“Nope, not an option. Westley’s out of the picture now. And you know what else? Buttercup’s about to kill herself, too.”

“What? Grandpa! What kind of sick book are you reading me?”

“Hey, I didn’t hear you complaining when Vizzini drank the poisoned wine.”

“Yeah, but he was the bad guy! He was supposed to die!”

“Oh, I see, that makes it perfectly acceptable then. Someday they’ll sing folk songs about your overflowing sympathy.”

“Grandpa, just read the book.”

“You mean you want me to keep going?”

“It beats these lousy 8-bit video games.”

“You’ve got a point there. Okay, let’s see, Inigo, Fezzik, and Vizzini were on the wall, about to storm the castle…”