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Hey guys, I now officially have Tumblr. I've had it for a few months now, but today decided to finally begin using it... actually, it was yesterday. Well, just wanted to let ya know that I'll be on and off Creative Crystal for the next two months, but expect - IF one expects anything of me - a post.... or five.

Yeah, so. On Tumblr I will be writing tips and tricks, just like here, except that also I'll view my digital art and include quotes and photos of my book covers and... well, pretty much 'tis all. Thanks! And, I am guessing... well... whatever. But, just happy first day of school! I'm finally in year six.
https://www.tumblr.com/search/wattpadgirlll/recent

Chapter Fiftheenth..?

Wen woke up. Her head hurt and her hands instantly flew up to her forehead to massage the affected areas. Surprisingly - and maybe, she had just dreamt it all? - her mouth was free of the cloth, and the cord did not hurt her tongue any more. However, what she did realize was that she was dressed in a light-brown tent dress, with a crest embroidered above her right breast; it was of a dark green toad, airborne, seemingly trying to catch something in its mouth.

"Huh. Weird. I guess I am in a fantasy world, or something... and maybe the guy that shoved me into — wait, what if he's some kind of gnome? Or, WAIT - where is he?" At that, the girl madly jumped up and looked about herself; she was in a boat. A little, red boat, which was sailing up a stream. And on either side of the girl stretched out trees - firs and hemlocks and oaks. While it was a beautiful sight, Wen was still quite upset and fought to keep her tears at bay.

Just then - snap! - and, out of a small hole in the floor appeared the dwarf, carrying a basket filled to the brim with Tillan food. Why - bannickses, sap wine, red cheese, creps (a bit like bread, but smooth and orange), Peonnies (much like sunflower seeds), trigil (another word for sausages) and two small cups, with peculiar illustrations embedded on them were just a half of the other things that the dwarf found whilst in the pantry in the boat.

They both had settled to eat, and the silence was broken by - "What is this?" For Wen pointed at a small jar of what seemed to be sauce, but white in colour with droplets of green spreading like watercolour in the creamy depths. It seemed edible - but, the girl had so many questions including - "Why am I in this hellish uniform?", "How did I get here?" and "Are you a gnome?" that asking about sauce - seemingly edible - was the least of her worries and, honestly, she just did not want to die of poison.

"Uh, it's..." the dwarf pulled at his beard. "You know... uh, Kirlsteins?" He then frowned, trying to square his shoulders but it resulted only in him toppling over himself and ending up on the brim of the boat, where he caught Wen's leg and steadily waddled back into his sitting position on the other side of the girl, who glared at him, obviously trying to say - without using her mouth - I could have ended up down there!

"No, but it seems seems like a good idea to tell me, maybe!" At that the girl crossed her arms over her chest and gloomily looked at the creature.

"Yes, it is... juice... made from Kirlsteins." The dwarf tried again. "Ah, it's a type of Fujah... very nice, good for you, a'fillin'... good... nice... eh?" And with that, he looked at the girl to see if she understood, but Wen simply continued to pout. "A Fujah is this," and he waved at a cluster of trees. "And, a Kirlstein is this," so he motioned for a fir.

"Oooooooooooh," trailed Wen. "Nice." And she moved her hand, fingers closing in over the spoon. "Glad you have this," and she laughed, spreading the cream over her crust less, orange-ey bread. "So, it is cream! Ah, how nice... isn't it? Wait... wait, when am I going to go home? I mean... like, back home?"

"On'y time shall a'tell... But here, in Consilii, it's my duty to look after you 'til' you a'get to the Castle. I promise, from the leader of my Dwarfish Clan - you know, I a'come from another planet completely, but have settled in the Mountains where you shall live too - that nobody is holding you a' captured. Yah may jump into the moat at Ruthenium Picke and nobody will a'miss yah, I promise!"

Wen nodded. But then... "Wait, so I am going to be a maid at the castle, yes? And will I have a lovely room? Can I go to a magical school, or something? And may I contact my family, somehow, to let them know I am safe? Yes? And this is Consilii... I take Latin lessons, you know! And... "Consilii"... it means..."

"You ar' a very loud girl," concluded the old dwarf wearily.

"And you're — oh, yes! Well, I am an extrovert, even though I know that Ksenia thinks otherwise! - so, YOU must be a very nasty gnome, yes?" But then the girl felt herself flush and corrected herself - "I mean, can you possibly be a dwarf? If so, I am sorry... I never liked gnomes... but I do like dwarves, because they are so jolly and plump (note from the author; never call a dwarf "plump") and -"

"Plump? Sounds like somethin' a'good for recovery," said the dwarf, his face shading into a purple. "Also, it seems like a very mean word... a'stupid... poor word, eh?"

"Okay, you're not plump - you're a man in your prime, okay? But I don't like to be called loud, though I am an extrovert... because... it's just very mean, okay? To call people loud is a sin where I live, and you don't want to go insulting a girl who shall live in a castle soon, do you? Eh? Eh? EH?"

The dwarf frowned. Clearly, he hadn't explained too much to the girl, and certainly she was trying to make a movie out of everything! So, balling up his hands into little fists, then quoth the dwarf through gritted teeth - "the Helper of the Times shall live in the Low Mountains!"

"Ah, I see... so now, you are sending me to the mountains! To serve at the castle! Well well well... that deserves a clap!" And then Wen very slowly and very properly put her hands together to form the most alarming of sounds using her fingers and her tongue, which she curled under her teeth and sent spit flying towards the poor creature.

"Sto' sto'..." the dwarf, as hard as he tried, at times could not pronounce the obnoxious letter "p", so he let out a low whistle and drew back his lips to talk. "The Low Mountains are more like high hills, honestly! ...No. S'rry; they are Mountains, but they are quite low for Mountains, and they have very smooth and flat stones and ground that connect together over a few of them at the same time, so there are little houses on the tops of the mountains with a'equipment, wood(en), that you can step into and they fly you a'down - a'workin' - to the trees, which are the borders of Consilii's Capital."

Chapter Fourteen (NOT whole, check my WATTPAD page for the rest)

Now, as an author, I shan't -understandably - want to describe the hours of pain endured that Wen spent in her room, mourning the loss of her friend, blaming Terry for pushing Valentine I to the water that unfateful day. And, even if you ask, dear reader, I shall hesitate before I make up my mind whether to talk about the guilt our young man felt and, ah, - seemingly all the other needed information. For, you must understand - I have now, for far too long already, been shying away - slowly, shuffling back - from the task that I have - to bring you the news of the dwarf. But now I will speak clearly - write, with tears in my eyes - because I hated it - I hate it still - when a character, so blissfully unaware, suddenly ought to leave their beautiful world behind... however, I write with a full heart, and whilst the souls of these characters continue on to live inside these pages, I will surely keep writing - and try not to spill my coffee, when it comes to that.

So, without further ado - open your eyes. Open them, I say! - and feel your eyes slowly sneaking up Wen's body, thrown on the ground upon which she cried for the loss of Valentine. Relax, as you sit-up on her windowsill - silent and invisible. Now, you shall gaze at her feverently, and do not take your eyes away. She is in a dress.

Yes, ahem, Wen is in a dress (but she ain't going to a funeral)! So look at her dress. It's her green brocade one, which came - comes - no, it came with a ribbon that fitted about her slim waist. Perhaps, Wen was not of the very slender type, with long legs and thin lips and big eyes... for she did not like worship sports, as mentioned earlier, and preferred to spend her time at home - often, reading. Though not skinny, the few curves she had pointed out against her dress, which fell about her hips and ended with a lemon hem, the same tint as the ribbon.

Also, Wen's hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, revealing the few pimples she had at the age of eleven. And earrings - white gold - very small, round hoops, had been studded into her ears. ...But, to comment on the last paragraph, honestly, rather it was hard to pronounce if she looked like a little lady or the mouse nearby, who tentatively sniffed the air, and ran off into a hole in the floor. For Wen was down on the ground, slippers kicked off, dress pulled up to reveal her bare back, and on her stomach she sniffled and frowned.

However, soon hearing footsteps upon the second floor, the girl jumped up and fitted on her slippers, only to be met by the motherly figure she knew so well. Mrs — was in her shell dress of pink, and she wore her hair high up as she gracefully descended to her daughter.

"My little lady," smiled she lovingly. "How sweet you look, with your hair so cunning and satin-smooth!" at that, the mother came close and ran a hand through the very pale strands.

"I don't want to go anywhere," suddenly seethed Wen. "I'd rather stay here and mourn for the loss of my friend, having not much energy till I die also..."

But that was enough to get Mrs. Trulegh rather fired up. "Don't you be such a disobedient brat," growled she. "I brought life to you... who fed you, girl? Hell, who kissed you, calmed you down, made you feel better, washed after you? Turned off the television when you fell asleep on the couch? Why, am I such a bad mother to you that you want to die?? Yeah, as if that is proper! And anyway, I may as well leave myself and never come back, so you realise how life will be without me someday!!"

Guilt rushed through poor Wen. "No, Mum, please don't leave forever! I get it if you want to run away somewhere and find a cowboy and marry him, but you must realise ! - you have Daddy, and me, and Eddy, and maybe even Ksenia... and you had Valentine. She was like a daughter to you, now, I know. Honestly!" And then... "I love you, but right now feel very saddened."

"Oh, my dear!" Half chuckled Mrs. Trulegh, pressing her lips to Wen's cheek and hugging her daughter. "I do have your Father, who is ever so much more handsome than any stupid cowboy, I promise you that!"

"Wow, okay... but, why are we dressed like this? Are we going somewhere, momma?"

"I don't know, honestly... all I got sent is a letter, in slanting writing, with very fancy oil illustrations... and, so I thought, that this "Mister A— something" is a very fine old gentleman, coming to talk to you. He said he would talk... only to you. So, I do not know what is up... but still I got dressed for this occasion..."

"I, really —" But then there were three modest knocks on the door downstairs, and so the two rushed down, in a flurry and a hurry, faces red... Wen opened up, with three bling, short fingers. "Good afternoon, dear old —"

I CREATED my Own Challenge?!!

So, you guys have heard that it's the 23rd of January, yes? And - wait, hold up there! - I feel like... I haven't written, much, in the first month of the year. Yes, it's a confession - WHOO! I agree! - but... honestly, I feel quite bummed about the idea of not having written past, like, 30 pages this month. Yet. Roughly.

Yah, I know what you're saying - probably - "Pah! That's a lot.. of pages..." and if you are thinking that then, congratulations! I feel honoured! But, MOST likely you'd be going - "Ew. You're writing a book, geez! And that's how much you've written... in a month?! Yeah, there's a good authoress!" and I agree with you. More than ever.

So, feeling quite guilty with myself for not writing too much in the month of January, I have decided to create my own challenge. Quite literally! But before I keep going, I shall ask - write - whatever, okay? - have you heard of "NaNoWriMo"? (And yes, I just searched it up!)

If you have, then you must know that from Novemer 1 - November 30 writers are welcome to participate in "National Novel Writing Month", when you're meant to write 50,000 words. A manuscript (story, epic, whatever...)! So, now, looking at my 73 pages and 22,000 words, I am... shook. Seems like in TWO months I've been slacking off!

So, as Taylor Swift, my favourite singer (put your hand up if you've been to any of her concerts! **Me - raises hand enthusiastically**) said in one of her songs - "...And i'd go back to december, turn around and make it alright..." except that, in my case it's November.

Well, whatever; I have myself set a challenge. For February. And, it's called (insertamazingnamehere)... FebiTing! Yes! Very original, lovely, unmistakably awesome... fine. Yeah, well, you know! - "Feb" for February, and the "-iting" for Writing. Not the best name I could come up with, but whatever. Appearances don't matter... Seriously, guys!

Well, yep, this is about the end of this post; my goal is to write 10,000 words in the month of February, and I hope... everything works out. Yeah. Also, here's a quick cover reveal for "Shattered Reality"... (I didn't make it, though used Canva to edit the image)

The First Thirteen Chapters in "Shattered Reality"

The First Prologue

On a planet that is surrounded by many friends, and one that orbits around little moonlets and baby-stars, there are three magical kingdoms. Planets in the Universe are many, but the one that one may focus on just now looks, really, a bit like Earth.

Blue, with large blobs of green - very simple, except for the facts that there are rather many strokes of lemon and orange and ivory. Those are just the birthmarks of the planet; why, when the Planet was first created, the birthmarks stood out bumpy and uneven; but, after millions of years, they have melted into the ground, which is where one can now experience the magic in its original form - not shrunk, not made simpler - just not messed with, all in all.

The Kingdom where everything takes place is called "Consilii" (in Latin) - or else "Resourceful", in English. It may seem peculiar that a fantasy kingdom would steal a word from typical "Earth" - but the fact is that the Consiles - the people that live there - do have a bit of an inkling of "Latin", for it is most important, and is taught a little bit at school where the young Consiles go.

Consilii has four main islands; Dragnia, The Triplets (people always counted The Three as one small island, because of their vexingly-small size), Ruthenium Picke and the respectable One Without A Name, also known as "The King".

Dragnia is an island where dragons roam all they like; there are many birthmarks there, but they are all very small, unlike the ones at "Ruthenium Picke" (known as "The Island of Dark") and the One Without a Name.

Dragonia is often thought of as "The plain one" in the whole of the Planet, because of how simple and wild it is; full of trees, rocks, and a little town named "Ludovic", named after the hero of dragons - or else the first Consile to ever tame one of those beasts. Mind, dragons aren't always horrendous!

The Triplets are simple also - just carefree little islands, where people live - rather, people who just want to get away "from the magical life" and spend the rest of their days in sweet air, perfumed by daisies.

Ruthenium Picke is much different from the rest, however; that was where the King of Darkness was born. But that was over a thousand year ago. Nevertheless, goblins still prowl in the night, and there are plenty of cursed castles, all in ruins, selkies, and many other nightmares.

Now, for the last "part" - The One Without a Name! That is where the capital of Consilii is - right in "City of Tilla". Nobody knows where the name had originated from, but no matter - peasants and normal townsfolk that lived in Terese Town said that Tilla was the richest; it had a castle, and many rich manors flecked all about. But really, one only had to befriend King Martin to get the trust of his wife, Riley (quite an un-royal name!) - and then, they can move in, poor peasants or not, for the Royals are friendly, and rather very dangerously naive! The people that live in The Corner Village don't know much about Tilla, or Terese; because, as one may have noticed, it was away from both of those "marks", and instead built at the corner of "The King". Fisherman said they were content with what they got, and I think so, too. Candidly, The Corner Village isn't all bad, save for the fact that it's over a hundred kilometers from the "Place of the orcs", where the respectable, muscular, long-faced, man-eating monsters still live to this day. Also, The Corner Village often feels cold, for it is right by the "Great sea", and it is a fact that many a - or most of the - Consiles like the cold.

Oh, but of course it shouldn't at all make sense for it to be very cold in the East, eh? The thing is that the Planet - and not only that - the whole one hundred and twenty-three planets! - aren't very, so to say, logical. Not quite yet, however. Being in the twenty-first century means nothing to the Consiles, if one talks only about them - why, they don't even have an inkling about what "a year" means. To them, there are no "decades", save for the "centuries" and "millenniums" and so, so on - to them, on their wrong, peculiar planets, there is only time - "time to make time", as one greatly worshipped poet said, somewhere in the ninth century, if one slips back into normal human language!

And so back to the peculiarity; one must notice that, since the planet is often horribly wrong, that the gods choose to turn chilly or send bright beams of sunlight down upon the Planet only when, well, they feel like it. Other times, the gods and occasional goddesses (for being ignorant of real "rights", females on the Planet are still believed to not be capable of much) lean over the clouds to gaze down upon the Planet, and cry, and laugh, and tear their hair (if they have any, mind) as they follow the lives of different people, all at different times of day and night.

Not to believe in the "Upper" people is a bit of a woe - a sin - for most Consiles, actually, to be frank. It is almost a rule to be Catholic, and to strongly lean on religion as a friend that never ceases. For the unfortunate type, it seems awful to have an "undying friend", and if a mother scorns her child for not reading the bible, it is always heard in the community the stern words from the pale-from-rage lips, almost unmoving, "You will go to hell, my dear, when Life flies out of your vain knuckle!" or something of that sort.

It, strictly, is not necessary to believe - and to trust - "Those Upper" people, whatever the priests may say. As once a boy, clad in grey, torn clothes said to his enraged father - "Dad, you see, you say that the Upper-ers can fix anything! And you told me that a priest is a kind of church minister, did you not? So it is by law the priest's job to mend things like the Upper-ers if he worships them so, is it not? Well, why don't you blame HIM for not fixing my clothes after I jumped into dirt just to save a caterpillar? Oh, and now I tell you - those priests know nothing! Nothing!"

Twenty years later, the boy, named Eddi House, became the "church minister", for he seemed to have forgotten what he had said only two decades - or rather, "some time" ago. But until his barbaric father died, he always came to him at evening to hit him and say - "You know nothing, son, nothing, nothing!"

Nevertheless, being Catholic is not bad, and even if one little rebel gets an occasional scolding, often for the rest of their lives they carry the hopes of going to "Heaven" if they rightly behaved or else, if were excellent all their lives, become one of the "Upper" people. One day, some time ago (actually, it was ten years previously!), a poor peasant's wife saw her husband die and then, a few months later, said that she saw him smiling at her, peering over the edge, looking very young and happy.

But one had to be clever, cunning, sly, bright (in the sense of being smart), positive, determined motivating and strong-minded to get Up There. However, it is unlikely that any of the Consiles were as perfect - in that sense.

For an interesting fact, there were already twelve Upper-ers, eight of which were men and four were women.

There is Mistress Snowdrop, the fragile young woman with falling white hair over her albino face. Nobody knew where she lived before she came to be one of the Upper-ers, but many still think she is from one of the Triplets, being very slight and tender, and seemingly built of love and health and the breath of the wild. Surely her name wasn't such a ridicule before - rather, it was Stephanie Daphen.

Then, there is Lord Pebblar, a man with a scruffy black head, the same moustache, and very wide, very expressive eyes of the tints that are the colours of the birthmarks of the Planet; orange, white, yellow. And so if one stares into them for long... well, somebody once said that they would get paralyzed if they looked into the two pools for too long - into the pools that sun cut through one, slicing the air with malice - or that was at least the "somebody" said.

Next was Lord Merge, a stout old man with long greying hair and a fantastical look about his blue-veined face.

Forwards on the list, Mistress Stone, the seemingly stony (pun intended, if there is one) thirty-year-old of dull lips and high cheekbones.

Lord Labestar, next. He was the most cruel, surely! He had piercing eyes, just like his brother, a twisted little mouth and a bumpy face - in the means of "full of zits". And not one could describe the droll look of his unimpressive, shallow eyes - not one. Not one except Pebblar.

The others aren't worth mentioning - actually, surely they are, but one gets the point from the first Five, yes?

Now, moving onto hell: when a woman speaks sternly to her child, saying they were to go to hell, she does mean "Ruthenium Picke", if she is one of the Consiles. The truth is, that every kingdom has an island, all evil, flowing with dark blood. It is the mere believe that after life, if one is bad, then they are sent to "Ruthenium Picke" (again, if they were from Consilii). But the beliefs were so strong (are, perhaps, still!), that they drive the people mad if they really put their mind onto being good and if one unfortunate cully someday spills "Sap wine" on their suit, then of course the poor man feels restless and ashamed until they die! Fancy, such a little thing!

Sap wine may be brought up now, just as well. Now, sap in Consilii is a sort of bitter, round yellow seed dotted in crimson that is said to be very good for the body. It also tastes nice - very nice - when introduced to wine; because the slight grape effect, mixed in with the tongue-biting flavour, may make a rather good lunch; just say one had been kicked out of their home for, why, doesn't that happen really very often? - and one stopped in front of a stall in one of the markets to buy some Sap wine from a fat little seller (generally fat, they are, with no offense meant, because every once in a while the seller sneaks a bite or a sip into their mouth, building up the habit bit by bit), and then took a sip while hurrying to work. Well, it is very hard, the wine, and tends to stay in one's stomach for quite a while afterwards because of the "pressure".

Another national food is red cheese, which one must not describe, and let another know that the one thing that makes the cheese so red is the blood of an orc.

One must also be rather interested why orcs don't live at Ruthenium Picke. And the answer is simple; they just like The King, with all its healthy grasses and plants and soul-healing (pardon, if that is no word!) rains. It was a long, long time ago that they had moved from Ruthenium Picke into the mountains! And the mountains are very small, but they are very steep and sharp also, mind, that they never could be mentioned on the Official map of Consilii. Because it can only display large, major items!

Now, of course there are other magical folk that live on The King. For an instance, the Djinns, living five hundred kilometers from the "Corner Village", are really very jolly and proper and good! Old little men, going on about their daily jobs, bringing back their wives and kids food. The only thing unnatural about them is that they, of course, can make one's wish come true. Just like that, one must assure the other!

Then, second-lastly, are the pixies. They live in the "castle" ruins, with sharp, pointed faces, mischievous natures and playful habits. Usually, they don't disturb one - unless one promises them blackberries and brings none. It is deathly to mess with those!

Finally, there are the sirens. And after this, one never must say that The King is all good!

Mind, they aren't the everyday lovely, friendly mermaids - no, they are the sirens; the ones that live in the "Singing waters"! One is most likely already familiar with what they do - sing, sing, and then take those poor sailors down to the bottom of the ocean to rip off their heads. However, it's not only sailors that they take down there...

And so, this is Consilii - in all its glory!

The Second Prologue

Deep in the forest of Magic, simply a few hundred kilometres from City of Tilla, was a little house with a thatched roof that overflowed the small hut, giving space for shade whenever Palestorm wanted to go outside and sit on his little chair, enjoying the elms and the hemlocks and the firs, often smelling with dew, often sighing and moaning when wind whipped against them ruthlessly.

But just now, as the balsam of the trees flowed gently into the room (for the window was wide open), an old man with a long, smoky beard was been looking up at the sky, using his telescope made of the finest rhodium.

"Those damned planets have minds of their own!" grumbled the thaumaturgist as he absent-mindedly traced the redwood pommel of one of his ancient swords. He didn't hear it fall to the floor, blade pointing to an odd angle, for many wizards - notorious or not - are often like that; they think with their "open" mind, and while thoughts the sizes of ice cubes are able to pass through the "closed" part of their mind, or their "second" mind, they cannot quite operate with the two at the same time.

Palestorm squinted against the darkness, groaned, and looked through the telescope, up at the space itself.

Of, if it wasn't so beautiful he could only resist the temptation... but he wanted to touch those asteroid... feel the dust on Turner... walk on the gases of Sulfia... jump over Barathrum and go far beyond the asteroid belt... being an octogenarian did not suit him, even after meeting a wyvern and escaping death, saving people and stealing gold and being almost lulled to death when he had travelled to the "Singing Waters" by the deathly pale, scaly, bony sirens with voices the -

Palestorm startled; a comet was now shooting down, down, the colour of blood.The powerful telescope could make the wizard see every particle of it - the sharp angles, the rocky surface... however, what startled him was the way it so slowly plummeted down. Be it not for the telescope, he wouldn't be able to see such a thing, travelling five light years away... but he did. And it scared him.

Without looking away, he grappled to find his redwood sword, and he once even stepped on the blade, which neatly cut a gash in his foot. He stifled a scream, soon finding the pommel; he then grasped it, and thrust it beside him, as though the comet would any moment crash onto his hut and as though he, an octogenarian, could slice it into half with his sword. Sure, redwood was nearly perfect in the whole of The King - why, it was the most reliable wood, so sturdy and strong and smart. However, Palestorm never really knew how or why it smart. It just... gave itself this sort of air.

Meanwhile, he had to tear his eyes away to light a candle and search for his moleskin notebook, where he wrote in a shaking hand - Comet flying sru spaic. Werry fasst. Werry sharrp.

Then, a little more tranquil, he hid away the moleskin in the pocket of his robes and hurried to the telescope which glittered at him against the darkness. He sighed, talking for the second time in twenty minutes.

"I've a good mind to inform of my seeings to the King and Queen - but dear Riley can keep no secrets, and I understand her - so, I shall simply wait and see what happens. Of course, there is a chance of the comet crashing any moment, but I hope that that shan't be the case - I still want to live and see what happens. Turning a hundred and still being sane is a goal of mine, however it is much smaller than the one to touch velvety Space."

Now, however, he blew out the candle, not noticing that the table was stained with wax, and climbed into the hard straw bed. Being rich - well, wealthy, to express it nicely - meant not that he got a feather bed, however, and even though one may dare use the word "straw", it is actually more rock-solid than it sounds.

So, Palestorm fell away to dream of monsters and him chasing a star.

***

The next morning, the news spread that Palestorm had died. Rather, he had turned from a healthy man to a pile of dust lying on the "straw" bed, for it is how magicians pass away in the lands of The King. Many said he had perished of fright - but what? Why? How? He had been through so much in his life, from messing with a snake to attacking a selkie. He was, so to say, "a perfectly imperfect hero" - and he would have been quite honoured, and think his life worth not spending in his hut if at least once he bore the thought of people thinking him crazy away.

Only his loved ones cried and moaned that he never got to go to space and walk on the thumb of darkness as he had wished to. But the greatest of wizards fade away to become a faraway star, shining down upon the world. Only he didn't become an Upper-er, which was quite fascinating, for almost everybody were convinced that he would take the place of one of Them. Though nobody really knew his fate.

But his daughter, when searching his hut, had found the moleskin, and read every single page, only to discover what it was that her father had been fearing. That same night, she stayed in the forest of Magic to see the through the telescope, and gasped and moaned when she saw the Comet.

But there was not much that she could do other than go tell the King and Queen. And that caused much dilemma.

Of course nobody had believed her at first, but the girl was very determined to prove herself - and prove she did.

But how?" that is the question - that is the question that's best to be unanswered for a while.

The First Chapter – the time Blodwena “Wen” was in trouble

"Do behave yourself, my dear," said the plump woman as she stood by the door in her new shell dress, one that pointed out her body, making all the round curves on her hips stand out. Her hair was a lovely flaxen-blonde, and as she fixed her daughter, Wen, with a stern look, who by the way was huddling close to her mother, with piercing blue eyes, she said these words again, rather absent-mindedly, and then she closed the door in front of her face and was gone.

Blodwena, or Wen - for short, of course! - smiled and nodded her very curly, pale-blonde head, eyes deep dark chestnuts, round and big and expressive. Though something other than prim support and agreement mingled in her eyes - that is, before they went small and bug-shaped again.

It wasn't a frown that the girl betook, but her brows had closed over her eyes and her forehead creased, as though she were thinking of what to do next. Surely, the answer came - plain and simple and obvious, though not quite nice.

"Eddy!" she called out, and smiled when her elder brother rushed down the stairs. He stood before her, smiling, dimples on his cheeks, as though little creases in cream. His brown hair was uncombed, as she noticed, and the twelve-year-old's pale-green eyes shone brightly. He seized his sister into a hug, and whispered into her ear -

"Guess who came this morning through the "other exit"?" his voice full of drollness.

"Lemme guess." Wen looked at her pretty sibling, thinking how unatractive SHE was - "Mark?"

"Right on point. Mark, and I heard him asking Ksen-Ksen - "May I kiss you?" And isn't he so cold?"

"I do not wish to talk of hot people and cold people, thank you, but I do agree!" Wen smiled, tugging at the side of her green dress. "Now, if you'll excuse me - I ought to go to school, for I broke the principle's daughter's ceramic doll, and now I have to go and deal with those idiots."

"Wenny..."

"Oh, c'mon, Eddy-boy," Wen put in tiredly. "I'm going, he said I must - and that'll give me a cool reason to accidentely shove something off Mr. Jules's desk."

"Wenny..."

"Goodbye, and see you in never!" so, as her brother flashed her a knowing smile and she grasped a piece of lemon slice, Wen headed out of the door, making sure that no crumbs or bits of evidence were left behind.

It took the girl over twenty minutes to get to her school, for it was rather far away, but this just gives me a reason to explain everything that our heroine passed, looked at, and frowned upon. Surely, she was a child of change, one that never was quite interested in anything and nobody but herself... and her family and friends, if she were in an especially good mood.

But now she had pulled on a mask of sheer expectation - a mask of expectation that every girl wore as she descended up the high marble steps and shook in fright. However, Wen did not need to do so; she was fierce when she wasn't having a good day, and right now she wasn't surely having one - for her lemon slice had ended quite abruptly and her forehead creased and she muttered something very un-lady-like under her breath. And - she was fierce now. Very. And frowning.

So, the girl walked out of her house, to be exact, if one went back in time a few thousand seconds ago. She had walked outside (as stated previously), only to be met by a canopy of trees that shaded her house and other thatched ones, running down a gently-sloping hill.

So, as the trees' crowns made to murmur above her head, and she wondered why on Earth would they be making such a disagreeable sound, the girl had begun to see that nothing was quite as bad as having to stay after school, which she wasn't doing right now -

But, wait.

As she walked past a sweet little house, a girl suddenly ran out, with a large pink bow in her straight, lovely, silky hair and wearing most primly a broadcloth dress. Well, if her name wasn't Lilliane, and if she wasn't the "school pet", on her way to school to help the janitor! Pwfff - fickle!

"What do you want, Lill?" Wen asked, with colour to her voice - and if it in fact was, then surely it'd be black.

"I'll come with you to school and keep you company, Bloodwen!"

"I'm not bloody, and so my one and only name is Blodwena. Got it? Don't make me repeat myself!"

So, the two girls continued together down the sloping hill, and a thick silence that Wen rather liked stood between the two, as hard as stone, as cold as ice, until a knife-sweet voice cut through the atmosphere -

"Why are you going to school?"

"I don't know..." Wen told Lillianne through gritted teeth. "And you shouldn't, either -"

"Hey, don't be rude Wen!" Lillianne frowned as a perfectly-red butterfly had landed on top of her head. It was scarlet, or crimson - but Wen knew tha Lill would freak out if she'd heard of an insect on her perfect, butterscotch-brown hair, and said loudly, so that the whole neighbourhood could hear -

"Lillianne! Ooooh, no! There's a martian on your head!..." and then she let herself run off, down the sloping hill, only to be met by the "very heart" of the town.

The girl crossed the village, grinning at people she knew, even though she didn't feel like doing so - the baker, standing in his stuffy shop, smiling a large cheesy smile, big cheeks dimpling; Lillianne's mother, who asked what was up with her "sweet pea"; a crow with a broken wing who she was, suprisingly, rather friendly with; the butcher, who grinned at her, showing off yellowed teeth; Miss. Andy, Wen's math tutor; and other people who she either frowned at, shook hands with, smiled at, or ignored. For that was her nature.

Well, now - the girl had crossed the village and was just starting down another hill where houses were - so to say - "planted" - when finally, on the outskirts, on a little dune-shaped hill, standing amongst many others, sat a large, prim school building with high marble steps, on the left side of which was a big birch tree, overtowering the school.

Now, Wen saw a pink-and-(mostly)brown shape runnning toward her in the distance, and sensing the snobbish Lillianne, the girl walked through the dignified door and shut it behind her with the loudest bang, which instantly made Mr. Roland show up and lead her to the principle's office.

He was an important man, but very cheeky and childish when it came to associating with Wen. They were friends.

"Tell me, now, my dear - what brought you here on a morning as such?"

"Oh my lawd, don't you know that I come here quite often enough? Actually, this time it's very simple - I have broken the principal's daughter's ceramic doll. QUITE unfortunate, don't you think? Well, I do - and so this is why I am here."

Just then, the pair had walked up a flight of stairs (marble), crossed three ante-rooms (to be rather frank, the school was more of a mansion), a painting-room, where the art classes were usually, and finally they'd reached an embroidered door, made of birch wood, and the man ran off to do his duties while Wen knocked and put on a small smile.

She had been taught how to "do it", and it worked perfectly well, surprisingly, against her hard featurues. Sure, Wen's mother had to look after three children while her husband worked hard at work on the other side of the third town - but if none of her children knew then SHE did, and it was that Wen was her favourite kid. She did not know why, and never troubled herself with this. But it simply was so, frankly.

The truth was, that the mother and father had settled of simple names for their children, at first - for, alas! - weren't Ksenia and Eddy quite prim? But when it came to the last child, the mother and father thought hard over this, and while the dad had wanted his girl to be named "Zoe" or "Mira", his wife begged for "Blodwena" for it was thought of as a very magical name, she thought, just like Wen's eyes were; little chestnuts, big and round at times, dark and hard, with sparks burning and igniting inside. Well, Mr. Treassle had agreed finally, and said -

"If I can't provide a nice surname for my children, such as "Kennedy" or "Swift", then I shall give the youngest child a name much better than her last." so, it was settled. Blodwena, Wen for short - and whatever more was needed?

So now, the door had opened and in front of the girl loomed a tall, dark shape, with brows pulled in and a frown on the flat, pale face.

I don't want to describe what had happened afterwards and before, for I cannot be quite bothered with boring somebody to death with the obnoxious study of the principal, or with the looks of his perfect daughter.

So, let us leave this chapter at that, and only wave Wen a goodbye, whilst we turn and run to have tea. Because doesn't eveybody love tea?

Chapter Second – The Conversation of the Gods

It was up, up, in the heavens of the Second of the Triplets where gods and a godesses taled. The rest, as it seems, have gone off to spy on the goblins of Ruthenium Picke, and weren't to return until the next morning.

But, as one may have already guessed, Consiles don't have "a morning", nor do they have "midday" or "evening" or "night". They simply have Time - "Time to make time". However, the Consiles - especially the living people of the Three Triplets, which was said to provide not only the best, fresh-smelling flowers, but also education - knew morning as "Fist Time", midday as "Second Time", evening as "Third Time" and night as "Fourth Time". Everything in between was just - well, "In between".

Mistress Snow had just finished brushing her long, straight hair, and with a ghostly look to her eyes she fixed them on Lord Cruizsuxs - or else, meaning in Consilii language, "Black". For his hair was a jet-dark colour, his eyes a supportive charcoal, and the robes that he wore were crow-tinted. He also had a graying sort of hue to his muscular body - this sort of shade that one easily would see on somebody just bitten by a zombie.

In fact, it was said that he had come from the very heart of "Ruthenium Picke", which was where zombies prowled and moaned for brains. But, was it not peculiar? For, as mentioned before, one had to be "perfect" to enter the heavenly world!

"Why do you look at me so, Snowdrop?" he asked her in a deep voice.

"I look at you so for you make eyes at Torlei as if you see nothing of me," and her orbs blinked away a few frozen tears.

The man grasped the Mistress around the waist, pulling her in, and with a thumb ushered away the tears.

"We are in a place - in a place that knows no Death. We shall never grow old, never ill... so why worry of such things? It is not, this Heaven, suitable for lovers. It is for powerful gods... and godessess... and you may hate me for saying this, but I'd rather love you more if you stayed my lifelong friend, not my... not anything more." and then, he kissed her softly, letting her hand brush against his, before she pulled herself back.

"But why do you want Torlei as your "more" and not me, Cruz?"

"I do not. It is just my nature, dearest - see, I played so with you in the beginning also; the only thing is that it's harmless."

So, the two powerful Upper-ers made peace over a toast of Sap-wine, and went to the magical "circle" where six of the other rulers were displayed. To explain this more, in the heavenly clouds that spread all around them, with only ann ocassional crease to peep down and spy upon the people of Consilii (also, heavens ended with every island, but that shall be talked of later), in the very heart of the Second Triplet's Heaven, was an enormous circle, glowing a powerful, electric red magic. And in the circle, there were twelve thrones, six of which were already occupied. In front of each throne stood a small table, with a glass of Sap-wine and a slice of red cheese sitting on them. That was where the rulers came to think, and drink, and eat, and talk and laugh and spy together - the very "Circle of Merriment", if there was one in this complex heaven.

Lord Omnied, a man with flashing carrot-red hair and blazing crimson eyes, with one eye instead of two, seemingly carved, big and round, in the top middle of his face, cleared his throat and raised his glass.

"Dear Cruizsux and Snowdrop, may you join us in this meeting?"

As the two settled, Snowdrop asked -

"O, lord Omnied, is this another of the "Prophecy" meetings?" in fact, the Upper-ers have been having many of those lately, and they always, peculiarly, turned out to be wrong! But, for the twentieth time, the elderly man frowned upon the young woman and blurted -

"I shall not tolerate this behaviour!"

"O, do you bet?" Snowdrop said with a cold smirk. "I shan't think so."

"Stop, child!"

"CHILD? I died on my thirtieth birthday! You suppose I'm a child?"

"It is a mistake that you have been brought here. Usually, lords and mistresses with a lot of - ah, experience - come here, and with large knowledge of how they died - but you have none!"

"So, you must treat me as a child? Because maybe I know -"

"Stop." it was the muscular voice of Cruizsux, and he meant it. "I am as powerful as you, O, Omnied, so I shall ask for Lord Gremlen to continue this meeting, seeing as he had already emptied his cup and finished on his cheese."

So, caught red-handed, the tall, grey-haired man with electric blue eyes blushed, then frowned. "Yes, quite right, Cruz," for they were brothers, and the elder one prefered to not say the whole, complex one of his younger brother's name -"I shall lead the meeting. Quite, quite right."

"So." began he in a dignified voice. "So. Lord Droll had been to spy on the king and queen of One Without A Name, and...their kingdom is in need of a new sourceror. Preferably young, so that they can help about the kingdom. We could provide the person a mansion, or a little villa on the Low Hills, from where they could come and help about."

"How do you propose to do this, dearest?" asked Mistress Bell, a flaxen-haired woman in a brocade dress of bronze. Her voice was hot with expectation, and so Gremlen flushed at her important voice. "We cannot show ourselves, surely you remember, Omnied, the rightful head of this meeting?"

"Q- Quite so, dear. Gremlen, explain - you see, for I've been rather "disqualified" by Cruizsux, and cannot do it myself."

Cruz bit his lips from saying a wrong thing, and feeling Snowdrop's gaze on himself, he gave her a half-smile, his heart beating loudly.

So, Lord Gremlen continued, having listened intently when his friend had been talking afore the meeting. "We could meet with King Martin... yes, Bell, just for once we could communicate with a human being - and tell him that he needs help..."

"That's a good idea," Mistress Torlei had spoken for the first time that morning.

"Pardon." Cruz turned to look at her, but Snowdrop's slit-like eyes dug into his cheeks and he turned, panting.

"Yes, Torlei, I agree." Lord Trousse had spoken for the first time, too. 

"No, it IS NOT right!" for suddenly Bell jumped up. "I remember! When I was still alive, living in what those New people call "Therese Town" when I was nineteen, my momma told me that when she was little there was one and only, big, powerful God who once talked to a peasant, seeing that he needed help, and from another island he sent the peasant a little boy. But the boy was incapable, and so one day he got so upset with having somuch duties placed on his tender shoulders that be burned down the town, along with my parents... and me. Should we really risk this again?"

"We could try a girl," said Snowdrop, who was rather fond of children.

"Do you think it really matters?" Mistress Torlei fired at the albino woman.

"No." was the icy reply. "But we could try."

"Yes." said Cruizsux. "I agree, let us try a girl!"

"But... then..." Lord Droll breathed air into his lungs and frowned - "Why a child?"

"For, as said earlier, a child is young." Snowdrop had said at him angrily, for she'd been rather "insulted" by Torlei and wanted to return the favour.

And so now, the scene shall close on these eight Upper-ers, for this is all that shall be known for know, until further more explanations.

Chapter Third – A “Silver Finger”

It was cold. It was dark. As the girl lay in her bed, all alone save for her stuffed animal, moonlight streamed in through her wide window, and though she was scared, Wen licked her lips and gasped in ecstacy. Slowly, she shut her eyes and opened them again only to still be able to see the darkness closed in all about her, but with a silvery shape - a stroke, as though god's finger, shining in through the darkness.

The trouble was that Wen was scared of the night. Scared to death of it all; the fact that somebody MAY come and slit open her throat; the fact that she was all alone in her room, or worse - that she wasn't; just the thought of sleeping all alone - or not; and many other absurd things that made her heart ache painfully and her breath catch in her throat.

No wonder that when she saw God's Finger for the first time she gasped and forgot of the velvety black all about her, only able to stare in awe and wonder. Stars there were none; and no moon shone. perhaps it was behind a cloud? Anyhow, she felt hope rush - as though adrenaline - into her lungs, and her chest heave as she stood clumsily and walked over to the window.

"Thank you, O Father the holy," she whispered, really not knowing the proper prayer but simply guessing that this was what one said when one saw Hope in a haphazardly storm. There, in fact, was no storm, but it felt like it.

And as she said these words, Wen trembled all over in her little gown and clasped her hands together, soon finding herself kneeling by the window. Stars began to appear one by one - and so she smiled and waved as though they were old friends of hers.

Suddenly, Wen looked around - looked around, being torn away from the beauty, and had shrieked out at what she saw. Her cry was forced, painful, shrill, and scared - all of these combined, providing her a long, loud, desperate voice.

For, in the darkness - deep in the darkness, where Wen's door was located, it suddenly opened, and in came trudging a shape - the shape of a tall boy, with curly hair and outstretched arms.

Of course, it was Eddy!

The boy smiled down upon her, though she could not see him, and knelt beside his sister to look up at the sky.

"Do you understand the language of the Ancient?" he whispered into her ear, making her tremble all over. What was he talking about? The girl had wondered this aloud, seemingly, for he murmured -

"It is the language that cannot be spoken, only felt. Everyone can understand it, but not many really do. It's something you feel - you know - you search for. The very - ah - fae sort of language."

"Like... the language of trumpets? Or seahorses? Or - or pear trees?" whispered Wen back, listing some of  her favourite things.

"Yes, sis - but so, so much better! Now, you go to bed and I will tell you a story, yes?" Eddy was very good at such things, the girl had agreed to herself a long time ago, and when he went to shut the door she snuggled in under the covers, anticipation growing inside her. This seemed far better that some fairy-tale - it seemed somehow real to the girl. Somehow, real and living and pulsing.

So, now, Eddy had sat on the edge of Wen's bed and opened his cold lips to begin. His hands slithered about so that soon they were holding onto each-other's fingers, and now he truly started -

"I cannot explain about where the language of the Ancient comes into history, how it evolved over many centuries and things as such that only interest people who like the darned subject. I only understand - and don't you, too? - that the Ancient language can be transported through things. As said earlier, I believe that you cannot hear, but feel it - summon it to yourself."

Wen nodded and smiled. She felt uplifted, and an hour later, after many tellings and stories of the Ancient language, the girl was fast asleep, and the boy was feeling very drowsy as he stood up, freed his arm of Wen's, and made his way to his own room.

Chapter Fourth – A sweet romance, the cutting of hair and “rosen” wine

When one morning Wen found a grey bird on her windowsill, she was rather surprised, and even a bit scared - for things like that almost always happened in fairytales; and, as a rule, the princess - this time, Wen - was locked up in a tower, waiting for her prince to arrive when -

"I hate fairytales," was the first thing Wen said as she braided her hair in front of the window on which the curious grey animal was sitting. "The princesses can do nothing - or, they simply act like it. They just do silly things and mourn for their darlings to come and kiss them. And I wonder why such things are shown to little children! - so, no wonder they grow up to be eh." And I do, in fact, agree with our little heroine.

Then the girl licked her lips and jmped into her old grey dress, and walked up to the window. Again, Wen thought of how fairytales were so stupid. But the bird did not seem to mind; in fact, when the girl opened her windows to let the thing in, the bird jumped gladly to avoid being in the rain any longer.

"This shall turn out to be an assy day," said the girl, though she knew she weren't meant to say such things, and she thought that the word she'd used didn't quite exist. She was correct.

When Wen went downstairs to have breakfast, it was announced that Terry Dunton was coming over to stay for a week, being Wen's father's friend's son, who himself could not come for he was in Africa, but who kindly suggested his son and his wife. Also, he was to come in an hour - jolly sweet! Well, that got Wen madder than she had been in the past months, for she would have washed her hair and bothered to not get her a-line dress dirty; but, no - he should have showed up today!

And so she made a hole in her baggy, shapeless dress with her scissors, for why not have fun? And when she went upstairs to confess this all to her stuffed bear, it was realized that the grey bird had pooed all over the girl's windowsill.

"Pah!" and I cannot begin to describe how that sound came out of Wen, for it was deep and throaty and menacing all at once, but so very proper for a bad morning. And so, content, the girl sighed deeply and shooed away at the bird which flew off, feeling disgraced.

Well, miraculously, there, in the girl's wardrobe, proved to be a green broadcloth dress, all tattered and bent and shoved, lying underneath and the underwear and socks. Embarrased, Wen pulled at the creases and frowned, but nothing came of it, so she just put the thing on and let her straight, flaxen-blonde hair fall just to her shoulders. The girl had picked a moss-tinted headband, and it complimented the dress, though it weren't orange. Another pah.

"May I use your earrings, marm?" Wen asked from her mother, and the woman, looking at the dress of her simple little girl had clasped her hands together and nodded. But then shouted - "Remember, you ain't gettin' ready feh a dinnah pahty!" for the woman had a terrible toothache, and one way or another fancied that she couldn't speak quite properly.

Wen ony nodded, and sighed at the sight of Eddy trying to make his curling hair as flat as possible. Crossing another room, came the sight of Ksenia kissing her mirror and looking at herself through her lashes, which was very flirty and a skill that only she and Nanna Anna could master.

Ksenia had stood in front of Wen, and the girls gazed at each other critically; Wen noticed that her sister wore Grand-Momma's rubies about her neck, and that her dress was long and a dove colour, and that the young adult had curled her hair.

"You're nice."

"So are you."

And so Wen went on, grumbling something to herself with furrowed brows till there was a modest knock on the door and Wen's mother ran to get the door.

In front of her and Wen stood a woman, a beautiful woman, in a shell dress that pointed out her figure and with plates of chestnut falling to her shoulders. By her, was a boy about Ksenia's age, with black hair and piercing green eyes and dimpled cheeks.

In a moment, Ksenia came flying to the door, looking superb.

"I'm Ksenia," and she, without hesitation, jumped to touch Terry Dunton's hand. He nodded, and extended out his palm, smiling warmly as he did so.

It shall be dull to describe what happened afterwards, so let us just remember that before "the it" began happening, Wen was playing in Ksenia'S room with her numerous, lovely earrings when there were footsteps heard and the girl flew under the spacious bed to avoid being caught red-handed.

Then, came in Ksenia and Terry, talking animatedly; so soon the door was shut, and the two sat down to gaze upon each other.

"So, you are saying that you are twenty?"

"Yeah. You totes look like fifteen, though,"

"That might be helpful when I'm YOUR age. For now, I want to keep growing and look more mature as I do," was the half-giggle.

"Oh, aren't you sweet..."

Then, to Wen's horror, there was heard a soft kiss and the girl stifled a scream. Terry had bent to kiss Ksenia softly, and she didn't push away. Minutes later, the two began to talk again, this time holding hands as they sat on the windowsill of the elder girl.

"Your little brother is such a cute face - so pretty, unlike your younger sister."

"Yah, she's a bit of a chipmunk, isn't she? Told her to not wear her hair like that - funny, thinks she's living in the eighties!"

"Like seriously." Terry grinned. "At least you're pretty." and the boy traced Ksenia's nose with his long fingers and touched her large forehead. The curling hair fell about Ksenia, it being very long, and she smiled.

"So not. But we could do something wild..." the girl stood up, blew Terry a kiss, and headed for her table where she grabbed her father's scissors and brought them to her hair. "I'll cut it, unless you say that I am ugly."

Terry pursed his lips. "Nay. Be wild."

So, pushing away her curls, Ksenia grasped a handful and cut. So, soon, her hairstyle was a bit like Wen's, though a great deal less neat. It was up to her shoulders, and pale locks streamed down the girl's body. She then laughed and laughed until Terry began to laugh too, and then they murmured sweet things to each other.

After swapping phone-numbers, Terry went downstairs to have some food, and Ksenia sat down on her bed, with her hair on her lap, and cried hysterically until Wen showed up and cried out -

"Whoa! Tut, your hair, dear!" and then the two hugged and cried until Wen stopped and glared at her sister. "Chipmunk?"

"Oh, c'mon - you know I didn't mean it, right?" Ksenia challenged. But Wen only snorted and got down from the bed, ready to go downstairs.

"Your boyfriend is such a sloppy gentleman," she had said. "Very hadsome, ain't he? Well, looks like he's got not the full package..."

Ksenia frowned and cursed. "Why do you say so, adolescent?" asked the eighteen-year-old. "You do know - I'll be nineteen next May, and I'll go out with whomever I wish to go out with..."

"Yes. But he's not smart. He told you to be wild, but how could you do this to your hair? It was so beautiful and long and you grew it for five years. So, now... such a disgrace! Almost like peer pressure, isn't it?"

At that, Wen put her hands together and gave a lazy flick of a clap. "Well done, babe," she mimicked the deep voice of Terry, so dignified and simply the best. "By the way, I right now am wearing my hair in... nothing! It's just falling, like yours did until you cut it. So what's with you and me and showing off? Did I do a bad thing?"

"Yes, you are way cuter in that dress than I was at your age..." Ksenia spread her arms and Wen jumped into them, laughing, now.

"That is because we have different complexions, you see? I've a sharp nose and a low forehead, without a fringe, while you've got a delicately-curving nose and your hair is a tinge bit wavy, which I'm guessing comes from Nanna Anna... plus, you've a high, pale forehead. You - you were very skinny at my age, and I'm so glad that you're ever more plump - for, who needs a girl with bones sticking out at every angle? - and I'm although not as podgy as Teresse May, your lifelong friend, I've got a bit more weight. So, see? Dresses are different, and there ain't a reason to be upset. I am sure that I'll be so into sport when I'm YOUR age that I'll have no fat here, and so this dress would hang on me."

"Aww, you dear little pest!" Ksenia hugged her sister tight. "You are right, and I've no idea how Eddy keeps so bony all the time!"

"I'm sure he's got it from dad," reassured Wen.

"Yarr, and me and you shall have marmee's complexion!" the two girls grinned.

"Though, isn't she superb in her dress of pink velvet? I say, even if our house is so very old, we DO have lovely clothings!"

"I s'pose..." Ksenia scowled. "Actually, no! - I only have this dress and my empire one, or whatever it's called, and the rest is just old history; while you have an a-line and this broadcloth, so very crinkled. Marm - she has her pink velvety one, her shell and another broadcloth, whilst dad is simply obsessed with his one suit. Anyhow, I can't wait to get the pink velvet when I'm twenty-two; and I'llbe kind, so I'll give you the shell."

"But I tell you what!" for Wen enjoyed immensely talking of dresses. "If we're too thin for the two dresses, we could both gain weight and be like Mamma."

"Yarr. Now, you go downstairs, and do stop fingering my earrings, if you will!"

"How did you..."

"I just know, darling, believe me. Perhaps by the marks of chocolate? Lucky you didn't touch my ruby piercings, for they cost a fortune, mind you..."

Not bearing to hear any more of her sister's rich piercings, the girl had jumped downstairs, and walked to the dining-room. She, there, was met by food on tables and Father and Mother and Terry and Mrs. Dunton all talking animatedly as they ate salads and meatballs with mashes-potatoes, drinking over the foods with the delicate wine that was kept for simply special occasions.

Wen knew that, for her father was a wine-lover, without actually appearing to be an alcoholic, and that the it was red wine, and that it was called "Rosen", and that it had the picture of a madonna with white hair and silvery-grey skin holding to her dull lips a blod-red rose on it.

So, Wen made her way over to Terry and asked, as politely as possible, with her hands intertwined behind her back -

"Is father's "Rosen" good, Mister Dunton?"

The boy startled and choked on his sip, and everybody turned to stare at Wen who, with a pale tint to her face and an anxious voice continued - "It's daddy's pride and joy, when it comes to wine. See, he saves it for special occasions, such as this one. I was merely asking if you enjoy it as much as you've enjoyed my sister."

The lasts part, Wen didn't quite mean to say, but she did, and there came a hollow gasp from Mrs. Dunton.

"I told you not to flirt with pretty Ksennie!"

"He did not. Simply, he cut her hair!" put in Wen eagerly, thinking that now that she'd began there was no stopping. Literally. "Peer pressure, I call it!" and then she squeezed Terry's shoulders like an elderly woman, and cassualy picked up her mother's fork with half a meatball and took a bite and left.

Her job was done, and though the girl knew that she would get a slap and a scolding from Ksenia, she had done the best thing she'd done in ages - spoken up. For, truthfully, being the only introvert in the family really hurt at times, but one of the pluses was that, unlike other people, these shy ones didn't speak up until anger and/or grief bubbles and frothed so hard and burned their heart till they shouted it all out in a hurricane of words.

However, Wen did not shout! She had just said what she thought. And that was valuable.

Chapter Fifth – mistress Bell feels queer

In a world that knows no "accurate" time, or space, or perimeter, and one that makes up its own rules on time and geometry, but one that is so wildfully imagined that even the most skilled architect could not plan it out if The Planet was a mere house, up in the heavens of, this time the Third of the Sisters, gods bickered - all over a mere trifle, one must think!

A very simple trifle indeed.

"I still do not agree that Lord Omnied shall go up there!" scowled one of the Lords, as the eight sat on their thrones in the red circle - "I say, we shall call the four explorers back from their goblinn mission and ask for Mistress Stone to go down and talk to King Martin."

"It's all because I'm rather fond of women!" quoth Mistress Snowdrop, eyeing Lord Cruz suspiciously. "I only love every single one!"

Lord Trousse laughed openly. Being caught, he stuffed his mouth with crustless, paper-thin bread, with a slice of croppah on it and munched anxiously. Croppah was like butter - except that it was pink, and tasted - no; I shall simply describe that it was made from a pixie's saliva, which was actually very thick and very pink and tasted - no; I will keep my promise.

But, being a picky eater, and a very nervous speaker, Lord Trousse choked on his slice of bread and croppah and Lord Gremlen had to kindly pat his back so that he wouldn't fall to the floor and barf out the delicate food.

After that, Lord Trousse asked a little grey bird, the same one that Wen had sent away in the previous chapter, which had just happened to have flown up to the clouds, to go and fetch him some other food from the corner of his thatched house, one that happened to be on the very outskirts of the Second Triplet's Heaven, and one that very kindly was near a dimpled crease in the clouds.

Soon, it came back, miraculously holding an enormous tray filled with goods which was balanced on the little beak. And then, settting the delicasies on the little table, it chirped and seated on Lord Trousse's shoulder.

"I tried giving her a message, for I thought she was the girl that is meant to be brought back..." said the bird in Birlh language to her master.

"You do know that the girl has - or had - pale, long hair and a little snub nose, do you? And you do know that you ought to tell all this to the dwarf that will be picking the girl up?"

The bird chirped agreeingly. But, alas, a terrible mistake had been made - one that shall be talked of later in this chapter. Actually, I say talk of it now, for I cannot bare to keep the knowledge inside me any longer, and though this shall be refered to later on, I am to breathe in and out and say that the little bird had forgotten everything of the "snub-nosed girl", and to the dwarf, when it went down, down, down, from the heavenly cloud, it said nothing of HER. Instead, trusting its somewhat damaged memory, the old thing chirped -

"The girl with short hair, yes, lovely short hair, yes, brown eyes, I think! - and, yes, in a green dress. She was. Young, nice cheeks, sharp nose, tender little eyes." it had said all this breathlessly - sung it in Dwarfish, and the stout dwarf nodded.

He then massaged his beard, and his eyes smiled from underneath very bushy eyebrows. Ha! And then he grinned, but now with his mouth, and the sight was to monstrous (for the thick lips stretched out across half of the old dwarf's face, that he looked somewhat like a small, peculiar blob-fish with a beard).

The skin on the dwarf was rather greyed - for, after hundreds of years of rescuing animals and slicing orcs' heads and leading his tribe to the Low Hills, in which were now spread many tiny dwarf-like houses with thatched roofs, he was bound - weren't HE? - to stop worrying of his hygiene. And so was the nature of dwarves; if they did not look after themselves, then surely they turned out to look like hairy, smelly snails in the very end.

"I'm too old to be doin' a job as such, hath you not knoweth?" (this was how dwarves spoke).

"O, please," sang the persuasive bird in the language of Dwarfish.

If one is wondering, and this is not about the current scene that we have just escaped, where the language "Dwarfish" has come from, let me tell you. Before dwarves existed - before humans walked on the delicate lands of The Planet, there were plenty of animals and lakes and oceans and ponds, ones that of course dried up after millions of years. And in those oceans, lived fish.

The first humans that settled on The First of The Triplets called the fish dwarf-fish, because they were very slight and somewhat crooked and looked very hairy upclose. Of course, then, people didn't have dwarves - they did not know of them! But, they believed that the fish should be called dwarf-fish, because they were so tiny, and because "dwarf" was a synonym of "little" in those days.

So the fish became dwarf-fish. Except the enormous, man-eating chopping-machines, ones that come into this tale much later on it the books. However, if one - in the countries of Planet Earth, the simple planet that orbits round the baby-star known as "Sun" to us has watched anything to do with the movie "Jaws", and if they think that the sharks that they've seen in aquariums are the biggest there are, then - no. If many in "The Planet" have seen the Great Tube, a fish very long in the body, with a twisted face and three pairs of eyes and millions of tiny needles, then they know what I am talking of. Just to give you a bit of a puzzle - something to ponder of - let me tell you this; imagine half a skyscraper. Not the whole thing, for the Great Tube would take up a quarterful of the sea by the "Corner Village" - but simply a half. Yes, that is the size of the Great Tube, and --

Back to the dwarf-fish. Pardon my constant blabber and change of topic, I beg you!

Well, the dwarf-fish had a language. Deep in their little caves, they talked and sang in very slippery, rough voices, with no adverbs or nouns, little eyes blinking, unstaring into the darkness in front of them.

And so, the language of the dwarf-fish came to be Dwarffish, and then there came to be Dwarves, and their language was renamed to Dwarfish (mind the extra "f" that has been taken off). Of course, the language of the dwarves is som much for civilized than that of the fish.

"Fine," said the dwarf.

And so, let's go back again to the numerous lords and mistresses and see why I have named this chapter exactly that.

...Some time later, the Heavenly Ones were sitting, all together (except the five), and there was heard decided slurping and gulping from Lord Trousse, who, since three hours have passed since we last saw them, had grown very hungry indeed again. And so, soon there was "redgrass juice" on the dainty table beside his throne, and "sageuses" as well.

Let me explain, however daunting it may seem -; redgrass juice is a filling drink, lovely and wholesome. Whilst Sageuses were ball-shaped, meatball-like creatures (yes!), too much like caterpillars, and with short, tubby dangling legs. They were meant to be served alive, yes, and so they squirmed and wriggled until they were placed into the mouth - for Saugeuses hated saliva, and so, when coated in them, they died of too much pressure and... that's that, for now.

But the others frowned and tapped at their empty glasses for they were either too haughty to ask for more or feeling too drowsy to even think of anything to say. All in all, one must keep in mind that weather happens up in the clouds, and it was far too hot that day, so all the Upper-ers felt sweaty and lazy.

Even Mistress Bell, who was always very careful with what she wore, today had dressed into a top not very modest for an important ruler. Sure, she would rather have died than worn a crop-top (for, though she wasn't as plump as Mistress Stone, she weren't as bony as Mistress Snowdrops either, not that THAT mattered since she knew that banana-shaped girl like her albino friends weren't too attractive, but... rather, it were because she did not like revealing her skin). The cloth that covered the top part of her body was a wheat shirt, and as for the other necessary part of clothing, there was a skirt of satin sitting perfectly on her dainty body.

At that moment, she were feeling far too tired, and when Lord Cruizsux began to talk of who should possiby go down and talk to King Martin about the Helper, the nineteen-year-old put up her hand -:

"YOU?" asked he, rather rudely.

"I am sorry that one of your two girlfriends cannot do it, or do not wish to. But I do, so please consider me.'

"Of course..." Lord Cruz darkened in colour. His deep-grey skin looked deeply-satturated just then.

"I think she shall do it..." the cousin of Lord Pebblar sighed.

"I ought to agree," Lord Cruz said darkly. "Fine, go down - but oughtn't we to prepare you, at the very least?"

"Prepare for what?" Lord Omnied frowned. "Tell me your thoughts, Cruz, or else I shall think you a blockhead!"

Yes, it were true that Lord Omnied did not really like Mistress Bell - but so what? This morning, Cruizsux had called him an idiot for no reason at all, and the man was anxious to pay back by being silky-nice to young Bell.

"Well, we may as well prepare her for her speech, shan't we? And what should she wear? She cannot appear in such unladylike clothes!"

Bell snorted, looking down at her uniform.

"You forget, lord," she snapped at him, "that I am in more power than either Marty or Rilet!"

"What?"

"Their names do not bother me, as long as they don't irritate me. But, surely I shall change into my dark-green robes if you wish!"

And so she did, change into her dark-green cloak, and put on the mossy-tinted hood, tying up her flaxen hair into a casual tail. She looked rather charming, so healthy and sweet and girlish.

***

"It is my pleasure to  finally met you, young Mistress..." had said the rightful king as he placed his hand on Bell's shoulder.

He was hardly twenty-two - very young, and, having had to mary obnoxious Riley Stuarht two months previously, there were deep bags under his glistening green eyes and his body felt tired after having to dance with his wife week after week, for she was one demanding woman!

Bell shuddered. It felt as though a streak of cold water was running down her back, and she smiled painfully at the beautiful king. His skin was a light rose, and his hair could have been a curly mop-of-a-crow, and she almost sighed in satisfication at the very sight of him.

"I am quite honoured to have been able to meet you too..." the girl smiled, as the young man pulled up a chair by the bronze table brimming with food and motioned for her to sit down.

Bell looked around. She was feeling very cool, for quite a modern air-conditioner was built up on the ceiling, where excquisite paintings of the twelve upper-ers were viewed - up in the heavens, laughing, dancing, hugging, drinking, eating...

"I do love your sense of style," she breathed out.

"Thank you. I wish this girl were my wife..." the last part the king whispered to himself, but he was heard.

"What?"

"Oh! I am so sorry, young mistress - it is a song that I have learned this morning. It goes like so, if you are interested -; A young man with hair dark and -"

"It is fine, for I do believe you. Truly."

On further exploration, Bell found that there was a lovely, redwood fireplace standing quite far away, and that there were satin armchairs and a small, mahogany table - it was all like a dining room and a living one mixed together, for where she was sitting now were considerably more chairs, and the table was ever so larger, loaded with bread, butter, sasuages, a bottle of Sap Wine, red cheese, traditional foods like mince pies, et cetera...

And there were also large oil paintings hung in the "dining room" part of the great hall.

"This place is beautiful!" Bell clasped her hands together and let out a moan. She saw that the King had shifted his chair beside her, and with a long hand reached out for a bannickse (a mini-pie with frog liver and wildberry juice).

"Care to take one, young Mistress?" he begged her.

"Oh, yes - did YOU make this?" and the girl's hand reached out to grasp the delicacy - when her short fingers brushed against those of the king, and she pulled away quickly.

"No. My wife did. She says they aren't good for you - but, see, her grandmother is over to stay for now, and she loves bannickses, so the poor soul had to make these especially. Actually, not quite poor, after all..." and with that, the king snarled, showing off glistening teeth.

"Humph."

After she'd eaten, Bell began to talk of why she really was here, and what she needed, and what the king possibly needed... but when she said a funny thing, and the king could not resist but to hug the young woman tightly about the waist, Bell suddenly realized that she was feeling rather queer.

Why...

She had fallen in love.

Chapter Sixth – the luncheon

It was a few hours later, evening, when our little heroine settled down in her bedroom. The party had crashed - quite simply, quite so - when the girl dropped her bomb. After that, the boy and his mother left, quite indignantly, and Mother and Father and Eddy and - she a bit, too! - Ksenia swore at her and got very mad about everything and anything till the little rebel went to bed and the parents had breathed a sigh of relief.

But the girl herself knew that she'd done well, and thanked herself for it as she fell asleep.

The next morning, however, when the girl awoke, everybody still seemed a bit mad at Wen, and she grumbled while she ate her breakfast. But then, Father split his lip on his mug, and blood came pouring out, and while he clutched a tissue to his mouth, nursing it, to break the silence Mother said -

"Mary Sue, my friend from college, has invited our family to go to a - ah, luncheon - with them by the lake today at eleven, before the sun hangs right up and burns our heads. I have been thinking of leaving Blodwena at home -" the woman motioned for her child - "But, if she behaves, she may come."

And that got Wen madder than ever!

She knew that the lake was beside the house - only a kilometre away, for one only had to cross three small dune-shaped hills to get to the lake, and then there was a little bridge, opening up to a wide island at the end of which was open sea. There was no harbour, and so, in violent storms, it was known for the waves to reach over the bridge and gulp at the hills, creating a bit of a - ah, tsunami (?)... no, but it was quite serious.

Wen had made up her mind to stay home and then, after a nice half hour of being at home on her own, she would sneak outside on her scooter and ride down to the lake and watch the party from a little hill. Yes.

"No, thank you, I most certainly will not go with you!"

And you may now think that - how could the parents and even Ksenia and Eddy not suspect a thing?; well, Eddy did suspect a smidge, but the others were very excited to go down to meet Mary Sue's family. But Eddy, being a natural introvert (the only one in the family), he didn't quite feel like going either. So he decided to stay.

"No, my dear friend, please go!" Wen begged Eddy, and that was when he began to suspect. But he only nodded curtly and left, for he thought - what could he do? And anyway, his sister ought to have some fun. Of course, he was a bit upset that she'd let the guests just go, in that stupid manner, but what - should one really take everything to the heart? And - Eddy did not think so.

So, the merry family (well, not the whole one!) walked out the door, chattering, and the last Wen saw of the procession was Ksenia, in her flowery dress and unlevel hair hanging down loosely. Now that she had looked at her hairdo in a new light, she positively hated it - but what could one do? She asked herself this, and while the five walked up and down the dune-shaped hills, she begged -

"Please, I cannot go to the luncheon like this! Cannot I just run down to the village and get my hair cut a bit more so that at least I look a bit more formal?!"

"Have you learned this word just today, babe? I've not heard you use it before, and you always speak your mind out..."

Ksenia laughed. "Oh, well, I am an extrovert!"

"What was that?" Father asked, curiously. "Another word learned today?"

"How do you know all this? And, yes, today morning Eddy got me up on a quiz on the internet and turns out I'm an introvert. I do not know what Wen is, though..."

"Perhaps an ambivert?" Eddy snickered. "I'm an introvert."

Ksenia was now confused, but she shut up her mouth and looked behind. A few hills stretched out to the South, and amongst the grass were seen a few thatched houses. Behind those, was Wen's.

Wen, meanwhile, was putting on a batik dress that she had lent from her sister. It was a bit too large, so she stuck pins to the very bottom, and rolled up a bit of the dress, with the ruffles still dangling down. If one looked carefully, they could see the multi-coloured pins that stuck down to the hem of the dress, but it was still lovely to not a sharp eye.

Then, Wen braided her hair into one short, thick braid and whilst she waited for half an hour to pass she watched the television. There was something up about a shark attack, and soon, the soon-to-be eleven-year-old was cuddling her largest toy bear, being about half a meter long. She felt safe in the arms of one of her favourite companions, and she clenched her jaws and her eyes almost popped out of their sockets when an enormous "tiger shark" jumped up onto an unaware boat and gobbled it up - rather, it first jumped onboard and ate the woman and the baby and then cut her teeth against the hairy man before it sizzled back to the water. So peculiar! - and it did not even die...

But then, just as thetiger shark was jumping back into the water, suddenly there was seen something much larger - "half a skyscraper," one of the reporters had said. "...It is a new species, and we believe that there is only one sharp like this in the whole of Planet Earth. But, where could it have come from? Scientists have been taking pictures and thinking of -"

Wen let out a moan, and even tighter she hugged BoBo.

Then, she checked the time, and almost half an hour had passed! So, she jumped to her feet, forgot about the "Great Tube" and, putting on her boots, she zipped them up and run down the stairs and out the door.

For a good twenty minutes yet she jogged, and soon found herself over the pair of thatched houses, over the three hills, and behind a lonely tree which opened up to a clear view of the lake, of the bridge over the lake, and of Mary Sue and her family and Mother and hers sitting and eating rapidly.

In the West, was the bridge stretching out a little pathway that led to the island, and the girl shuddered at the sight of the sea behind her shoulders, and of the enormous shark. And that was when she had remember the "Great Tube" again, though she obviously did not know that it was called that just then, and the full-of-malice tiger shark.

Mary Sue's family consisted of, Wen saw, as she looked back from the tree and over at the two familes - the father, and a little girl with red hair and blue eyes sitting all by herself, away from Eddy and Ksenia, on the sloping part of the hill that went down to the water. She frowned down at her reflection, and there was misery seen in her eyes.

She wasn't very pretty, frankly, with a snub nose, very big eyes, a wide mouth, and thick brows... but there was something delicate about the ten-year-old, and Wen suddenly had an urge to run and say hi to the girl.

Well, she did - simply, she walked over the bridge and down to the party, and bowed to Mary Sue in a comical way, and said -

"Please, excuse my being late! I wanted to go with the rest of my family, but I had decided to make you and your family a cake. Sadly, it burned... but, I guess, I better learn next time!"

And that was not quite a whole lie - for the girl had thought of baking a pie, but not for Mary Sue's family, a week back.

Mary Sue and her husband laughed merrily and said that it was fine, and then, Wen went to the red-haired girl.

"Hi, there. I am the youngest child in the family, and my name is Blodwena, but Wen for short. I am almost eleven."

The girl smiled shyly. "Uh... My name is Valentine, or Vally... and I am ten. Ten years old. Like you, I imagine
..." she then smiled a very toothy smile, and her eyes lit up like two stars. But, suddenly finding the need to speak once again, she mouthed into Wen' ear - "Of course, your brother and sister seem nice, but you see - I am not one to talk to people older than me.... I get easily scared."

Wen grinned back, though hers seemed much broader. For, you must understand - it seemed lovely that somebody had the courage to open up to her, a seemingly insignificant person. But on the other hand, what the babe in the green tent dress had said stroke her as unusual. The girl furrowed her brows then, trying to think clearly.

"Humph! Well then, what 'bout your family?"

"You are just being stupid here," and the girl pursed her lips and puffed out her cheeks and sifted closer to the water, so that soon her feet felt the liquid. There was something very peculiar, though, about the kid - it really made one feel as if she had a secret that she had kept all to herself. Sure, she seemed all lonely and fragile at first, but when one came closer to her - at least, Wen felt this - she suddenly became all colours and mystical sunsets and many more things which Wen could not quite describe. And another feeling was suddenly borne in her - a feeling of regret, that she was not as interesting. And then the girl asked, very boldly, for she did not want to be quite insignificant, with the solemnity of a man asking "May you marry me?" -

"Will you be my first friend?" And she did not lie, though she really wanted to - to show off about how cool she was, but then - why would she want to be friends with this offspring if she were cool? Perhaps, Vally would think, if Wen had lied, that the red-haired was cool herself, quite as well, and that would not be too good for either of them. So, Wen said the absolutely truth, and you shall hear more about it in the next paragraph. ...Read, rather - you will read in the next paragraph.

Wen, when she was little, used to look different. Quite literally, I am not afraid to say; simply, when she was born, her hair was a violent red, and her eyes deep dark rubies. But something had began to happening when she went to pre-school -; her hair and eyes started to change, and very quickly. Even the teachers had looked at her weirdly, and though it weren't the kid's fault, everybody called her names and nobody really liked her. She was the first in the family to really have this change in looks - if one doesn't count Aunt Josephine (pronounce Yo-se-phine). And before her... nobody knew where she got it from.

It may have been strange, but also in kindergarten Wen had no friends. It may have been because every time she attempted to talk to the teachers, not the kids? Maybe... and then in Primary School, and up to Year 5 (there may have been sone confusion, but Wen was going to Year 6 in August, since where she was lived there were different rules), Wen was know as "Nerdy", for she had to wear reading classes, and often read books in class for she was an avid reader and always brought her homework in on time, and her projects were just quite excellent, for from a young age she was taught how to be proper and the best student she possibly could be.

To tell the brutal truth, it had never crossed her mind that she should not have followed her parents' orders, and just ran around with greasy hair and eyeliner and taut, rippling muscles. But now that she'd thought of it, why should she listen? And with this reckless thought in mind, she nodded at herself in the water and regretted saying anything to Vally.

"Your first friend?" The second word of the question was put in in an italicazed version, so the pressure was felt not only on Wen's burning face but also on the lips of Vally.

A smile of victory died on Wen's lips. The happiness stopped to bubble and froth. And, with an angry glare, the girl screamed -

"Is there something wrong?!!"

Chapter Seventh – eyes in the dark

It was now October. Wen and Val have begun school, and it turned out that they were in the same class. Oh, and also - they were thought of as the "twins". Plus, Wen had earned the reputation of a popular girl.
But... shall not we start from the end (for beginning at the start can be awfully dull, sometimes. Just keep in mind that this is not your usual fairytale, and that when I talk of friendship, that is not the end - but the start, in actual reality)?
Yes. Let's.

It was late September, and Wen had dressed into her tent dress of black. Her flaxen hair hung on her head, fringe hardly covering the eyes (for she had none - fringe, I mean, and not the eyes). At the time, it was really cool to have an iPad or iPhone, as it still is now, I imagine. Well, Wen was just standing at her locker, getting her short-sleeved shirt out and skirt so that she could change into them (do remember, she had wanted to become cool and so stopped being "the Nerdy". When instantly, Stella, the tall girl with frizzy blonde hair, stupid eyes and a pink-red face announced -

"Hey, wassup, babe?"

This kind of question Wen only heard to be directed to Stella Vinus's friends, and so Wen furrowed her eyebrows.

"Nothin' much! My momma keeps making me wear old stuff, and I'm just going to the toilet to change into this!" She grinned wildly, deciding to play the game of acting, whilst at the same time displaying her shirt with "YOLO" written across boldly, and her cowl skirt which wasn't quite that fashionable, for Stella and her friends wore very short, very silken-to-the-touch ones. And you may think that that was quite vulgar - why, an in a primary school! - but it was the finest thing imaginable at the school, for the principle believed in students expressing themselves in every way possible, even if — oy, I beg that you do not think that this school was for rebels, no, and/or that it had a low rating. It was simply the influence of Mrs. Therese, nothing else - otherwise, the education provided was great.

"Wow, my mother care not what I do with my life! She said so herself, yesterday night, when I asked if I can get my ears pierced... was drunk, I suppose! Well anyway, if it ain't her own problem!"

Wen stared hard and long at Stella, mouthing out words "Is this why you behave like a stick of an idiot?" But she had not much time to think any more about any of this, for soon Stella was all over her again, and with her phone out this time.

"Care to take a selfie?!"

Wen frowned. Of course, this must have been why Stella was behaving so nicely to her, because she felt sad? Well, she would be as nice as possible, anyhow, to her today -; for she suddenly felt as if she understood just how bad her enemy was feeling.

After the selfie, Wen suddenly grinned - "Hey, I have a phone, too!" And the truth was that she had asked her father, very kindly, to lend her his iPhone to school, for she said that she might have to call if something happened on the way home —; 'twas not the first time she's lied.

Stella's mouth fell open at the sight of the iPhone.

Well, that was was the story of how she got popular, ladies an gentlemen! Wasn't it - wasn't so peculiar?? For it must seem so, anyhow, and I bet my beard (that I have none of) that this still happens - people judge people by what they have, and what they don't have, and what they look like... which is rather unfair, and ever so wicked. But, oh, oh - children can be just so unreasonable at times, yes?? (And really I shan't be saying any of this, for what do I know - it's not like an eleven-year-old has knowledge of much!)
But, moving on! ...Lest you want to embarrass me more by profusely begging of me to write down stories full of morals. I hate that. And I would surely hate you.

***

Now, unto the second story - how Valentine and Blodwena came to be like twins. ...Want to tune in to the story? Well, then, grab some chocolate milk for me as payment, and I shall proceed quite nicely. If not, then I shall still proceed - for what am I, a maddened bull? But bare in mind, I shan't be too happy and a smidge ashamed of you, then.

So. It was quite simply, all because of Val doing what Wen did, and the absolute opposite way around. The two were inseparable - the two snacked together, worked on projects together, did homework together after school by the Year Six gates, or under the trees in Vally' garden (Val still did not have the chance to yet go to Wen's)... they had lunch, holding hands, danced with each other in Music Class and sat together and whispered gossip in Sports, pretending that their knees were badly injured (even though the two were steadily climbing the ladder to POPULARITY, they acutely and strangely hated sport, and nothing could drive the, into doing it, unless Stella was around).

Sure, this may seem like a normal thing-to-do for best friends, perhaps, the tale of which comes in the third, and second-last "part" of this chapter - but the truth was, even though it may have seem quite the opposite in the previous Chapter, that Vally always hugged and kept close to Wen. And when any of the other kids, of course other than Stella and Georgina and Minerva came close, Vally said loudly and broadly -

"It's me and Wen, and not you, no offense!" As though the person were to suddenly come over and grab Wen and and out of their pocket produce a pocket-knife and start making scars on — well-pp. I got a bit carried away, but surely this was what Vally thought.

Once, Wen tried reasoning with her friend, but it did not quite work out — rather, I shall let you experience this on you own, however sad you may feel that you cannot be transported directly to the place. Oh, I am sorry — sure, I am not a true magician, but I like to think myself the "Witch of Words", which sounds waaaaaa—aaaay too cheesy, to be brutally honest. So, just pretend, okay?

"Look, Vally, I love you..." and one may have thought, if they looked like it, and were older, that Valentine And Blodwena were involved in some romantic releationship!
... Well, rather, The two were sitting outside of Year Six, on recess, under a large oak, on a "recycled bench", and, whilst eating their snacks, talked.

"Look, but - should not you and me expand our friendships

"No, I would not say so...but do you mean it? Because I am absolutely fine with the idea - I just need you to tell me, 's all - of course we can - we can - can - expand..." but there was red colouring Valentine's voice, as if she were embarrassed, but at the same time not quite because she wanted to hide all her indignation and it took all her strengths away not to show anything... however, Wen saw right past that.

"That is o-okay, Val, darl'! I just stated my opinion, I promise! Really, I didn't..." the girl sighed anxiously. The wind blew in all around her, and the oak the two had been sitting on frowned and rustled beseechingly. The thick silence could easily have been cut through by a sharp nail. Or knife. Actually, more like a sharp sword with a hilt with carved rubies, but that sword may or may not come into the novel, much, much farther in the future.

"In fact, let us begin now..." with that, Vally walked over to Ruth, a girl with long black hair and smart, small eyes who on the day had been wearing jeans and a tank top of a thick, red colour. Said —

"Hey, wanna come over tonight?" She asked savagely, looking back at her old friend. "My mum's making lemon slice, and we can play the clarinet!"

Ruth was one to agree to every "hang-out" after school, and was always an easy target to corner, especially now... so she grinned wildly, showing off white-pearl teeth, and laughed somewhat haughtily.

"Yes, yes," she said and reasoned with herself - at least some fun to spend after school, though not with the other girl... she's most interesting! And she was somewhat true, because Wen was truly most fun when she intended to be. However, i shan't go into details right now, for I ought to continue with the next part, and anyway I have been stretching this one out for quite too long now.

***

Of course, now we are up to the last - first? - part that should have been at the very beginning , truly. However, you may be wondering - why is this Chapter called just that - what have I named it just this for? It is because the "Eyes in the Dark", more or less, come in the very near-to-the-end paragraphs, perhaps in the part that comes after this one.

Sure, I know that I have said that we're up to the first/last part now, but can one really count a few feeble lines a new part? Sure, sure. Just bear in mind that I am quite lazy, quite often - And I beg pardon.

...At the start of the year in August (for little Wen lived in the North of Terleasse, and the year started just then) the teachers thought of who to put on classes with whom. It was coming to be the last day of July, and they all still argued in a similar manner to the Upper-ers, though of course they were more haughty and stately and proper.

Well, sooner or later, Mister Gallagher announced, with a tug at his tie and a clear of his throat and a wave of his long, pale hand. A snarl had played on his lips just then.

"I say, I shan't bother with this shit!" And he then explained that - Why, it was the child's fault if they did not listen during class if they sat with their best friend, yes? And soon, being under the influence of the most important teacher in Year 6, all the rest agreed and frowned.

"Well, Blodwena, whose last name I could not care less to pronounce for it is a puzzle to me, seemingly has no friends..."

And then, all the teachers shared notes about who played with whom on recesses and lunch-times, and it was then clear that Wen, frankly, had not many friends.

"Ah, but then let us put this Valentine into her class, the new girl, just moved from the heart of Hrothe! ...Yes, their names are similar in -"

"Longish-ness?"

"Quite so, Cathy-May!"

Well, let us close the curtains to this scene now, and ponder or not about the teachers - one shall know, Cathy-May Douglass was the teacher that the two girls got, unfortunately, and she was the stupidest, as teachers often are.
Now -

***

Wen was sitting alone in her bedroom, with the silken darkness weaving itself all about her for it was beginning to get late. In her nightgown, with legs up and tucked in, she sighed and frowned out the window, wondering if there was ever anything more dreary than when the day chose to end.

And just then, as the girl had decided to go downstairs and pour herself some mineral water and then go up, up, to have a good talk to Eddy about why would the sun ever wish to go away, suddenly the girl - as she carefully paddled off the bed, for she'd already been sitting on her bed for hours, - saw two bright orbs, no irises, staring at her out from the window.

Swirling, dark orbs with masses of orange light caught in time and mixed with saliva, making it an orang-ey colour of a soft liquid that, when she turned out to touch, sprang away...  and a shape of a hooded, stout figure with a scraggly, thick beard was seen leaping away and off.

Chapter Eighth – a bit of a fight

Wen never quite got over the eyes that she had found staring at her before the figure danced away, being coated by the silken darkness. Right at that moment her muscles tensed and her ears pricked up just like a cat's, and her bad eyes (she had refused to wear glasses even when the doctor had assigned them to her some two months ago) strained against the blunt blackness.

It would be pointless of me, as Blodwena's biographer, to tell you her every move and capture the every single sparkle in her eyes... so, I shall simply go, a week forward, so that you may see all for yourself!

Well-p; I will begin, won't I? But somehow, I just cannot bring me self to, simply because it is a small story a week after
Wen saw the eyes, and THAT is because I think the story is a bit disbelieving and may be cliche. But I shall keep on!

***

A week after what Wen had seen, she was still shaking when she thought of the sight. Of the burning, dark eyes. Of the cloaked, stout figure. And then, there, a feeling - borne inside her - a feeling of maddening horror, one that pricked at her heart and made her eyelids flutter and her soul rise, as though it were floating up to the skies.

And now, seven days later, she sat on a leather armchair in the living room, with hot chocolate in her arms and hands resting on her forehead, her cheeks, with people's voices pouring out like little gurgling rivers, quivering and rippling on and on and on while she kept living through the same moment again and again.

Again, the feeling came! - the inexplicable one, one that made her so mad she wanted to grab Ksenia'a now evenly-trimmed hair and pull at it until it came out of her skull with the younger sister's fingernails caked in blood. But at the same time - her soul rose, up, up, to the skies and further to the stars. She liked the feeling. But it was a beast - tearing her apart - and she was crazy.

"Babe, what really happened?" asked Eddy again, with a worried glance at his sister.

"I think, that, when I was getting down from the windowsill, I fell... and banged my head... and then I merely thought I saw something, and now I'm all crazy because I am trying to tell myself that I am not!" She lied, patiently, for the fifth time that day. The lie seemed rather believable, and the beast borne inside Wen gave a disgusted roar for it wanted the absolute truth to be out, once and for all.

"Are you sure?" Inquired Ksenia. Mother and Father were out and about, being invited to tea - sure, they did not wish to go, but it was to a friend that they had both known in university, so the couple were eager to meet up with Millicent Deep, a graphic designer and passionate cook.

"Couldn't be more!" Wen grumbled, for a realisation suddenly hit her - "Aww man, do I have to run and buy the bread and milk today?" And with pleading eyes, for she hated to run about the village till she found the jolly little store filled with smells of heavenly bread that she every time got so accused of eating when there was only a little bit of the bun returned, she fixed them on her attractive brother, who let out a short laugh and then grinned widely.

"You can't get away from..." he began, hearing Wen sigh and Ksenia frown knowingly. "Being the baby! Sure, I will go, but will you not eat chips and check your sister's blog while she ain't a-looking?"

Ksenia turned a furious, burning expression of extreme hatred to Wen, cheeks colouring, flat brows pulling in together. "You read my posts, ah-ha?" The last part was given off as a triumphant spit, much like a cat hisses when unnerved.
Spit covered Wen'a face like little pearly droplets and she extended out her hand, slicing a fingernail against Ksenia's chin. The wild beast had been let out!
It wanted to claw again, to make the gash deep and offensive, and to let blood trickle from the wound. But what she did had done enough effect; suddenly, out of her dreary mental state, a soft purr had echoed - through her veins and up to her throat. The murmur of satisfactory caught in her mouth, her lips sealed shut with force. She could not make a sound.

Thrashing, she fell down to the hard floor and Ksenia had time to kick Wen hard in the shin, so that soon after her knee was shades of purple.
Eddy, meanwhile, had to grapple so that the siblings' hands and legs were intertwined no more, and with manly strength he dragged Ksenia to the armchair opposite.

Ksenia's cut was deep and went like a thin scar right across her chin. Later on, she screamed at herself, but while Ksenia had no mirror, her face remained a deathly pale tint and her hands shook as she grasped the armrests and bit her tongue apprehensively.

Wen, on the other hand, as mentioned above, had a quivering knee because of the pain she felt. Her efforts to stand up and land a jab at her sister resulted only in the rebel landing down to the ground, off her chair, and having to nurse the affected knee as she sucked on it, simply like an angered kitten.

Ksenia let out a hollow, piercing laugh, one that cut the thick air about her into a half. Her tongue was like a scythe, working away to land more panic and pain with every stroke -

"Good, good, you're a true gem, are you not dear?" She laughed wistfully, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling and shrugging her shoulders afterwards. "Well then, you know all about Terry and me, yes?"

Voice was returned to Wen. Maybe it was because she suddenly realised how minimal harm she had done by landing a little cut to her sister's polished face, covered with make-up and false identity - and that should 'ave made her madder than ever. Or it was because she wanted to spit out everything she ever thought about Eddy and let herself squirm and curse and roll up a tantrum. Either way, she sat back in her chair, lips always-too-big-for-her-face easing, opening, tongue working to produce a sound.

It worked.

"Yarr, I have read every single post, old sister. And Mum may know that you have fifty-three followers on your blog, mayn't she? And if she - excuse me - when she knows about what you write of on your website she is sure to banish you from your phone for the longest of eternities!"

Ksenia drew back glossed lips and snarled, fingernails digging deep to make creases in the leather.

"You won't tell Mother, I can guarantee you that!" Because suddenly, Ksenia jumped, bound up the stairs and was gone.

Eddy inched away from his glowering sister, and was surprised when she merely glanced at him with an expression of hatred crossing the sharp face. Because she thought she knew what was coming up...

Ksenia had returned. And in her arms, she held a little moleskin diary, one that Wen especially used as a journal to write about her bad days in. Even worse, a pair of Father's scissors were on top of the small book.

Wen tensed.

"If you dare tell momma, then I dare to cut all your pages out and stick them on the refrigerator! Pah!"

Wen tenses again. She wanted to cry out!

"I... won't..." Blodwena stood up and delivered a stroke to her sister'a hands, making her drop the scissors, sending both items plummeting down to the floor.

Chapter Ninth – A collection of entries

The entries below, as one may know - or not, in this probable case, have been written over many days, by Wen, in her moleskin journal. Yes - the one that Ksenia had dropped in the previous Chapter.

But we shan't go into that right now, and merely look at hat she had written - about "The Eyes" as she had called them, about the sibling fight... I hope you enjoy her pieces of work, for she took great pride in herself for writing them down.

***

END OF OCTOBER 2017, 
I am writing this in the comfort of my bed, lying down, and my senses are a swirling madness, kicking and squirming against the walls of my brain for all they are worth.
I could even go as far as saying that I am feeling perturbed by all the bubbling thoughts, for they quite often make me so mad that I want to shout out the word "Shit", even though it is a very bad one, and Momma says that a girl who shall be eleven years old in two weeks may never even think of saying anything as disgusting 'till she is twenty-two.

I am think of telling all this to my brother, Eddy, that I saw a mass of large, dull eyes an hour and two minutes ago, staring at me through my window. My room is on the second floor, and so I feel quite peculiar about the whole case. Could somebody be stalking me? I would be honoured if they were.
But, anyway, I am very scared also... because, what if a serial killer had come to get me? And if I lie, nobody will know of my murder - ever, never! - because I know that all the good detectives are real only in books such as "Dolores Westte - Or The Irony of Fate" And those are just so dull to read.

BEGINNING OF NOVEMBER 2017,
Again and again I grapple with my senses! And they seem to be bursting at the seams, quite literally, influencing my poor young mind and making my eyes gloss over and my breath catch in my throat so that I do not have to say the 'S' word. I once pulled back my lips and almost pronounced, but got afraid - for I clearly remember Aunt Ronia telling me that if I did not "oblige to my parents' standards" then something awful would happen to me in the night.

Today, I am awfully angry because I have had a fight with Ksenia, and she landed a very dreary, purple bruise onto my poor knee. So it makes sense that my legs buckle when I walk, for my bones seem to stretch and make my wound hurt and tug at my skin. I might as well flush Ksenia's makeup down the toilet, but what if it spits it back up? Then, all her supplies would be wet as 'ell, and what in the third kingdom would I do then? But I do not suppose I am one to complain... at least, not right now, when I am sitting down with an ice pack to my affected place and singing to myself a song that Conan James had made up in class today about old Mrs. Worboys.

STILL - EARLY NOVEMBER 2017,
My birthday is coming up and I m very excited. Right now, I am happily sitting on the windowsill, staring out at the dune-shaped hills below me, often glancing to look down at my journal.

I must say - if I did not wish to be a nurse when I am older, I'd surely be an authoress. Because, I enjoy describing things immensely. What I see right now with youthful, sharp little eyes I shall describe down below, in my neatest writing so that when I am bending over with age and my eyesight gives away after crisp years of womanhood I can at least try and squint my eyes to see.
Here goes something!

...The hills that I see below are beautiful and glowing in the darkening hours, and if I were let free from inside these walls - if I could steal one breath of fresh air outside this asylum, and climb one of them, I would look around and realise that my dune-shaped friends look rather like green wyverns, all curled up and sleeping very tenderly...

MIDDLE OF NOVEMBER 2017,
Today, Terry Dunton threw me into the nearby lake, West of the dreary forest,and laughed when I swam up, hysterical and angered.

Chapter Tenth – supposed marriage investigations, and into the water

It was a day worth mentioning - a day worth carrying the epithet - if days ought carry epithets - "sweet". For, why - everything about it was just that -; the perfume in the air, the serenade of the birds, the syrup-like taste of Momma's fresh pancakes... and even Wen herself wore a sweet look, with her lips scarlet and cheeks flushed from the warmth of the morning, hair pulled back into a messy tail. Her light-brown eyes - a shade far too common for little girls - laughed a droll joke as she looked about herself, feeling the hem of her long, silken nightgown.

"Good morning... how... are you?" Asked Father, as Wen walked up to him and he clasped a warm hand to her forehead.

"Daddy, I ain't sick!" Laughed Wen. "And I do not feel mentally dreary any more, I promise - rather uplifted by the smile of the breeze that tickled my toes as I awoke."

"Pleasant, quite so!"

Wen sat down at the table a few minutes later, with the whole family grouped in at the table, eating and discussing what they were to do today.

"Terry is coming over, and we are going to the lake!" Ksenia announced.

"Me and Val will come along..." Wen grinned. Sure, perhaps it was not a good idea to go to the lake in Autumn - for some reason - and another con may have been that not long ago Wen herself had been pushed into the water by Terry, but she truly loved borrowing Mr. Oswald Stuarhte's boat to swim across the lake and feel as if she were floating on water.

...Some time afterwards, Wen had walked outside in her Spanish dress of a navy, dark colour, and ran to Val, who, when she met, saw as a very sweet, stylish red-head with greasy hair, a big brown bow and in a thick cowl skirt and tank top very inappropriate for a day in lovely, golden, crimson, somewhat cold Autumn.

Together the two skipped to the lake, holding hands and laughing and talking, feeling each other's fingers intertwined in the most splendid of manners, warming each other up.
Soon, however, the two were at the lake, and seated in the boat, with knees pulled in and hands resting on their legs, somewhat twin-like expressions of joy on their faces.

Meanwhile, Ksenia and Terry were walking through the Woods. It felt still and cool, and the shell dress Ksenia had borrowed fitted her well-built body, pointing the figure and adding accent to the pink quartz piercings upon her ears. The girl felt blissful because she was holding the hand of her true love - the thin, long fingers wrapped about her waist, with the other hand supporting her palm tenderly.

"Babe," he said with a flicker of his smart green eyes and a ruffle of his curly black head - "Today is so still and lovely, and so are you." He then traced the face of his girlfriend, sighing contentedly with every stroke as if she were some sort of magical treasure chest that needed human contact to be opened.

However, Ksenia felt queer and pulled away, flushing red. "What... shall we hurry up, just a smidge bit?" She asked with colour to her voice, clearing her throat to make it seem clear that she wanted to move on.
But the smell of the Fall scent, so putrid with scarlet and blossom colours, made the woman lightheaded and she wanted to laugh - nevertheless - when her boyfriend asked if he could possibly try carry her, in the very "bride" manner.

...Ksenia tied her flaxen hair up in a bright ribbon and then fell out of Terry's arms, and when he cried out in panic she, again, simply giggled and stood up hastily with a look of vague expectation, one that told to the tearful eyes of the man, red of cheeks - "Oh, you triple-headed bag of a fool!"

And, rubbing her knees, she grimaced - whistled beseechingly - gave Terry a haughty kiss, very cold and proper and good on the brow, whistled again, and was off through the hemlock trees, kicking up her feet as she went and cursing the man behind her to catch up, and not be a —

I won't say it. I promised Ksenia's mother I wouldn't, and Terry and I made a secret worth keeping, even at a distance away from his family.

But Terry had chased after the girl, once hiding behind a birch and then sprinting up unto the pray from the lowest branch of an oak. Well, she was caught in the thin grasp, one that genteelly supported Ksenia, but nevertheless, her hair was all mattered and full o' leaves, cheeks flushed, lips puckered...
But nothing came. Except a droll shriek -

"You wish, bae!" And then the young man wheeled over on his long legs, raised a hand as a salute, and ran away after a squirrel, leaving Ksenia to splutter and kick at the dirt, disgusted.

***

Finally, Wen got rather tired of waiting and stood up, stretching her legs as she did so. It would be wrong to say that she was skinny like Valentine, but nor were she plump as - frankly - Ksenia. Though Ksenia's round face added up to the beautiful, full lips and big eyes. Wen was more of the "average weight, average height, average eyes, average hair"... the only thing unnatural was the little scar, cut through her right brow - thin, jutting right out.

One may wonder why I have not told of this earlier, and the simple answer is that I have been waiting for this moment, at the lake, where the girls stood on the lowering part of the hill, out and under the cool bridge.

It surely was a delight to imagine a goblin with leathery skin, popping eyes bulging out of their sockets, body revealed in the chilly autumn breeze save for the cloth draped around the lower part of his body, back, arms, neck in acid... though it made shivers run down the back of Wen, and she told Val - but the other girl only grimaced and scoffed.

Just then, however, Terry came running from out of the woods on the west (and I know that to the west was the harboured shore, but a cluster of dark, dreary trees were propped up together to the slight north-west from there).
His face held mirth, and when he ran up to see two little girls, eight years younger than him - just (remember, Wen just turned eleven) - Terry let out a crow-like cackle.

"Where's sis?" Wen asked, standing up on her tiptoes, raising chest and squaring shoulders, nose up high to look at the pointed, handsome face - "Tell me now, I don't want trouble with you!"

"Yeah, she's right..." Vally nodded sheepishly.

"Shut up you weasel!" Terry hooted with laughter at the sight of the startled, bulging eyes of the offended and the raised fists of her friend. "Your sister is fine, we were just running..." and then, he fell to his knees, sighing and moaning as if he were a tortured one.

Suddenly, a little, sharp (gem)stone fell out of the left pocket of his trousers. Surprisingly, he noticed not and continued to pant till he stood up, stretched, and ran back into the woods to catch up with and then taunt and, in the end, perform a very meaningless kiss on Ksenia's cheek.

Well, Wen bent down and, with little, short fingers she clasped the stone in her hand. Breathing heavily, she made her way from underneath the bridge, call of excitement and mirth captured in her throat, accepting free fall... for now she were sitting upon the bridge, legs dangling down, and in her palms she fingers her find.

"Of course!" She suddenly whispered, voice trembling. "Good - god - oooh!" For she had just remembered so something; in year five, term two, her grade was studying about different types of minerals. Vaguely, Wen remembered being fascinated by aquamarines and sapphires, peridots, ametrines, rubies.... but. There was the mysterious turquoise, a stone which looked all mossy and this inexplicable blue, with a hue of green mingling in the forbidden depths...

"Why, I never! This could cost a fortune!" Dramatically ejaculated Valentine as she walked up the bridge and sat down, inspecting the gemstone with much care. Her eyes scanned the rock - not much larger that her fist, and she wondered how it did not make a hole in whoever's trouser pocket it ought to have lived before.

She did not see it fall from Terry, I guess... Wen said to herself, intoxicating happiness filling her as if it were gas. Combing her hair back with her fingers, she let her lips open and murmur, "But, this is my find! - I want to be in this all alone. If she wants, Vally can go herself to find gold and fish and weeds, but I will stay here with my discovery..."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing, my darling!" Wen grinned. "But what - who would need this stone? For what?"

"A wedding ring, you dumb donkey!" Val grinned, laughing. Sure, she did not mean it, Wen knew - but now her mouth closed, small eyes digging as disks into her friend. Sheesh.

"For what Valentine, may I know?"

"I said wedding ring!" Val scoffed. "You know, maybe somebody was going to make a wedding ring with this weird mossy-whatsit, like you know - earrings have stones in them?"

"Like those studded things?" Wen felt her own ears. They were adorned with two little rings, one on each, supposedly a lovely, feminine bronze tint. She sighed.

"Ya," Val continued on, no excited - "sure! And the remains must have dropped out of somewhere, and now the person cannot make a ring for their to-be-not-anymore bride!"

And then, it hit Wen with a pang that could have shattered her whole world apart. Yes. Yes. This was it! Wasn't this Terry twenty? Did not he think himself so good, wealthy, affordable, and adorned in love to propose to Wen's sister? And it was a fact that they were madly in love - at least, that was what Ksenia said - "My baby sister, I never have felt like this for somebody I have known for only - what - three months?"

Though, it could be something else... and Ksenia was still too young! However, her eleven sibling had once said, about two years ago, in a tormented duel with her mother "Fear the day I turn eighteen, indeed, momma! ...then, I shall do whatever my little heart desires, but for now - May thee feel queer to even think of my turning that age!" For she often felt quite tortured by her parents, and, feeling extremely wicked, she thought of her mother as the devil - however, she only knew that "thee" was to be said before God, or at least she thought so - and had used her words quite daringly.

But suddenly, Val nudged her friend. "Look, those two goofy dumb-os are coming back!"

And that was when Wen held back her breath, for she realised - despite the muddy knees and carefree, short hair that once was a gorgeous wave that Rapunzel herself would feel as if she were put to shame with, Ksenia was so beautiful! The full lips, the large eyes, the curving nose - and what was she herself? Just a girl with a mouth too big for beauty, sharp features, low forehead... but then, Ksenia seemed happy. Quite.
She laughed and laughed as Terry carried her to the lake, and wasn't he gorgeous either?

"Oh... my..." Wen muttered. At least my name is lovely, not hers! Something spoke deep inside. ...But my surname is awful...

The problem was, Wen realised, that Terry would soon find what he had lost if Wen left it just there - and that would make her seem like a coward! So, she stuffed the stone into her left boot, where it prickled her poor toes and made then puffy and red from all the angles and joints.

And then she ran to join Val in the boat, that the two lovers had already occupied. Ksenia, sitting at one end of the little "boat",  much too small to be one frankly, was holding Terry's hand, and their fingers were intertwined and were performing all sorts of peculiar gestures, fingers rubbing in against one another.

A look of maddened happiness had reached the face of Terry, and as he rowed, he told stories from his childhood and even offered to play "Would you rather" with the kids. But surely - far too much of anything is bad, as one will witness further down the road. And it shall be a slippery slope - not literally, but mentally.

..."Let us test," he grinned widely, "If - Valentine -;"

"Ya?" The girl had been found fiddling with her bow.

"Would you rather have to kiss me -" he received, at that, a scornful glare from Ksenia - "Or swim in the water, on this cold Autumn day?"

Val puffed up her chest, straightening her shoulders and, giving a critical look to the little pond about herself, with great old oaks shielding away the hills and the forest and the harbour from view, said - "You are as disgusting to kiss as a toad, for I've seen your girlfriend do it, and it seems super sloppy and ew, so I would jump in the pond for anything!"

"We could test..." Terry stood up, stopping to row and gazing about himself delightedly.

"Don't you throw her in like you threw my sister!" Said Ksenia reaprochfully.

"Better. Plonk," said Terry, and, pushing Val into the water with an almighty kick in the shins, she went flying down to the navy murkiness.

Chapter Eleventh – a tearful event

Why, hello - dear readers of the world, who have chose to read this particularly tragic book of a certain little girl named Blodwena. I will now list - with a tear staining my pages as I write in the dim candlelight - what shall await you, not only in this Chapter but in the parts to come, forming together like a puzzle to create one, big, black hole in space that shall swallow up any living creature that dares come close - in the end. And it may not seem perilous - and there may be momentary laughs, and friendly exchanges of hugs and words and people with quite amusing spectacles sliding down from their noses - but all in all, who wants to read about a death, an evil being with hands like death, talk of self-murder, blood-stained scimitar? Who, may I ask, feels as if they were in need of reading through a duel, witnessing a woman with eyes like hellish tongues of red flame torturing - killing - an innocent man, quite noble for this world? And - lastly - would one enjoy to become part of something big - with scarlet blood and slit throats and bones covering the ground in white, silken strands - WAR - truly?

Because you can end this all right now.
You can put away your devise - your book - and step down on your glasses, if pray you have any - and, with your heel, you may watch the glass shatter and crack like a great iceberg. But if you do nothing... if you, oh! I shudder to think of it! - do nothing and, in the end, keep on reading, then it is entirely all your fault if ghosts haunt you for a long time afterwards, and if you are so afraid that you cannot look properly into a mirror again lest you see none of your reflection,  but truly something much, much worse.

You have just been warned, alas!

But step right in... turn the page... let your eyes dig into the information - let them scan and feast on the paragraphs below, and feel your rage coming like bubbling froth up to your throat with the end of mere chapters, when you want to tear anything and everything apart that dare put itself in eyesight.

Go. There is no turning back, now...

***

It was nearing December when Wen and her family trudged to the Sue house, looking grim. Our little heroine's looked quite broken-hearted, with a grey face, so dull-looking and prim, with her flat brows pulled right in, making her seem like a very proper child in this dull weather.

As the Trulegh family neared the Sue house, sighing, Father and Mother talking in painfully low whispers, Wen saw that many people were beginning to file into the courtyard of the rich Sue house. For once, the seemingly-insignificant family, proud, haughty, seemingly cold - has many a visitor, that day! - for an instance; Mrs. Bassalli, the school teacher, the Dori family (which consisted of three girls Wen had known from Daycare, and who had - until now - Maths sessions with Valentine Sue, and two very slight, proud-looking parents), a few boys (Edgarre, Sean,) that Val got to know at football practise which took place on the east-side of the north-west "forest", the doctor, Torri Frane, the baker from Dice St., Lemony Zolgee, and distant relatives of the Sues, some of which included Uncle Annatolii, a man with a perturbed look about his face, who had a scrutinised little beard, and who dared carry a thick pipe wherever he went, so that surely everybody knew of his presence when smoke began to float up, up, coating his face as though a cloud.
Also, there was Aunt Ronia, a woman who, though now old, claimed herself to be "quite grande" in her days, a word which means - surely - very big, or grand, in Italian.
There were too many shady personas hiding under large hats, dressed in tight dresses or suits, cigars brought to their mouth ever now and then.

Fifty people, all in all, that seemed quite phenomenal! - but what really made people feel queasy with suspicion and excitement at being called to the Sues to group outside, was when Mary Sue herself walked out and began addressing people one by one, so that all could come into the house to greet and wish good things to Valentine Sue.

So, soon, all had left - all but one family, whose last name I shall mention now, though to the utter disgust of Wen and humiliation of Mister —
And that was the Trulegh family.

However, sure as the sun (and believe me, I beg, I do not know what this term is for!) soon enough came out Mary Sue, for one last time.

"How.. is she?" Wen shouted out gladly, for she has felt until now the sob clogging up her throat - "How is she, Mary, tell me!" And she clasped the bony hand as she reached it, and looked up into the little, tear-filled eyes.
Wen would, for anything in the world, want to have the courage to squeeze past this little, motionless figure, and bound up the stairs and bang the door and jump upon Valentine's bed, so that they could cuddle up together and laugh and read magazines. But... what would she see in the little room?
Flowers on the table, with a bright, jolly, red-headed girl either watching television or playing the banjo?
She doubted it.

Perhaps... instead, perhaps a pale girl wrapped in a blanket, sitting on her bed, drinking hot chocolate? Yes... for, Wen had heard people talking, back when the front yard was filled -;

"She looks deathly pale, but boy is she fat now!" One of the triplets spoke, a hand cupping her mouth - no doubt she thought that nobody would hear her, that way!

"Hah - her hellish parents 'ave done nothin' but feed her oodles 'n oodles 'a' food... pathe'ic!" Ejaculated the mother, who was known to have a bad history with Mary Sue - for the other one had been said to steal the cotton shawl, beaded with pointed rubies. Of course, the piece of clothing had never been not found, but the woman still felt as if she had survived a terror filled night at a burning house.

"It does not matter if dear Miss Valentine is - fat - now, for if it has made her feel wholesome and rightly nice, then surely she may eat a whole deal more!" Spoke the kind-hearted Mrs. Bassilli, one woman who had had the mind to bring along her Socky, a sharp-eared, thin Sosoke who at that moment had decided to give a long and monstrous yawl, all the same proving his owner's

"But, the shame... she shall die..." murmured the mother, feeling rather sorry suddenly.

"She won't, she won't, not if we help her get through this!" Said Wen, feeling as though she would suddenly cry out in agony. In her flower-print dress and pink stockings, Wen looked as though she had put on the first things that she'd seen lying about on her bed/wardrobe. On even closer observation, even a doctor would feel humiliated if he could tell not what was bother his little patient, for the face of Wen showed inexplicable pain - tears - sobs and sniffles.

There was snot coming out of her nose now, and she let out a growl, much like a dog.

"There, there..." spoke Eddy suddenly, as he pulled his sister into a large hug. She dug her face into his jumper, feeling it prickle her, which made her laugh wholeheartedly. Eddy, however, shot Mrs. Dori a snap -
"That is no way to talk of a suffering child!"

"Blodwena what's-her-last-name speaks absurd, for all you know..." Mr. Dory squared his shoulders and clenched his jaw.

"I meant not literally, however that would help too. Morally - let us help her all, and try to be funny and cheery and next time you see her, give her some flowers or bake her a muffin!"

"You might not see her, again..." spoke the second of the triplets loudly, squaring her shoulders. And that made Wen want to dig her face even more into the prickly jumper, and when laughter came up once again she wholeheartedly embraced it in a large hug.

And now, as Wen stood there, she agreed with herself that probably-upstairs, a little girl was sitting with plump hands holding unto a cup, possibly full of steaming green tea.

"She is... hanging, there..." Mary Sue whispered, with trembling lips. "Go see her."

Wen nodded her head, eyes fluttering shut. She wanted for this to be over - for everything to be gone. All the pain. But something kept the girl awake - like a metallic, forcefully hand which pushed to stay together and keep calm. "Did she... ask for me?" That was the question that needed an answer.

Mary Sue shook her head bitterly. "She... she said she'd rather you did not come near her."

"Oh." Wen nodded again. Tears stung at her eyes - her friend was going to die, all because of that dumb Terry boy that Ksenia so carelessly "ooooh"ed about! Maybe, she did not have much a chance because it was cold, billowing Autumn - because after she got out of the lake, with the help of her best friend, she refused to go home into the warmth but stayed outside, and played When Love Strikes And Rickety-Thump - but... all that seemed quite minor.

Why wouldn't Valentine Sue want to see Blodwena Trulegh, her best friend? Maybe, she looked so small and pathetic that she did not want Wen to be there for her... but that was an absurd theory, and it wound deeply into Wen's heart.

She raised a trembling hand, pointing a short finger at Mary Sue. It shook. But then, she let it fall down beside her - her hand sliced the air and the bitter wind kicked at the exposed skin as if she was scum. The trees shook - the hemlocks, standing close about the Sue house, moaned to her.

"I don't want to see Val any more than I want to see Terry Dunton." She whispered.

Ksenia flinched.

With a cold hand. She grasped Wen roughly on the shoulder and stepped forward. "She is talking absurd, this little girl," she pointed. "Terry did nothing... Absolutely, I can assure you! He don't even know why your daughter is feeling so bad."

Wen let out a gasp. "He pushed her into the water. It's time everybody knew. And it was Autumn and Val was drenching with water - and her skin stung from the bitter cold - but Val decided  to play games instead of going home!"

Chapter Twelfth – Vures and Valens

Dionarys, His Royal Highness, smiles softly into the face of Mistress Bell, who was at the moment fiddling with the hem of her green cloak. Brushing away a picturesque lock of fair blonde, she smiled back - and let her body rest against the royal chair, which was embedded with turquoises that glittered and allured under the motherly gaze of the sun.

Mistress Bell was, after an hour, still sitting at the table, and talking animatedly with Dionarys. Soon, however, he conducted Mistress Bell to a seat by the fire in the room opposite the Hall, and, whilst sitting by the hearth rug, feet warmed by the fire, the playful conversation started, and both of the charming young people counted up their quick remarks, lest they say a thing wrong to one another.

"It was a pleasure to talk with you, my mistress," said Dionarys.

"Oh, call me Daphne," gasped out the goddess. "And... your Royal Highness..."

"Ah, I shall be Dionarys for you," whistled the young man loftily.

Suddenly, a shriek had echoed about the room, and rang out in the hallways nearby, almost making the glass shatter in the ante-baths. Woken up from a reverie of staring at the holy girl sitting in front of him, His Highness rose - for he clearly heard the shriek, one to betray indecorous trepidation, as if the woman crying out were a cat. So, the corners of his mouth drew together - so, so, - into an expressive grimace of the most submissive of humilities.

"I beg pardon, my Lady..." he said, gesturing a hand toward the door. "But what may one do, when in the darkest of hours a lad's woman, whom he loves not but feels inexplicable hatred for, shouts out as if she were a sphinx?"

Bell secured a hand to her mouth, and her large eyes - hazel, now, for they had the power change ever so often - widened profusely. Turning, she put a hand on the young King's shoulder, and he tensed - whilst at the same time, the eyes of the pair wore matching expression of surprise. For now, a woman emerged - a woman in a dress that fell to her body and sharpened out her hips, large stomach - why was not she wearing a corset? - oh, but one mustn't know soon... - and bulging, dark eyes.

Her red hair was tied back against her scalp, making strands of thick, greasy hair come out peculiarly. But she was screaming - that is until she stopped, and toppled over her fat legs to lie down on a matt.

"Gryphiannah," The King said, "Why must you make such an entrance?" Sternly, and he spat in her direction.

"What is she doing here, in all of the worlds?" The woman glared, standing up, a look of revulsion crossing her face. "I was told by my maid that you were here with a girl, young indeed, begging you to realise that you need a Helper of some sort from the "average world". And now, I ought to say - di'n't s'pose you had a-lied to me, honestly, Dion... what's come into you? And her... I must order for Vules and Valens to come, bring her to the dungeons... for, she could learn that way to not mess with my property..."

"I beg pardon, Gryph," Dionarys said, running a hand through his curls. "But I am not your property, surely you understand just as much. Neither do I respect you, nor love you. I feel hatred whenever I see your face, and never again shall your tiny eyes wear this mask of unkindness towards... my mistress!"

Bell tensed, feeling every part of her body flush red. Of course, as a rule, those Upper-ers have no real bodies - simply, they have souls, ones that after many years in the Heavens have found bodies to rest in. But at heart, Bell was a mere nineteen-year-old, just like our little Ksenia, and she longed for nothing more than to stay close to the young man she had grown to love.

"Yes." Bell spoke, her voice quivering with anger. "Gryphiannah, I am the Mistress of your man. And I do not come from Ruthenium Picke - oh, no, I come from a place far more holy than that!"

The girl in the dress put her hands on her bulging hips. "Who may you be then, little child? ...ah, but yes, I can see that you come from the third of the Triplets, what with your light skin and silken yellow hair! To call that place "holy"! Hah, such a simple girl as you... damn your romance with my man..."

Bell smirked. Never before did she talk of herself being dead - never before has she boasted of becoming an Upper-er, - but today, her face boiled and she stepped up, hands curled at her sides. "I am the twelfth Upper-er, Mistress Bell, Daphne Swunsris in my past life. I have come here to talk of important matter with your man - I have come, for you both - oh, this whole damn castle needs her! - yes! - you ought to have a helper around, age about eleven. Ten if far too young - and below that is, pardon, naive. Too naive. Eleven is perfect ! -"

Gryphiannah tensed, eyes rounding, face paling. "Mistress Bell... of course... but, may I ask..." she stuttered. "Why, And I am aware of your greatness... of what you have done... why... eleven?"

"I saved my sister from death when I was eleven." Replied Bell calmly. "Sasha Swunsris - was a girl with thin tresses of hair the lightest brown... eyes, as deep as the sea... a slim waist... oh, but I am sorry! ...I forget, we are not here to talk of my un-identical twin."

"Tell me everything about her when we are alone again," the young king whispered into Bell's ear, his lips brushing her cheek.

"My, my... But you are in love... I mean... yes... not that I am -" Murmured Gryphiannah.

"The helper. She'll be occupying one of the Low Hills, by the dwarves. Might get sent to Shattered Reality School after a month in those hills, of course... but, I believe, she can save this Planet from failing the test of the Queen. She'll pass the challenge, be sure of that - but..." Bell put two fingers to her forehead, eyes fluttering shut till she opened them again - "Some noble people will die."

"When will she come?"

"Some time later... soon... Edlore will bring her here, and she shall have the hut overlooking the whole of Tilla."

***

It was "Some time" afterwards, if one dare use the terms of the Consiles. Perhaps, you have many a question on "Shattered Reality School", and about the Queen... of the competition, also. But, all in good time - all in good time, gentle reader. For now, let us observe His Majesty and Mistress Bell as they sit, in that same room where they have been rudely interrupted by Gryphiannah.

Perchance, one is also wondering about why did His Majesty ever marry that snob of a woman? Ah, but of course! - if di'n't I talk of it before, then at the moment it is quite the time to do so. The simple and unavoidable truth, is - Gryphiannah had come, from the other side of thePlanet! - for, somewhere far away, there was another "island", much like the one of The King, and another one... if you did not know, then, go back and read the Prologue, which has everything you may ever want to know -including the delicacies of the Consiles. But, be warned... you may not like what you read.

Gryphiannah had come from the Second Island. But, rather than that of the Consilii side, there was no Ruthenium Picke, no Dragnia, and certainly was there none of The Three Triplets. It was all a simple, enormous island of land, rather rich in mountains. The woman had lived all of her life in a large kingdom, which had been spread out on a rather rocky terrain, for, instead of trees, large, snow-capped hills marked the borders of the Capital. Her father had been the Rock Gentleman, a nickname that had been given to him by Vures and Valens.

You may have read of Vures and Valens in the "Part" when Gryphiannah Barnes in on His Highness And Mistress Bell having a moment, but, really, those are not the same people.

On every Capital of the Islands, in the Castles, there always were a Vures and Valens. They were two unfortunate people, quite often lads in their young twenties, who were guards of the dungeons. I still do not know why they were called just those peculiar names, but one must observe the fact - that - being one of the V's was always a great deal. Like young Princes and Princesses have coronations, it is a day off when the whole of the Capital groups together on the Left-Side Slippery Square, in the case of Tilla, and the Vures and Valens for the next twenty years get announced.

They are people, rather noble, and very important. They also help the queens and kings around at Night, and every First-Time (morning) they go about Tilla, securing enchantments on people doing naught and sending off telegrams to The Royalties if they see good people helping one another around.

In Consilii, City of Tilla, Vures, always by a year younger than Valens, was a man with a scraggly moustache and frazzled copper hair. While Valens, far more attractive, bore brown eyes and hair, very deep in red and standing up against his face, lest it ever blend in somehow.

Over ten years ago, when His Highness was a little Prince of twelve, the Vures and Valens of Tilla had been chosen. In fact, all of the Little Planet was told about the V's of Tilla. For, it was a very stately Capital, and when everybody found out, they were quite in a state of shock! - for, the now-to-be Vures and Valens used to live close by "The Place of the Orcs", which gave off as a not so good a past. Perhaps they were brother - or, maybe not. It was quite unknown, for they were - forgive me - "shady" men, and talked not much of themselves.

However, when first they arrived for the ceremony - or, the (of course less stately!) "coronation", the two were adorned in gold and jewels; came they in cloaks of silver, with Layark stones - which are gemstones the colour of the soil, a tint very earthy, but rather more grey than brown - woven into their hair, which then was long and fell to their waists -, boots adorned with Switlets (pebbles made from the "primwood desert" in Dragnia) and gold on their bodies.

It wasn't popular for Vules and Valens to arrive, so - in fact, most, in centuries much earlier than I dare speak of - the two arrived in shaggy, torn "sacks", with beards like the ones of the dwarves, on the Simmin Planet a few million star-travelled "times" away.

Also, they - perhaps - were twelveth-orcs, the animals with strong jaws, greyed skin, muscles rippling, taught through the few clothings that they wore. I shan't describe much more of those filthy scum, however, and may simply assume that you wonder much of how the people knew that the Vures and Valens had been raised by orcs.

Well, the simple answer remains - they saw. For an instance, Vures had a thin scar jutting out, right across his forehead, in an ugly slant, and Valens' jaws were pulled out a bit, in slightly a peculiar manner.

Chapter Thirteenth – a story told lovingly

Valentine Sue was lying in her bed, up on the second floor of the old house. Her bed had been moved, so she looked out of the window. It was a dreary morning - the clouds had all been pulled together, forming an enormous, grey sky with ruffles and creases and moving shapes. At one point, Valentine thought she saw a man with dark hair, rippled muscles of grey skin showing off from his loose shirt peering over a small dimple to look down at her.

However, she looked away, shook her head, and moved her body to the cold wall. She did not want to see anybdy; she knew she would die, - felt, that all the tears that were to be shed, the gifts that were to be given - what did they matter? Nobody could make her feel better, for now she definitely knew that the world was over for her, now.

"Hell, I wanted to become a saxophone player, or something," she whispered to the wall. "And now... I wanted to graduate high school, - I even have been promised a little brother... and now, Small Ållé is going to have nobody but Momma and Pappa, and that shouldn't do..."

She then cried a little, then, dried her eyes and stood up to look in her drawers, soon finding a piece of torn paper and a tattered envelope. Valentine stuck out her lower lip as she wrote feverishly, and once done, put it inside the envelope. As a finishing act, she scribbled - "10 Year Old Ållé, read this!"

"Mother," she called out, very loudly, and got back into bed hastily. I shall not disrupt the wish of the girl, and show you the contents of the letter, thinking that it is for the best. But anyway, Mother rushed in, took the letter, and hid it away in her apron, after which she kissed her girl.

"I jumped into the water... and my lungs... cold? What happened?" The usual, unwelcome sweat rushed down the forehead of the girl, and, wrappped in her blanket, she felt very small and very hot, with her lips a blue tint and face flushed. Despite gaining a few kilograms, still Valentine knew that she weighted nothing, or at least it felt like it.

"You should have hurried back instantly. You were so cold, when you came home... but, everything is okay now. You did not know, and that was the major problem... but rest. Doctor Tristan will be coming over in a moment to do a few last checks..."

"I thought the other doctor was coming," ejaculated Valentine. "...When will I die, Mother? Why am I not in hospital?"
At that, the mother simply shook her head and frowned. A moment later, she was crying, her her resting on her daughter's body.

"You have hypothermia," she let out a sob. "And you didn't tell us, that you jumped into the water... or you were pushed in... either way, you said nothing, and went to have a bath and then rest by the fire," she then almost suffocated in a cry, but let herself hold back the pain - "And... when you have it... you must avoid contact with heat,"

"Oh," said Valentine. "Can you... tell Ållé of how I died, if you may? When he is old enough? I want him to know... of the mistake... I made..." Mary Sue frowned, for a moment, lifting her head to look wearily at her daughter.

"I... babe, I did not say I was pregnant... I didn't say you would have a brother, Ållé..."

"What?! But I thought... you... you won't have any children, then! And did not I overhear you talking to dad... about it? I thought the name suited very much, and so don't change it to Jōhn, ever, ever, will you, if someday Ållé is born."

"Yes, But, we are not going to have another child." Mary Sue said, through a choke. "I never meant it... we have you, always will have you. Forever, in photographs, and in our hearts.... videos..."

"Can I not die, though? Please? Because, I am very, very scared right now..." Valentine trailed off, for she had happened to look past her mother and up, up, her eyes snaked - to the window - yes - where she saw, above, suddenly, a little grey bird swooping down. It was a small one, with very little, beady eyes and ruffled feathers -; some, plucked out, for before it met up with the Twelve up in the heavens, the previous owner had behaved to it rather badly and so the bird, now, looked like this half-red chicken.

Down it went, and for a moment landed to sit on the windowsill of Valentine's room; cocked its head; gave a cluck; satisfied, its wings moved; and now, it was up, up, flying back to the Heavens, a shape of sharp grey and nude tones. Seconds later...

Mary Sue was up. "You... you are going to go to a magical place, with elven queens playing on harps in the pastures, and a little town resting peacefully in a meadow... trees... imagine, great, old oaks, perhaps even douglasses... oh, oh, it is far better there than anywhere here on Earth, don't you understand?"

"What else? Tell me, I want to be prepared..." Valentine sighed contentedly. "Tell me, and I may as well bit by bit drift off and die, soon, so that when -" But she was cut off by a gasp, and soon her mother was tracing Val's lips, nose, eyes, forehead...

"There are lovely shops, with bread - and saxophones - oh, but in that world people don't care about buying... things... and, to get to the thatched buildings, if you wish to purchase something, first you ought to hurry through a dip in the fields, - a big crease - where there are seas and seas of poppies, and pine trees guarding the holy place. Beyond that - oh, but first, guarding the Holy place, there are mountains so It smells of fresh mountain air, perhaps a bit sharp at first... and, after the poppies, you walk out of the Circle, and see a valley beyond -; a stream, where there is always a spare boat - man made -; so, you may sail, and on your left and your right you see forest - trees, lake-beds; many and many trees in little clusters. Finally, when you come to a halt, everything opens up to a lily pond, with a wonderful, old willow shading everything over...

"Then, you must hurry a little through the woods, where you see hills and hills and the shops aren't even shops; rather, everything is a flooded sea of watercolours, - everything's delphiniums, hydrangeas, periwinkles, roses, chrysanthemums, irises... daisies... come, help me!"

"Daisies and asters and petunias!" pressed in Valentine, a big grin forming on her round face. "...But then, where shall I live, honestly, and how will I eat?"

"Oh, you shall live on a separate hill, with an oak growing over the villa, and dwarf mixes of petunias closing in, so that when you awaken and step outside they tickle your toes. As for food, every morning a nice young man drives around on his little pony, dropping off food all around. And clothes - always, every morning, on your bed there appears the most desirable piece of clothing for you."

"Really?" Mouthed Valentine, eyes lighting up, cheeks becoming red. "Will I have friends?"

"If you wish," spoke Mary. "There shall be - there is -, a pleasant building, which a big beech overruns to create shade. It is where all the folks gather, every New Cullosis - "cullosis" is Moon - to drink beer or hot chocolate, and eat - eat - very lovely foods. But, if you find no people you like, or want not to stay in the Holy place, you may make the long climb over the Steep Mountains, and find yourself on the Other Side. But, you must know - please - we'll be waitin' to die, so we may come to you and mingle in the Holy Place..."

"Yes, but how do you know this?" Valentine wanted to ask, but had no time to; for, feeling something inexplicable, warm, confiding, come over her, she suddenly smiled - a large, contented, twisted grin - before her eyes closed, and her time was out. Just then, rushed in Father, with flowers and hugs -

"She is gone, now, my dear," whispered Mary Sue.