I named my good car Olwen because she came from the Summer Court; her paperwork said so. I picked "Olwen" rather than any other standard Arthurian name because Olwen, poor girl, seems to have been nearly the only lady in the entire legendarium who was neither wicked nor witchy. She merely had an unreasonable giant for a father and got rescued by some knight.
So I suppose, given her heritage as a Muggle among dangerous folk, it was only a matter of time before the dear girl ran afoul of someone or other. It happened tonight while Daddy and I were having a dinner date between work and the Awana awards ceremony.
I parked Olwen back behind El Parasol (the haven of taco goodness), and when I came back to her, all the little display needles went nuts and then died. Whoops.
Personally, my theory is that an evil magician came along and cursed her battery. Daddy did something mysterious to her innards with a red ice scraper and was able to make her regain consciousness in brief gasps, but we think the whole battery ought to be switched out. ("Bring me her heart in this jeweled box.") She spends tonight alone. Perhaps tomorrow we can awaken her.
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