NOTICE: This is the last day to sign up for WordCrafters, guys! *Runs around with flashing lights and sirens* Okay, done with that. XD

Ahem. The. Last. CWWC. Challenge. Often I got pretty stressed out trying to finish my stories in time, but I loved how the prompts inspired me to write creatively. Sometimes I didn’t know how the story was going to turn out! Thank you so much for hosting CWWC, Loren! You did a great job. 😀 (By the way, I put several of my longer stories on a page called, uh…”Stories” up there with the rest of my pages below the header. I put each serial story on its own page so you can read it all at once instead of in little parts.)

Loren, I used the three prompts from this challenge.

I had to kind of rush for this, like usual, but I hope you enjoy it! 😀


 Rose the Runaway

Rose closed the book with a sigh. She scrambled to her feet on top of her bed, and held one arm above her head dramatically. She lifted her voice:

“Oh, that I should live to see thee so, dearest Evelyn. Why dost thou turn from me, thy life-long companion?” Rose shook her head at the thought of what poor Genevieve must have felt when she spoke that heart-rending passage. How could Evelyn have turned away from Genevieve? Especially when Genevieve had all of the qualities one could desire in a book heroine. She was brave, kind, and especially beautiful.

Rose wistfully recited another passage from the book: “Genevieve’s slender throat was milk-white, vying with the chain of pearls around it in purity and beauty. Her dreamy, violet eyes, so large and round, looked on everyone with gentleness. Her full, red lips spoke naught but love, and her slender, soft white fingers were filled with tenderness at every touch.”

Rose heaved another sigh from the depths of her nine-year-old soul. She gazed at herself dolefully in the mirror. No milk-white throat for Rose; hers was definitely brown. No dreamy, large violet eyes for Rose; only small gray slits peeping from under a heavy brow. No full red lips or soft fingers for Rose; her lips were pinched and thin like the rest of her, and her fingers were short and rough. Rose’s cherished dream was to grow up into a beautiful lady, as virtuous and charming as the best of heroines – like Genevieve.

Her second dream was to have a life worthy of a heroine. Rose figured that her life so far couldn’t have been more boring if it had tried. She hadn’t fallen off a cliff, graciously rescued her worst enemy, put out a fire, fallen down a well, or even broken an arm. The most exciting thing in Rose’s life had been when her family had moved across the street. And there was nothing heroic in moving if you didn’t have to change schools or move away from your friends.

But Rose was determined to do at least one exciting thing in life. She was going to run away from home. Once, when she was seven, Rose had tried to run away and promptly raced back to her house after meeting a large, growling dog; but this time Rose shouldered her pack resolutely and trotted off through the night. She had consulted several of her favorite books, finding out just how a heroine should go about running away.

“Our heroine, Rose, makes her escape,” Rose murmured into the night. “She sets off bravely, with only a few supplies in her knapsack. Will she be strong enough to survive?”

Rose tramped across two fields, crossed an empty highway, and headed up a hill.

“She has made it this far; our heroine will not give up now,” Rose spluttered between huffs and puffs. “Her legs ache with the strain as she climbs up the steep mountain. She shields her eyes and squints at the glaring snow topping the mountain. She gasps as her worn shoes hit the frozen powder. Can she make it?” It was the middle of summer, and Rose wouldn’t climb a mountain for her life, but that didn’t stop her imagination from embellishing her escape.

“Now the courageous Rose has reached the mountain top. She stands wearily atop it, taking in the view with her big, violet eyes.” Rose was getting tired now, but she quickly brightened up as her imagination concocted a picture in her mind. There was a picture of her in the newspaper. MISSING, it was captioned. Girl, nine years old. Light brown hair. Please call if you have any information of her whereabouts. Her father and mother knocked on every neighbor’s door, but always with the answer, “Sorry, I can’t help you.” This was something like it! Now she was really living like a story character.

By the time Rose crossed two more hills, she was exhausted. “Our heroine will just take a short rest before going on…” Rose yawned and cast her eyes about for a correct, bookish place to sleep for the night. There was now stack of hay, old barn, or abandoned house, but Rose decided a willow tree would do for shelter. She slipped off her knapsack and used it as a pillow.

“This is the life,” she murmured with contentment. Soon, however, Rose was not very content. The ground and a knapsack couldn’t hold a candle to her own bed at home. Every time she rolled over, she felt a new rock poke into her side. After an hour, Rose raised tragic eyes to the sky, and moaned.

She had to face the facts: she would never make a good runaway, not when she couldn’t sleep on soft grass for the night. Rose’s shoulders drooped as she picked up her knapsack and started for home. But though her eyes were downcast and she tried to look properly mournful, Rose was secretly glad she hadn’t made out to be a good runaway. Who would want to live on wild nuts and berries when you could have pancakes for breakfast any day?

Rose crossed a hill, then another, and another. And another. And another. Rose didn’t remember that there had been so many hills when she had crossed them the first time. Suddenly she stepped out into a clearing with a white farmhouse and a barn sitting in the moonlight. Rose was certain she hadn’t passed that spot before. A large lump rose in her throat.

She was lost.

At first Rose felt a thrill run through her. She couldn’t have planned it better herself. What was more romantic and story like than to run away from home and get lost? But after a few moments, she wasn’t so thrilled. She remembered that even though her life might be boring, it was wonderful. She loved her parents and her brother and sister, and she loved playing in her backyard with friends. She loved everything about her life, she realized, except that it was boring. What did boring matter now? All Rose wanted was to flop onto her bed and fall asleep, waking up to the smell of pancakes in the morning.

Rose shuddered, and felt tears burning in her eyes. She tramped slowly past the farmhouse and kept on going, who knows where. After a half hour of walking, she began to see some familiar landmarks. Soon Rose was racing down the lane that led to her house. Oh thank you, God, she prayed gratefully. Her father was walking up and down the road, shouting her name. Rose flew into his arms, knapsack and all.

“Oh Daddy! I’m so sorry! I won’t ever run away again! I don’t care if my life is boring. I love you, and Mommy, and Brent and Julia.” Rose broke off into sobs and let her father pat her back.

“It’s okay, Rose. It will be alright, my beautiful girl.”


Rose woke to the smell of sizzling pancakes. What a strange dream, she thought, and curled back in bed with her book.


See ya’!



CWWC #8: Beyond the Looking Glass Finale!

This is it, guys! I’ve been writing “Beyond the Looking Glass” for every CWWC challenge so far, and this is the last part! I already have an idea for the next CWWC. 🙂

Loren, I used all three prompts from this challenge, plus the one about Ferrymen guarding mirrors. So four prompts. 😉

Remember, this is what happened last:

“It’s known to have many nasty side-effects…” One of which, apparently, is invisibility.



Beyond the Looking Glass, Part 8

An invisible Mother is hard to get used to. At each meal the conversation inevitably turns to Mother, and to two questions in particular: Will the invisibility ever wear off? Can we find some sort of cure?

One night we all agree that we will travel to the Ferrymen’s land together. My heart thumps like a wild thing inside my chest as we stand in front of the mirror in Mother and Father’s bedroom. Once again I gaze far down into the depths of my dark eyes reflected in the mirror, pulling with all my might, willing the land to reappear. Yes! I wrap my whole mind around the tiny scene buried deep inside my eyes, reaching for it until the mirror once again shows me a living picture of the land beyond the looking glass. Father, Mother, and I all plunge forward together into the mirror. We land on the other side, in the Ferrymen’s world, surrounded by shattered glass. This time there are three Ferrymen to meet us.

I explain our problem to them. They listen attentively, then huddle into a group and talk together in a strange clicking language. Finally the group breaks up and the first Ferryman approaches me. He signals us to follow him, and he flies over to a small mirror hidden away in a hollow tree. Father, Mother and I join hands once again. We have no idea where the mirror will lead us, but we trust the Ferryman.

We crash through the mirror successfully, and pick ourselves off the ground. We’re standing in a forest. In front of us is a small, round hut, with smoke curling out the chimney. I love it at once – the rounded door, the circular windows, the flowering vines creeping up the stone walls. We knock on the door and a small, bent old man with a thousand wrinkles in his face invites us in. His hair is snow-white and his eyes are ocean-blue. His brown, creased face reminds me of a molasses crinkle cookie.

“Come in, come in, and welcome. What can I help you with? The Ferrymen sent you, I presume?”

I am surprised that he knows but I nod, and explain our problem once again.

“Ah yes, my dear. You have come to the right man. Old Vandaff can get you straightened out.” He leads us into his house, and immediately my eyes are drawn to a wall filled with shelves. On those shelves stand rows and rows of the most beautiful bottles I have ever seen. They are filled with swirls and layers of delightful colors – lavenders, mints, yellows, and teals. The old man hobbles over to the shelves. “Pretty little things, ain’t they?” he asks with a grin. “There should be one here for invisibility…” he rubs his finger over the rows, whispering their names under his breath. “Starweed, lavender mist, nightflower… aha! Here it is: glitteroot. What a lovely plant. Have you seen glitteroot, my girl?” he asks me.

“I haven’t, sir, but it sounds beautiful.”

“Oh it is,” he exclaims. “And when it works its healing, it is more beautiful still. I will show you some glitteroot growing in the forest later. All of my cures are natural and forest-grown,” the old man says proudly. He carefully lifts the bottle from the shelf, pours a little of its purple-clouded contents into a measuring spoon, and mixes the syrup with a bit of warm water. “Come now, Miss Gray,” he gestures royally with his hands, “it’s time for us to see your pretty face.” He winks at the invisible spot where Mother stands and hands the cup into her invisible grasp.

I still can’t get over how the cup tilts up seemingly in midair when Mother drinks. She finishes the cup and… nothing happens. She’s still as invisible as ever. The old man catches our worried looks, and reassures us, “This is only the first part of the cure. We’ll need the lake to finish off the job. Follow me, please.”

We follow the old man down a narrow path. Along the way he points out some of the plants that were in the bottles, including glitteroot. It is a lovely plant, covered from its emerald leaves to its dark purple flowers with sparkling flakes of what looks like glitter. Finally we arrive at a huge lake. The old man tells Mother to get herself completely wet in the water. As she does, two amazing things happen.

The first thing is that Mother appears. Father and I splash out into the water, laughing and crying with relief. Father swings Mother around, and I hug them both. I stop hugging them when I see the water around Mother. Some sparkling substance is seeping into the water around Mother. It swirls around in the water, spreading gradually throughout the whole lake and spiraling madly up into the air around us. Twinkling stars of glitter dance around us as we stand in open-mouthed awe. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

Sparkling stars of light

Dancing to an unknown song,

Singing in a silent voice

Radiant in joyful grace.

Finally the stars fade, and we splash slowly through the water to the old man. He stands there with a look of joy and pride on his face. “I told you it was beautiful. It never gets old,” he shook his head admiringly.

I don’t notice anything beside the path this time. I have eyes only for Mother. How glad I am to see her again! I notice that her eyes are brighter, her smile more sincere, than they had been before the Healing Lily. She is cured at last!


My parents and I climb the stairs up to the flat roof outside my bedroom window that night. Father had said that’s what we used to do in our old house, when I was little. I had never been out on the roof because the creaking window would have been too loud for Mother before.

We unroll a blanket and lay on it on our backs, staring up at the stars. After a while I crawl to the edge of the roof and look down into the velvety darkness. I take a deep breath. The air seems more fresh up here, and the moon and stars look brighter. I feel free. I feel wonderful. I have my parents back, parents I didn’t even know where living. Life won’t be perfect, but it will be good. With Father and Mother by my side, I know it will be good.


Ahh, you gotta love happy endings, right? Thank you all so much for your encouragement for this story! It made me happy to read your sweet comments. I’ll probably put this story all together on a page soon.



Misty, I used the word prompt, did a plot twist, and included swans in my story. Loren, I used 7 prompts. I don’t have time to add the pictures, but they were the monsters one, the hunting us one, the muddy forest one, the blue butterflies one, the Here Be Faeries one, the dragon-on-a-branch one, and the shattered glass one.

My commentary is going to be brief because I don’t have much time. (As usual for writing posts. XD )

Remember, Adele has just found her father…


Beyond the Looking Glass, Part 7

“But… how are you alive? I thought you fell down a chasm!”

“I did. But I fell down here and as you can see, I survived to tell the tale!” Father grins. “The trolls were quite hospitable when they found me, and gathered up countless little things to make me comfortable. I took a while to recover from that fall.”

I remember something from Gwendolyn’s history lesson: “A little over a decade ago…the trolls living in Their land found something, we know not what…”

Now I know what they found – Father! Thirteen years ago Father fell into their world.

Father goes on, “Now I know why they were so eager to protect me: they wanted to conquer the world, and I was to help them. Apparently the troll king was not a favorite with his subjects, but they had no choice but to obey him. He commanded them to capture hundreds of Saepertines from the forest…”

“Wait, what are Saepertines?” I interrupt.

Father raises an eyebrow. “Look around you.”

I do, and see with a shudder the ghostly white, spiny monsters, stooped, terrifying. All this time They had miraculously kept back from Father and me.

“Oh,” I whisper, “you mean Them.”

Father nods. “When I saw a Saepertine for the first time, I was terrified, and when the trolls told me I was to be their Master I nearly fainted. But luckily they were as afraid of me as I was of them – they had never seen a human, you see. That was why the troll king needed me for his plan – they would finish off any troll in an instant. Soon I had them trained to despise everyone except for me and the trolls. All these years I have been trapped here longing for a sight of you and your mother.” His eyes light. “How is your mother, anyway?”

I look down at the ground. “She… she isn’t doing very well. She’s nearly deaf, and…”

Father cuts me off with a cry, “My Susan?!”

I nod sadly. “That’s why I’m here.” I tell him how I came here, and about the Healing Lily.

Father looks relieved. “So she won’t be deaf for long, then. But how are you going to get back to our world? I’ve been looking for an escape route for years.”

“The fairies and Ferrymen will help. They can help me with anything.”

Suddenly I’m jolted back to our immediate situation by the appearance of a soldier at the top of the pit. He, too, is paralyzed by fear at the sight of Them. “Father!” I shout, “We have to save the soldiers!” I realize that during the time I was sitting here talking, hundreds of soldiers may have met their death, falling prey to Them like I almost did.

“They are cunning, they are brave,

They are brutal, they are relentless,

And they are hunting us.”

Father face pales, and after giving me a quick hug, he disappears down a tunnel that must lead to other pits. I swallow hard. The monsters surrounding me evidently know that I am a sacred object, not to be touched, but I’m still frightened. I feel like Daniel in the lion’s den.

Father soon returns with a solemn look on his face. “Some soldiers have gone, never to return, but the Saepertines will reap no more harvest.”

I take a deep breath. “So are we ready to find the Healing Lily? Can you sneak out with me without being noticed?”

“Of course! Jonathan Gray can do anything with his daughter at his side.” He winks at me.

Oomph! I stumble over a log and land headfirst in muddy water. Yuck. By the time we reach the top of the mountain, Father and I are both covered in mud from head to toe.

Finding the Healing Lily is definitely not easy. For half an hour Father and I stumble over rocks and peer down crevices. As I turn to climb down a boulder, a faint glow catches my eye. It’s those butterflies again! I see the same glowing blue butterflies as I did when I entered the fairies’ kingdom. They explode in a glowing blue cloud when I approach them, and reveal the Healing Lily at last! According to Gwendolyn’s description, the Healing Lily is a small, cream colored flower with a brilliant purple center and five long, delicate petals. Yep.

“Father! I found it!”

Leaving the fairies was sad on both sides. Gwendolyn was happy that I had found the Healing Lily, but sad to see me go. Before I left, she flew up to me with a serious look on her face.

“I just thought I should tell you, Adele, that your mother may have to pay a price for using the Healing Lily. It’s known to have many nasty side-effects, especially if the person who takes it is really deaf. Sometimes…”

I quickly cut her off. “Thanks for the warning, Gwendolyn. I’m sure we’ll be alright.” I’m in a hurry to get back, so I race over to Father and pull him away from a conversation with the fairy king. “Goodbye, everyone! Thank you all so much!”

I thought over my adventures as I once again passed the sign with “Here be Faeries” painted on it. So much has happened since I saw that sign for the first time! I will remember this journey forever.

In the blink of an eye the forest disappeared and I’m back at the Ferrymen’s world. The swans are still floating serenely on the lake, and the dragon-bird Ferryman is still sitting on the branch of the tree. At our approach, he flaps down and escorts us to a mirror which reflects his whole land. Father and I hold hands and crash through the glass. I open my eyes to shattered glass shards all around me. The Healing Lily is still clutched tightly in my hands.

Father and I slip quietly down the stairs, where I prepare the lily as Gwendolyn instructed. Halfway through the process, Mother appears at the door and stares at us silently. Father beams at her, but she shows no signs of recognition.

I pour the mixture into a glass, and hand it to Mother. She looks confused, but drinks it all down anyway. I wait eagerly for her to say something, for a change to come over her.

It does. The change is beyond my wildest dreams.

My mother has vanished.

Before I can think, I feel a touch on my arm and a broken voice speaks to me.“Adele, my daughter, Jonathan, my husband! Welcome home!”

I gasp. “It’s known to have many nasty side-effects…” One of which, apparently, is invisibility.


Duh-duh-duh-DUN! What will happen?


CWWC #5/AAWC #7 + Some Exciting News

I’m back with “Beyond the Looking Glass” part 5, and some exciting news! (Hey, how did you know? XD ) This part got a tad long, so I didn’t get to put in the plot twist I was thinking of, but never fear, I’ll put it in the next part.

Loren, I used these three prompts:

THIS PROMPT – border


THIS PROMPT – “It is hunting us”

Misty, I used the word “silent” or “silence” several times in my story, and I also used a swan.

Settle back because this may take a while to read. 🙂 And one note before you start: make sure to remember that anytime capitalized “They” or “Them” is used, I mean the strange monster-creatures from this prompt.


Beyond the Looking Glass, Part 5

Before sunrise the next morning, strange people begin trickling into the fairy village. Centaurs, dwarves, elves, and fauns appear in groups around the fairy ring. By mid-morning, the army is complete and we begin the march.

Gwendolyn is supposed to be my guardian. If I was not so preoccupied with the thought of the battle ahead, I might have laughed at the thought of a little fragile fairy serving to guard me from terrible monsters. But as it is, I am grateful for any companion, however small.

At least I don’t have to fight. The fairy rulers had assigned me to spy duty along with Gwendolyn and several other fairies. Although I can be more easily spotted than a fairy, I have much better hearing and eyesight, which will be useful on our mission.

After nearly an hour of marching, we arrive at a soaring stone wall with a small wooden gatehouse wedged in it. Here we stop to rest, and Gwendolyn gives me a history lesson.

“This gatehouse is the way to Their kingdom. We have not always been enemies with Them. A little over a decade ago we did not know They even existed. We went freely in and out of Their land, which was inhabited only by friendly trolls – or so we thought. But one day the trolls living in Their land found something, we know not what. Trolls were suddenly hurrying through our land and theirs with a mysterious glint in their eyes, gathering this and that and following each other in long lines. About two weeks after the trolls started acting strangely, the wall went up. No one was allowed into Their land without the gatekeeper’s permission, and soon They appeared and started hunting us.”

Gwendolyn shuddered and continued. “Eventually no one was let past the stone wall. The trolls locked the door in the gatehouse that led to their land with many chains, and someone, probably one of Them, scratched a message into the door: ‘The world is not safe anymore.’ No one ever comes back if they stray beyond that door. What lies beyond is unknown.” Gwendolyn’s tiny head bows with sorrow and fear and she finishes her story:

“At noon we will storm the gatehouse and destroy the door. Then we must fight or die.

They are cunning and brave,

Brutal and relentless.

They are hunting us,

But now we will hunt them back.”

The little mouse named Fear runs up my spine again with its cold feet.

At noon the dwarves and Centaurs work quickly to destroy the door, and the whole horde surges through the small opening like a huge river being channeled through a tiny pipe.

I take in my first sight of Their land as I stand on Their side of the wall with Gwendolyn in my open palm. Empty meadows stretch around us, but in the distance we can see a mountain covered in dense, black forest. The spikes and spires of hidden buildings pierce the air on top of the hill.

“That must be Their headquarters,” Gwendolyn whispers to me, nodding her head at the hidden city. “Remember? The Healing Lily lives on that mountain, and so do They.”

“Do we h-have to go there to spy?”

Gwendolyn nods her head yes. Our fellow spies make a group around us, and Gwendolyn flits around to each member, explaining our mission: we must find out how many people dwell in the hidden city, and how hard it will be to win it for ourselves.

Our party finally flies forth – or in my case, creeps forth through the tall grass. I know the minute we are seen They will wipe us out, but They seem to be in hiding. The meadow is as devoid of creatures as it is of shelter. Hmm… and I wonder why there were no guards at the gateway. But I have no more time to wonder: we are at the mountain. Gwendolyn flies from my hand and addresses our group in a hushed voice.

“While traveling in this forest, you must all use extreme caution. They may be waiting for us behind any tree. Everyone must be absolutely silent – no talking and no whispering unless it is an emergency.” The fairy turns to me. “Tread carefully, Adele.”

Fortunately for me, the forest is made up of mainly evergreen trees, and the pine needles are silent under my feet. Once I thought I saw Them and my head shot up in fear. For that one moment I wasn’t looking where I stepped and a twig cracked loudly under my feet. My hand flew to my mouth and all of the fairies stopped in midair. I felt like the clumsiest being that ever lived. But it was a false alarm; even then They did not appear. Now I still feel vaguely nervous, like we are doing something wrong.

As we climb higher, I shiver in the cool air and try to hold back puffs and gasps as our way steepens.

Suddenly, we’re there.

Another stone wall surrounds this city. There are no guards or signs of life. Everything is silent. Maybe this is an abandoned city. I spot several small chinks in the mortar, and step cautiously up to one of them.

Whoa. I see towering wooden and stone buildings with many turrets standing proudly inside the walls, stretching up, up into the sky. But there are no signs of life at all, not even a smoldering fire or a stray toy. Gwendolyn signals everyone to gather around and whispers that we must go into the city. Even though the city looks deserted, the order still sends a shiver through me. What if They are just setting a trap for us? I must tell Gwendolyn! But the fairies are already flying high over the wall. I climb the wall clumsily using old vines as handholds and chinks as footholds. The climb down is much easier because there is a narrow staircase running down the wall to the ground. It’s a good thing you’re not afraid of heights, Adele.

I look around the city, on the alert for any signs of hidden monsters, but I see nothing. I catch up to the fairies who are just about to enter a house.

“Stop, Gwendolyn!” I whisper fiercely. “It might be a trap!”

Gwendolyn whispers back. “It might be a trap, but I don’t think so. We looked in the windows and the house seems empty. Besides, They won’t notice a few little fairies. You… you’d better stay outside, just in case. Get ready to run.” I gulp and edge closer to the narrow staircase.

Gwendolyn and her fairy friends slip softly into the house by way of a small knothole in the wood.

I hold my breath.

It feels like hours until Gwendolyn finally pops out through the hole and flies over to me, grinning. “There’s no one home!” she exclaims gleefully. I breathe a sigh of relief. Gwendolyn smiles and continues, “It looks more and more like this is an abandoned city. Although we can’t conquer any inhabitants, the city will at least provide shelter for our soldiers.”

What a relief! “So now we have to tell the soldiers, right?”

We set off down the mountain with joy in our hearts. We are safe! At least for now…

When we break out of the forest into the meadow, we head straight for the wall where the soldiers are preparing for battle. Gwendolyn eagerly tells her fairy king the good news that now they will be safe at night. But we spies still haven’t exactly accomplished our mission – where are our enemies? So after a short drink break, the spy party reforms and sets off as the soldiers begin the march up the mountain to settle their food and extra weapons in the city. If we bring them news of the enemy before nightfall, they will fight; if we don’t, they will wait till morning.

As we start off again, I spot a large white bird soaring overhead. Is it one of Their spies? I swallow hard and shrink down into the grass. Now I can see that it’s a swan – wearing something around its neck. It’s obvious that the swan is acting as a messenger, but whether from enemies or friends I do not know. I slip the loop of string from its neck and open the letter with trembling hands.

Beware! Things are not as them seem, Adele. Beware the hidden city, for it hides unpleasant surprises. They are the hunters, and you are the hunted. Do not fall into their trap. Signed, The Ferrymen

My heart stops. It IS a trap! And our soldiers are walking right into it!


If you read that whole thing, I heartily congratulate you. Here’s a virtual bag of truffles for your effort! XD

Now for the exciting news: we rescued a kitten tonight! It had climbed up into the attic of one of our sheds, and fallen about 8 feet down a hole in the wall! My dad was able to cut out a hole in a board, and my sister reached in and got her out. She’s SO cute! We named her Casey. I’ll definitely show you pictures in a future post, but for now I’ll just have to tell you that she’s a medium sized gray tabby with big ears. Adorable! She’s snuggled down in a box beside me now. 🙂 ♥


CWWC #4 and Last BIBPC

Yep, another contest post. 🙂 The story today is the fourth part of the Beyond the Looking Glass. (See the last part here. If you want to see all of the parts, just search “Beyond the Looking Glass” or “CWWC” in my search box.) Thank you guys so very much for your lovely and encouraging comments on it so far! You are so sweet. ♥ ♥ ♥

Anywho, I have a plot twist in mind for the next part which I think will surprise you. Heh heh. (Loren, I used the three prompts from this challenge.)


Beyond the Looking Glass, Part 4

I eagerly approach the fairy, but when she feels my shadow drop on her, her face suddenly contorts with terror and she rushes back into the toadstool house, slamming the tiny wooden door. A few seconds later I see her miniature pixie face peering anxiously out of a curtained window. She scans the forest. When she sees me, her face freezes in terror again, then melts into intense relief. Strange. What is going on?

The fairy scurries out of the toadstool and beckons me to lean down.

“Why are you here?” she whispers fearfully. “I don’t… I can’t believe that you’re one of Them…” She trails off and mutters to herself. “No, she can’t be on Their side. She is not one of them, I just know it.” She gazes up at me with her wide, green eyes that sparkle with fear. “Why are you here?” she asks again.

So I tell her. I tell her how I got to the land beyond the mirror; I tell her about the strange schoolroom, the riddle, and my surprise when I learned that silent, angry Mademoiselle Trumente is my mother who once loved me so much that she sacrificed herself to save me; and I tell her about the last message on the blackboard: “Go to the fairies. They will know what you need.”

During my story, the fairy’s eyes had constantly roved the forest, then returned for me. She was obviously afraid of something. Now I can’t stand it anymore. I have to know what she is afraid of, so I ask her.

She sighs. “So you don’t know Them. Very well, I will tell you, but you’ll wish you had never asked.”

A shiver runs up my spine like a mouse with cold feet. The fairy begins a sort of ballad in her soft, silvery voice.

They are cunning, they are brave,

They are brutal, they are relentless,

And they are hunting us.

White creatures, ghostly in the mist,

Stooped and spiny.

Horrible creatures that flit from tree to tree

As tall as trees themselves,

Or small as flowers growing in the sun.

We can never know what form they’ll take,

But we can always know

That they will be terrifying.

They steal into our village on silent feet,

But their silence is a loud and terrible silence.

In the morning, our village wails and mourns.

One more fairy gone to the land of no return,

One more friend lost to Them.

But now, we will fight back.

They are brave, but we are braver.

Bravery is overcoming fear;

We will overcome our fear

And destroy Them.

Now the fairy lifts her head and she looks beautiful standing there, proud and defiant. But she is tiny. How can such little fairies ever hope to conquer such strange, terrible creatures as tall as trees?

“I am so sorry.” I say, meaning it. “But what about me? Was the message right when it said the fairies will know what you need? Do you know what will save my mother?”

The fairy looks me in the eye. “I do. There is a plant called the Healing Lily that grows in the mountains. For centuries the fairies have prized the Healing Lily as a cure for blindness or deafness. It will cure your mother… if you can obtain it.”

I nod my head with excitement. “Oh, that is wonderful! How am I to get this Healing Lily?”

“That part is not so wonderful. The plant lives on the mountain, but so do They. You will come with us, and help us fight Them, and when They are conquered, you may take the flower.”

I gasp. I have no experience in war; I am not strong; I do not know how to use a sword or shoot a bow and arrow. And I most definitely do not want to meet Them. I struggle to find my breath.

“But – but isn’t there some other way? I won’t be much help to you – I don’t know anything about fighting.”

“We will teach you.”

“But…” It is no use. I know I must fight Them or never save my mother.

That night at dusk I cloak myself in a dark cape. The fairies have given me their largest lantern, which is still rather small for me. I return to the fairy ring to see dozens of fairies standing solemnly in front of their houses, watching me. Young and old, men and women, boys and girls, all are watching and waiting. The first fairy I met – who I now know as Gwendolyn – nods at me. I take a deep breath and wave to the fairies. It is time. It is time for me to test my bravery. I must carry the message to the surrounding kingdoms: “War on Them tomorrow.” The elves and dwarves and all the other people of the forest have been preparing for this moment for months. Now I will be the spark that lights the match, and tomorrow the fire will burn against Them.

I turn and hurry down the woodland path, consulting the fairies’ map every so often. It is certainly true that I can cover ground much faster than the fairies ever could. My hair streams out behind me as I run silently over the moss. I pass a dwarf graveyard, spooky in the misty night. Are They lurking behind every tree that I pass? Are They waiting for just the right moment to jump out and capture me? Will they put out the spark before it has time to light the match? I take a deep breath and remember what the Gwendolyn said: Bravery is overcoming fear. You can do this, Adele.


Oh no! What will happen? 😛

And now for the BIBPC entry. This is the LAST category, guys! BIBPC was lots of fun – thanks for doing it, Megan! The category this time was Photo Editing.

Close-up (2) (1280x960) (1280x960)
edited (5) (1139x854)


Story behind the photo: You may have seen the unedited version several times already on my blog, because I just really like it! It’s a picture of bubbles on the top of our aquarium. On PicMonkey I tinted it purple (obviously XD ), and added a few effects and basic touch-ups. Ahhh, purplicious! 😀


AAWC #6/CWWC #3: Beyond the Looking Glass, Part 3

Hello, fellows! XD Another quick writing post today. For this story I combined both the AAWC prompt “Smile,” and the CWWC prompts. (Click here to see them.) Misty, I used the word prompt and included “Swan” in my story. Loren, I used all three prompts from this round.

This is the third part of my “Land Beyond the Mirror” story. (See other two parts here and here.) If you recall, the mysterious blackboard is spinning a strange story of the past…


Beyond the Looking Glass, Part 3

How did you come to live in the dark old house, you wonder?

When your mother could travel no longer, she fell to the ground in exhaustion, hugging you in her arms. That is how the Ferrymen found you. They carried you both down to the land beyond the mirrors.

Aha! So that’s why I know what the Ferrymen are called!

You recovered, but that long journey had sucked everything from your mother. While you played happily with baby Ferrymen, your mother lay still and pale, unmoving and unseeing. Weeks passed, and the Ferrymen shook their heads over her in despair. But… she lived! Three weeks after the Ferrymen had found her, your mother opened her eyes and asked feebly where her daughter was.

I exhale slowly in relief. My mother lived! But what was her name and where is she now? Is she still living? The blackboard seems to read my mind.

Your mother’s name was Susan Gray.

I rifle again through my memory files. Nope. “Susan Gray” doesn’t bring up any results.

As for your other questions…

Your mother is living but not full of life,

Near and yet impossible to reach.

She is beside you every day,

But never knows you.

You know her best,

And yet you know her not.

The Ferrymen will help you solve the riddle. When you have solved it, come back for the rest of your lesson.

With that, I find myself back at the land beyond the mirror, back with the swans and birds and Ferrymen. The Ferryman who had given me the box is still sitting on the tree branch, but at my return he spreads his great wings and soared to the ground. I step up to the dragon-bird boldly. “I need to solve this riddle.” The Ferryman listens thoughtfully to the riddle, then nods his head. He flaps over to hollow log near a swan nest and pulls out something. The swan parents nearly go mad with protectiveness, and have to smile as the big, lumbering Ferryman flees back to me, two swans flapping furiously after him. He calms down, and shoves a piece of paper into my hand with his scaly claws. It is an old photograph. At the top is a beautiful signature: “Susan Gray” A picture of my mother! I study it carefully.

Long tangles of wavy, red-brown hair.

Chocolate brown eyes with flecks of gold.


But not me:

Wide, ruddy, smiling face,

Long nose, full lips, dimpled chin, green dress.

My mother.

Of course I am grateful to the Ferryman for this precious gift, but I don’t see how it can help me solve the riddle. But then I notice that something about the photo seems vaguely familiar. Can it be that I remember her after all? I pull out the memory files of my brain and look through them yet again.

Aha! I have found a match! Wait, what? And a most bewildering match it is.

Now I know who the picture reminds me of: Mademoiselle Trumente. How can this be?

Suddenly I am back in the schoolroom again. Writing appears almost immediately on the blackboard.

You have solved the riddle. Good. Yes, Mademoiselle is your mother. This is why:

Although your mother recovered partially after the earthquake, her hearing and part of her mind was damaged by the deafening sounds and terrible trials she had endured on the journey. Her body was not as young or as easily healed as yours was. Gradually her hearing worsened and it became painful to her to hear any little sound. Even the small noise of rain pattering on the roof was ear-splitting. That is why Mademoiselle insists that her house be quiet.

When your mother finally took you to where you live now, she could not remember her name, so she invented one herself. She taught you to call her “Mademoiselle Trumente” not because she loved to hear you say it. You always said “Mad-Michele” instead of “Mademoiselle.” How she laughed over that! Eventually the nickname stuck. By that time your mother’s hearing was far-gone and she could not tell you anything without great pain to herself. Her hearing has gradually worsened over the years until now. Now you must help your mother, if indeed you are willing. If you don’t help her now, her memory and hearing will be lost forever. You must wait until exactly the right moment.

“Oh yes! I am willing to do whatever it takes to get my mother back. Mother, Mother, I am so sorry. I will come back to you and help you. Please forgive me, Mother.” I called out her name as if that could make her hear me, as if that could make her care for me and love again like her own daughter.

Very well. Go to the fairies. They will know what you need.

The schoolroom vanished once again in the blink of an eye, and I found myself on a damp woodland path. Moss dripped from ancient trees and magical, glowing blue butterflies fluttered around me. I stopped at a wooden sign nailed to a tree. “Fairies Be Here.” I scanned the ground, but all I could see were toadstools and logs and tree roots. Just then I saw a tiny movement near one of the toadstools. A miniscule winged creature had just fluttered out of a little door in the toadstool.

A fairy!


I hope you guys liked that! I know, I know. This is getting really long, but I couldn’t finish the story and use all of the prompts without making it REALLY long, so I had to stop there.


P. S. If you haven’t checked out Hayley’s ATC Trade yet, you totally should! You only have until May 13th to submit your ATCs for the trade!

P. P. S. I’m so glad that lots of you wanted to see my “Birthday Post.” I’ll definitely do that! But… I don’t know when because I have lots of other posts that I’m definitely going to do too. XD

AAWC #5, CWWC #1, and BIBPC #5!

As you can see by the monstrous title, this post will be a conglomeration of contest entries. I combined the AAWC and CWWC prompts into one story, which I think turned out really well! (If you wonder what all of these acronyms stand for, click on their linked names to find out. 😀 )

First, the story. Misty, I used the word prompt (“Fade”) and my team mascot (“Swan”) in this story. Loren, I used all three prompts. (Click here to see the prompts for CWWC #1.) I had a lot of fun writing this, and incorporating some poem-ish things into the prose.

Duh-duh dun! I present…


Beyond the Looking Glass

Tonight rain and moonlight are tap-dancing together on the roof. Mademoiselle Trumente hates the rain because it will not obey her rule of absolute quiet. I slip out of bed in bare feet and steal silently over to the mirror. I have had much practice in being silent, for if I make a noise, Mademoiselle Trumente will be up the stairs in a moment, a silent apparition of doom. She will stand there in her threadbare slippers, strands of her greasy hair trembling and quaking about her thick red face as if they too, are afraid of her wrath. Her anger is a fierce fury, hotter than any fire, sharper than any sword, and deathly quiet. Everything in this house is deathly quiet. Even her punishments are quiet.

Down to the cellar for a day and a night;

No food; stale water; darkness; silence.

But tonight Mademoiselle does not appear at my door. I carefully avoid the third floorboard which always heaves a long groan of sorrow if I so much as touch it with a toe. I snatch up the lit candle and hold it in front of me as I gaze into the mirror. A girl’s face stares back at me from the gilded frame on the wall.

Long tangles of wavy, red-brown hair.

Pale face; drawn and thin and colorless.

Chocolate brown eyes with flecks of gold.

Small nose. Thin lips. Sharp chin. Black dress.


The mirror is unforgiving, but I want it to forgive. It will not show me what I need it to show. I have to know who I am.

I gaze far down into the depths of the dark eyes, pulling with all my might, willing secrets to come to the surface. There! Far down in my eyes, something moves. I concentrate, grasping the thought with my mind until the picture fills the eyes of my reflection, then my face, then the whole mirror. It is a beautiful scene. Torrents of water tumble over boulders, crashing into milky froth where they leap into the lake below. Pearly swans glide on the lake by the dozens, preening, eating, swimming. Graceful willow ladies and strong, ancient gentlemen trees stand shoulder to shoulder by the river. And… there it is. The familiar picture of two silhouettes sitting on a log-bridge. One of the figures is a young girl reading a book. The other figure is strange and fantastical: a cross between a dragon and an enormous bird crested with swirling plumes. The dragon-bird is listening intently to the girl as she reads aloud.

My mirror is a window to another world, a world guarded by strange dragon-birds called Ferrymen. How do I know what the dragon-birds are called? How can I see this land behind the looking glass? I do not know. I only know that I belong there. The girl swinging her legs on the log-bridge is me, I just know it. And the dragon-bird… I strain my mind, rifling through memory files that stretch back 16 years. As always, I come so close to solving the mystery. My mind clenches the memory, but cannot rip it open.

Why, why, why am I here?

Why do I live in this dark, old house?

Why must I always be quiet?

Who is Mademoiselle Trumente,

And why must I obey her?

What is the spell hanging over this house,

And how do I shatter it forever?

But mind is too weak. It lets go of the memory, and the picture in the mirror begins to fade. But this time I will not let it go. I cannot live like this, with my life shrouded in heavy clouds of mystery and loneliness and silence. I squint my eyes hard and force my mind to keep the picture before me. But it is no use. My legs are weak, and my mind is weaker. I cannot hold the picture. Wait! I need you to give me the answers! Don’t go…

Suddenly, I am angry. Angrier even than Mademoiselle is when I drop something and it clashes to the floor. I will not let the picture go until it answers my question. I will not let my mind give up until it finds the memory.






The picture comes nearer and nearer. I can hear the faint roar of the waterfall reaching me through the glass. I can hear the murmur of the girl as she reads to the Ferryman. What is she saying? Will it solve the mystery? Why, why, why am I here? My brain is churning. The picture is fading again. No!

If my mirror is a window to another world, I will break the window-panes and crawl over the windowsill. In desperation I pick up the wooden chest on my dresser and hurl it at the mirror. The glass shatters with a tremendous explosion. All I can think is Mademoiselle Trumente will be up the stairs now. How long will I stay in the cellar this time? Three days? A week? The rest of my life? I close my eyes and crumple to the ground. I give up. I wait wearily for Mademoiselle to glide over to me, outraged. I don’t care what she does. I give up. I have never been so tired in my life. Still Mademoiselle’s shadow does not fall on my face. With an effort, I open my eyes.

Broken shards lay scattered on the ground beside me, but I pay no attention to them. My eyes are fixed on something much more interesting.

What happened?


CLIFF HANGER! 😀 I’m probably going to continue this story later. Somehow I tend to write in the first-person point of view for contest entries. What do you think – which POV is your favorite to read?

Okay, now for my BIBPC entry:

flowers (37) (1024x768)

Story behind the picture: These strange flowers are called Dutchman’s Breeches. Don’t they look like puffy pairs of pants hanging on a clothesline? 😀 I took this picture when we made a trip to the Arboretum. There were SO MANY pretty flowers there! (See my flower overload posts here and here.) Did you know Dutchman’s Breeches are related to bleeding hearts? (I mean the flower bleeding hearts, not literal bleeding hearts. XD That would be funny if the flower names were literal: pants are related to bleeding hearts. XD XD )

Phew! I hope you enjoyed that super long post! It’s really, really fun to do these contests, but next time I might not do so many at a time. 😉


P. S. And before you go, you absotutely posolutely MUST check out Hayley’s amazing ATC trade if you like art! (And maybe even if you don’t. 😀 ) Basically, it’s a way to trade mini works of art with bloggers and people all across the country. I’m so excited to be a part of it!

CWWC Challenge #2, Part 2

Dun-duh-duh-dun! I present the second (and last part) of the second CWWC challenge! (Since I posted the beginning of this a while ago, you might want to refresh your memory by reading the first part here. Just scroll down the page until you get to “Challenge #2.”) *I got all of the photos from Pinterest. Click on the “via” links to go to the actual website (not Pinterest.)*


Immense, flat plains surrounded me on all sides. The ground was hard and cracked; the sky was dim and gray; and there was no sign of life anywhere near me but a few mournful blades of grass and my mournful self. But at the horizon I could faintly see an uneven line of trees – a forest. I thought the forest held much more promise than this desolate plain, so to it I set my course.

I looked down at poor Rantillo. I couldn’t just leave him here, not when he had saved my life! I decided to carry him with me. Perhaps I could bury him under a grand oak tree in the woods or something; at least I could find a more fitting place than these wild plains. Thankfully, since Rantillo was now made of light wood, I could carry him without too much effort.

For hours I trudged through the dusty land, dragging Rantillo behind me. By the time I reached the forest I was hot, sweaty, and looked nothing like the proper princess I once had been. Finally I halted at the front of the forest, in the cool shade of a row of majestic trees. They were ancient and towering; their bark was dripping with brilliant green moss; and their rustling leaves formed crowns of majestic beauty. They are kings and queens, just as much as I am a princess, I whispered under my breath. I pushed back my caramel-colored hair – it felt almost as sticky as real caramel – and stepped out onto a path richly carpeted in spring moss.

mossy path (411x632)


Only ten minutes later, the forest floor suddenly gave way beneath me, and Rantillo and I tumbled down a large hole! But this was no ordinary hole – this was more of a shallow pit, camouflaged by a network of vines. The vines clutched and grabbed at my legs as if they would never let me go. But using Rantillo as a firm ladder, I managed to climb out. Once again Rantillo had saved me. How I wish I could have saved him.

But all sad thoughts were chased out of my head by panic, for no more than three or four paces later, I fell into yet another pit! It seemed like the land around here was a veritable minefield of pits. I climbed onto Rantillo’s sturdy wooden back and looked over the edge of the hole. Sure enough, all the land around me was dotted with vines and slight depressions in the ground, which I knew were more depressed than they looked. (Well, deeper than they looked anyway, I don’t know about depressed – I don’t think they ever felt sad or glad.) I groaned. Maybe I should just find a place to sleep and look for a way around the pits tomorrow. I was just ready to climb on Rantillo again when a strong grasp pulled us downward.

The vines and the pit left with a rush of air as I felt myself falling down… down… down. In a short moment I landed with a thud for the second time that day. Thankfully, the fall was short, but it still hurt. I moaned as I picked myself off of the ground and tried to dust off my dress. It had changed from a delicate pink to a dingy gray, the same color as my mind felt right then. I looked around fearfully. What (or who) had pulled me down here?

The strange thing about this pit was that it was not dark, even though I could see no visible source of light. In fact, it was almost lighter down here than it was above ground in the gathering twilight. Questions swirled through my head and mixed with fear to make a not-so-lovely concoction.

Thankfully, I was spared any further wondering because just then, I felt the rough tug again.

“Come with me,” a gruff voice hissed. Frightened, I had no choice but to obey, clinging to Rantillo’s light wooden frame and dragging him with me. We seemed to be traveling through a network of underground tunnels – very low ones at that. I had to stoop to walk through them at all. The path sloped lower and lower. I felt like we were descending to the center of the earth!

I began to hear voices. They were rough, and none too friendly. The invisible force dragged me forward, until the low tunnel opened into a larger, well-lit room. Actually, it wasn’t large, it was HUGE! It was also breath–taking. I had never seen anything like it! The ceiling was probably fifty feet high, and it dripped with crystal-like stalactites. There were beautiful waterfalls and bubbling streams everywhere, making a lovely sound that echoed throughout the cavern. And most amazing of all, a gargantuan tree grew from the center of the cavern. At its roots sat an intricately carved wooden throne. High on the ceiling, swinging high over my head, were dozens of luminescent lanterns. And now I saw why the tunnel had been lit also – the very rock of this cavern was glowing!


I took in all of this with a delighted gasp, but then I noticed something not so delightful. *Gulp* an army of fierce looking men were glaring at me. As I nervously glanced from face to face, I realized something else – the men were dwarves! I looked at my “guide,” and sure enough, he was a dwarf all the way through: coarse black hair and beard, stocky body, beady eyes, and piercing glare.

My “guide dwarf” pushed me onto my knees, and himself bowed respectfully before an extra-tiny dwarf sitting grandly on the throne in front of the tree.

“O mighty King, O fearful one, may your majesty reign forever,” the dwarf began humbly. “I have brought you this captive, and her…” he looked doubtfully at Rantillo. “What is that thing?”

“This is my horse, Rantillo,” I mumbled.

“And her… horse, Rantillo. I bring her as prey from one of our snares – the one I was watching, to be exact. Blumbrug, on the other hand, let her escape completely from his trap, which he always watches over so carefully.” The dwarf said this last part with a sneer, and turned towards a rather indignant dwarf with a red face, red hair, and red beard.

“But it was only…” began Blumbrug, then flushed and bowed to the king dwarf. “O mighty one, it was only because she climbed out of the snare by herself before I had time to drag her under. She used her horse, or whatever that thing is. She is just too tall for our snares,” he said, looking me up and down with disgust. “I have never understood why some creatures grow to such hideous heights.”

The tiny dwarf king cut him off. He had been eyeing me suspiciously ever since I arrived in his meeting hall, and now he stood up, and commanded his army of dwarf servants to imprison me.

“Wait! What – why – why are you doing this! I’m innocent! What have I done?” I cried.

The tiny king looked at me darkly. “You have done nothing. It is your people who have endangered us – the whole race of gnomes. And you shall pay for it.”

“Wait! What? This doesn’t seem fair! Is it too much to ask for you to tell me why you’re imprisoning me?”

The dwarf king sighed. “Very well. I will tell you the story.” At the word “story,” all of the dwarves promptly plunked down on the ground, seemingly under a spell. (I found out later that no dwarf is able to resist a story.)

“Long, long ago, the dwarves were a mighty race. Our kingdom was safe from all invaders, our armies were strong, and our women and children were tall and beautiful.” I couldn’t help but titter at this last statement. Who had ever seen a tall dwarf, I wondered? Or even a beautiful one, for that matter.

The king glared at me and then continued. “Well, our women and children were beautiful, if not tall. But the point is, we were prospering. And all of that was ruined by one of your kind.” The king pointed accusingly at me, and the dwarves around him murmured angrily in agreement. “One day, while we were going about our own business, building our own houses and tending our own livestock, a – a human entered our land. We knew not how, but he did not give us the chance to ask. Before we could detain him, he had departed from us and come back with an army of human men, enough to overtake all of our strongest forces. They drove us out of our land, and now we are forced to live in hiding under the ground, like worms. In vain we had set pitfalls and traps, thinking to capture any human that came our way, and so take vengeance for our wrongs. Until you fell into the snare, we had caught nothing in our traps but deer and rabbits. But at last! We shall take our revenge out on you for the wrongs done to us by your people.”

That was it. The king sat back down on his throne, satisfied with his story-telling abilities.

I stood there, stunned for a few seconds, then I said, “But that’s just it! Surely it wasn’t my people that did such a cruel thing. We have always been a peace-loving people. Now, the Hachians on the other hand…”

As soon as I mentioned “Hachians,” all the dwarves perked up their heads and an angry spark leapt into their eyes.

“Go on,” the dwarf king growled.

“I was only saying that the – the Hachians are not a peace-loving people, and perhaps it was they who invaded your land.”

The dwarf king walked slowly up to me, plodding step by step, until he came right up to my feet. He solemnly raised his face to look at me, but almost fell over backwards doing so, because he had to bend back so far to see me. He muttered something angrily under his breath about my tallness, and then commanded me, “Kneel down so that I can look at you. Better. Now, it was indeed the Hachians who invaded us – that I remember now. So you are saying that you come from a world where there are actually humans who love peace and hate war?”

I nodded. “My father, the king of our land, has always strove for peace and safety. But the Hachians are always trying to conquer new kingdoms.” I looked down sadly. “That’s why I’m here in the first place. I had to flee from my home because the Hachians were fighting us, and my parents wanted me to be safe. Our kingdom is probably under the reign of Hachians, now…” I gulped, and tried to hold back my tears. I showed the dwarves Rantillo again, and said, “Rantillo saved my life, but the Hachians’ arrow turned him into wood.” After that, it was no use. I let my tears spill over.

The dwarf king’s face softened. “There there, human girl, please don’t cry. I can’t stand to see such a big creature as you crying. Here, Blumbrug!” The king beckoned the red-faced gnome. “Take this human’s horse, here, and see if you can find an herb-recipe to bring it back to life. Don’t worry, girl human, we will fix your horse. Please don’t cry!” The dwarf king had totally changed, from gruff and fierce to almost crying himself. He couldn’t stand to see tears from any being, dwarf or otherwise.

I sat up straighter, and wiped my eyes on a corner of my already-filthy dress. “Could you really bring Rantillo back to life? Oh, that would – I would – oh could you?! If I had Rantillo back, I would gladly go to your prison.”

The dwarf king frowned. “And about that… If it really was the Hachians that ruined us instead of your people, it would make no sense to imprison you for crimes that neither you nor your fathers had committed.”

I gave a sigh of relief. Finally they were talking reasonably! The king was pleased to have such a novel audience to listen to his stories, and he was just in the thick of one when he was interrupted by a snort and a whinny coming from down the hall. My heart skipped a beat, and I started up.

“Rantillo! RANTILLO!” I stumbled over my long dress, and ran, laughing, flinging my arms around Rantillo’s neck.

“Oh how I missed you, boy!” I whispered as I combed my fingers through his mane – a mane that was no longer stiff and wooden, but real.

“Oh. Oh! Thank you ever so much!” I exclaimed happily to Blumbrug. I almost felt like giving him a hug, dirty red face and all. Blumbrug’s face turned an even brighter shade of red (if that was possible) and he looked down shyly at his wooden clogs.

“It was nothing, ma’am. Really, it was nothing. All I did was rub him over with some fizzle-pot herbs. That’s all I did. It was nothing, really.”

“Oh, but it isn’t just “nothing” to me. Thank you so much, Blumbrug!” I gave him a little kiss on the cheek, then merrily led Rantillo back to the dwarf king’s room.

“Look everyone!” I exclaimed with childish excitement, “Rantillo’s alive again!” The dwarves took one look at Rantillo’s towering form, now thirty times more majestic than when he was wooden, and cowered behind their king’s throne.

“It’s all right, Rantillo won’t hurt you – now that you’re my friends.” I beckoned the dwarves toward me. A few of the dwarves cautiously tip-toed up to Rantillo and some of the braver ones even ventured to touch him. The moment their fingers touched horsehair though, they drew them back as quickly as if he had singed them.

After the dwarves were done admiring Rantillo, the dwarf king called a grand meeting of all the dwarves living in his underground cavern.

“Fellow dwarves and dwarvessess, we have gathered here together today to help this girl-human and her people. Their land has been invaded by…” the dwarf king paused dramatically, “the terrible Hachians!” His people gave a collective gasp. “It was the Hachians who ruined our beautiful kingdom many years ago, when I was only a dwarfling, and it is the Hachians against whom we will now fight against with every ounce of our dwarvish blood. I need volunteers to escort this human-girl back to her kingdom, and to destroy every Hachian residing there. Destroy them, I say! Who’s with me?”

Once again I gazed up at the shiny teacup cliffs where, just a few days before, I had fallen to the ground, in sorrow and in pain. But now I was happy – deliriously happy!

“This is it, Rantillo. We’re going home!”

All around me swarmed fierce dwarves, literally armed to the teeth with swords, spikes, and heavy clubs. The chief dwarf was even now rigging up some rope-like contraption which we allow us to reach the top of those slippery cliffs.

“Let’s go home, Rantillo!” A whinny was all the answer I needed.

And now, as I write this, weeks after I spoke those words, I am home. When we arrived in my kingdom, the Hachians had already conquered it, as I feared, but my father and mother were still alive, although they were harshly treated, and being used as slaves to the Hachian king. But the dwarves soon put an end to that. As soon as they saw the Hachian warriors, rage kindled a blazing fire in their blood, and with a mighty roar the whole dwarvish army lunged forward, destroying any Hachians in their paths. Of course, the dwarves did not leave unscathed. Hundreds of dwarves were killed and wounded in the battle, but they all deemed it an honor to die in such a way.Quite a few Hachians escaped, it is true, but the ones who did were sought out and forced to sign a peace treaty with our kingdom and with the dwarves.

As soon as the dwarves had taken the castle back, I galloped over the drawbridge and into the courtyard. My home! It was battered from the Hachians’ rams and catapults, but it was still standing. It was still home. I quickly led Rantillo to the stables and rubbed him down, then ran full power into the castle. I searched everywhere for my parents, not knowing where the dwarves had left them after they had freed them from the Hachians. Finally I found them in one of the tower rooms, looking anxiously out of the window at the ongoing battle.

Mother! Father! “ I shrieked, flinging myself onto them in ecstasy. They were too shocked to speak for a moment, and when the initial shock was over, all they could do was weep with joy. Finally we wiped our joyous tears and took a good look at each other.

“Oh, Anya! You’ve grown even more beautiful!” my mother told me fondly.

“How we’ve missed you, Anya!” my father exclaimed.

“I’ve missed you too, Mother and Father. Oh, so very much!” But at last were together again. At last, once more, we were a happy, happy family.

The dwarves now have their old kingdom back, and are thriving. Our kingdom and theirs do a brisk trading business – we trade them fine cloth and metals, and they trade us their services as carpenters, builders, warriors, and more. I would not say their women and children are “tall and beautiful” quite yet, but the dwarves are once more a mighty race. And so I am living happily ever after, as becomes a true princess. For I am a princess.

The End



I hope you enjoyed it!