note: I wrote this short "prologue" 1 and 1/2 years ago, so don't judge! This is simply for entertainment's sake, ok? To see how I've improved, lol.                        

Prologue

A little girl, about the age of six, was running in the back-yard. All was well; from a distance, one could see the glowing face of a proud father, chasing his rosy faced girl who had happened to wear a slightly faded, though still positively cherry-red dress. One could even imagine the birds chirping in the sweetest of ways, of the girl’s shoulder-length, sandy hair flipping slightly in the wind as she ran, and of the father’s ringing, but somehow distant laughter.

No-one on Byrd Street had the slightest idea that little Melanie Snow’s life was about to take such a sharp turn, for everybody were already used to the cheeriness and joy of the little grade-one girl who so dearly loved all of her neighbors – even Mr. Grey, who turned out not a bit interesting, intriguing or polite.                                                                                                                                     But that was where Melanie’s life took her, and no-one could save her from it.

The wind swished around in the morning, trying to block out the sun, which seemed to shine it’s brightest whenever the wind attempted to take over by it’s full force. The birds really did chirp happily, and the father really did laugh, and his daughter’s hair truly swished in the air, until an unfortunate moment during which Mr. Snow’s loveable wife opened up the creamy-white, smoothly-painted window and cried out that someone was knocking on the door.

The tiny girls startled, looking up at her mother with big brown eyes. “Mommy...” she squealed, “mommy, who is by the door? I can feel somefing! Somefing is happening!”

The father exchanged glances with his wife, and she nodded, biting her lower lip so much that the skin around it turned white. The woman’s slightly-pale face had suddenly turned albino white, and she seemed to fiddle with her dress, which she did only when she was nervous or scared.

“Mommy, daddy!”

The two adults turned around and found themselves looking at their daughter with comprehension. Steadily, the father lifted Melanie off her feet, but she continued to squirm and kick – she had never raised such a tantrum.

Suddenly, Mrs. Snow looked up at the sky and gasped. “Alex! She... our girl... no...”

The sky really did seem to darken, and soon giant clouds were swimming in the sky, doubling by the second. Slowly, the dark, stormy clouds started producing heavy rain, that started falling to the ground. But no, they seemed not like ordinary raindrops; for when the first drops fell to the sky, both man and wife seemed to notice how heavy and full of force they were. One could even see the slightly-maddened glint in the pearly water that seemed to rain upon the world with something like revenge, something that the unfathomable monster had been holding back for years. Only it probably hadn’t, for it had rained only last week.

“It isn’t her, is it..? No, no, Alex, Melanie cannot be producing such magic! For that means that... oh, if it does then... it means... she is not our real daughter!”

Alex gaped at his wife. “Yes, she is. I can feel it in her hands...” he tried shushing his uncomfortable-looking daughter and pressed his lips to her forehead. Then, clasped her tiny hand in his. “She is our daughter, that’s for sure. But how does she have that – “

An angry knock on the door was heard.

The father ran into the house, not looking back, but at the same time rocking his daughter back and forth in his hands. When it slightly worked, he shut the door behind himself, and started gulping air feverishly.

“Who’s knocking at our house?” he asked loudly, walking down the staircase alone. The father’s footsteps echoed on the stairs, as Melanie watched, curled up in Mrs. Snow’s hands.

“I have come to give you your Fortune Stone, Mr.”

“I will – “The father reached out for the door-knob, swinging the door open.

Out in the rain, though completely dry, stood a man in his early twenties; he had small, slit-like, black eyes, a small curved mouth and a log nose. The stranger was wearing dark grey, billowing robes, and he was holding a medium-sized, red glowing stone in his hands. “Ruby, I say. Fine stone – Infinite, has one drop of a tear and a couple of tea-spoons of Silver Flower. Mixed and boiled in hot water. Ah...” the stranger extended out a pale hand. “I did my job, did not I?”

“Yes, yes, you did. Thankyou...” mournfully, the father rummaged in his pockets for change. “You go now, and don’t start wondering around here. Right?” at that, Mr. Snow closed the door behind him.

As he did so, he only had time to clasp his wife’s ice-cold arm, and all she had time for was to finish scribbling something on a note; then, quick as a flash, she stuck it to Melanie’s faded dress with a pin. Letting her down, she whispered, “Go to Antonya’s house, and tell her that “the thing” happened today. You hear me, my love -?”

Her voice began distant as she, along with her husband, started shrinking and melting, soon becoming translucent. A wind swished, the sun appeared once again, and the little girl cried.

Frederick And Elfrida book review

Hey guys! So, today I picked up the lovely book “Love and Friendship” by Jane Austen and instantly began reading; I sincerely don’t know why, since I have not yet completed my “Northanger Abbey” an “Game of Thrones”, let alone all the volumes by Edgar Allan Poe, yet I swooped in as a hawk and just now had had the pleasure of completing “Frederick and Elfrida”, a humorous short story published by the authoress when she were just in her teens.

The first few things I may wish to say is that her style is somewhat different; she mocks her characters in such a perturbing and amusing way; the points of view switch from one to the other; the heroine, Elfrida, is simply so irksomely different to the silly Catherine Morland; the flow of the tale is quite fast-paced; and, that the dear Frederick is simply such a candy.

I wish to write a short story of the same sort. Maybe I will?
However, this is all I should bring myself to say right now! Until next time.

Mind your Style . . .

In the hustle and bustle of the twenty-first century, it may seem hard to not be stifled under the peer pressure of newly-released books; fans will certainly soon, if not instantly form “ship names”, create fanfictions, become obsessed with the novel. But what if, other avid bookworms try push you into their crowd?

Here are my own tips and tricks for not taking it with those guys. . . You may ask me, “have you read the new —“ and I must hurriedly inform you, with an attentive shrug and red in my eyes, “no, I do not read fickle rubbish by new authors, thank you very much!” I have, a few times, tried to be pushed into reading books I did not like from a first glance (and that is not to say you shan’t try giving new writers a chance, of course!) a few times by my year three teacher, then a couple of students, then a said friend.

They, however, (and it has led me to believe that —) tried hard to give me advise, but countless times nothing worked out. Sincerely, nothing worked out.

1. Openly State your Favourite Author . . .
You think you have a voice? Good for you! You may create a blog, start up a YouTube channel, website, fanfic, book full of loving sketches of, say, Henry Tilney (Northanger Abbey), something of that sort. If not, then simply walk about, reading your decided writer, and when you feel somebody ushering you to try something else you may not feel quite comfortable about (be it the level of the writing, the appropriate illustrations or no, grammar — why publish a book, ever, even if plot is good with abominable grammar?) tell them so.

2. It is But Your Choice. . .
Reading. It establishes, more often than no, the carrier you shall wish to take up. If someone talks to you of astronomical elements, meteorites hitting poor dinosaurs, exploding black holes in the universe, then — sure! It may strike a new hobby — but if your main choice in life is to forever stay a hairdresser, why know all that? It is your choice. Reading what is popular to read is but your choice, SIMPLY and honestly your own choice, and that is that. However, of course it is good to always new learn new things, and that is all true — but, not if you read simply for enjoyment, do not wish to know of the latest “Nicki Maxwell Dork Diaries” or “Tom Gates” fan theory, just say it. You read for your future job.

3. Give Books a Chance. . .
You, of all people, may not feel at all comfortable reading other novels not in your genre, decided style of writing (I have a post on that) or simply conflicting with the illustrations. But if in any way or form it shall help, for your future, for enjoyment — read it, and if you have gone to a certain length, you still feel empty, then put away the book and return to your style of choice.

Terms and Conditions . . . FANFICS?

Hey, so. I have decided to keep on writing posts, like obviously, under the tag “Shattered Reality”. But I will no longer be doing any sneak-peeks. That is, because I wish to have my work showcased only on Wattpad, for a few private reasons, therefore that is that. You are of course welcome to read the 24 chapters that ARE up and available, thought the rest is up on Wattpad.com, of course, under the username @Starry_Birdie .

Plus, I would now enjoy going through terms and conditions for SH#1. Please read this, if you wish to log in and get involved in the world of Wen. Remember, on Wattpad you may comment on every of my chapters, share, vote, promote, and follow. It is a great way to discover stories.

1. No Fake Consiliis?
As much as I love to have gone over the 1.3K, highly anticipated number of views and 300 votes, I do not — cannot, will not and shall not — bare with any type of going-ons happening in Consilii, or any other part of the Little Planet and its universe that has not been written by me. If it’s clearly a fanfic, then pray state it in bold letters on the cover of your tale.

2. Fan-fictions WHERE?
If, at any point, you think of my story worth mimicking, meaning, being written about as a fanfic, then please display it on fanfictions.net or Wattpad.com ... I cannot give valid reasons for this, however I kindly ask that you follow the rules and do not display them anywhere else. The end.

3. The last STRAW?
If any of the above happen, I shall have to report. That would would be the last straw for me and for you. I would report. Second-last line: not to be transmitted, reproduced, et cetera. Bottom line? Thank you, for reading my book. I appreciate. Now, go little BIRDIE, fly, write a fanfiction for me, but no inappropriate talk. Be specific who the author is. Truly. Bye.

I’M giving . . . wHaT another go? (Listen to your teacher)

About September last year I gave Pride and Prejudice a read and, honestly, did not like it. To me, the sentences were plain (hard) and the plot did not move so fast. However, my Year 5 teacher, and by far one of my two favourites, encouraged me to give it my all — in other words, another go. I dismissed the idea for over seven months, and now, went to the bookstore . . . I looked through classics, books by Oscar Wilde, Arthur Conan Doyle, Mark Twain, the Bronte sisters. . . I saw the cover of Emma and Pride and Prejudice alongside Sense and Sensibility. I affectionately sniffed the pages of P&P, decided to buy it (the previous time I tried reading, I borrowed the book from a family friend) , then gazed at what seemed like a volume half the size of P&P.

“This will be an easier read, I suppose. It’s smaller, if I don’t like it I don’t have to read more. Just got to get through the relatively-thin book.” It’s a small volume, and I don’t mean that 200+ pages isn’t much (which, in my opinion, honestly isn’t) — rather, what I mean is it is a pocket-like paperback volume, KM Classics, and I am already 10 pages into it.

You might wonder what it’s called? Northanger Abby. So far, it reminds me of the style from The Little Women. Catherine seems like Beth to me, except that she is at first plump then slimms down, while it’s quite the opposite with seventeen-year-old Miss. Moreland. . .

Anyway, I thought I haven’t written a post for some time. It’s like a small reminder that “Hey, I’m still here!” And a thank-you to my dearest Grade 5 teacher, if you’re reading this (because I know you read my review for Little Women, I think, last year) — then please know I’m so blissfuly glad at you for finding me writing competitions, encouraging me . . . Oh, also, shoutout to another teacher, she teaches me right now, Year 6. . . Anyway. Thanks everyone whose read my stories, given me feedback or just smiled . . . Ehhem. I’m done. Yo. Buye. kids.

Shattered Reality Synopsis

She got sent to Consillii,  a continent on a planet surrounded by many others and on the other side of a fearful, black hole. With her she held a stone, a quartz, and now a Lordling wants it, to become the Lord, the King.

And he won't stop. Leading a tribe of jinns into war is a mere trifle, let alone killing two wizards and almost torturing a girl who he thinks has what it takes for him to control everything, to become the Infinite and the One. Of course, an eleven-year-old girl who just suffered the death of her best friend is capable of holding onto some pink rock, isn't she?

What Truly Matters (my entry for "Whitlam Institute Competition 2019")

What Truly Matters

“What matters to me” seems like a question worth answering. Indeed, it is. And, I am fully aware that many aspiring biologists may have written about this, for it’s a popular matter, but one that, frankly, doesn’t seem to be addressed properly. As a brief, somewhat-snappy example (bear with me, for it’s simply a “for an instance”) ... fast food cafes; they still use plastic straws, and it’s outrageous! For, not only can our beautiful planet be soon covered by a vague – but, I am afraid, still distinct – layer of plastic – it can also cause fatal deceases, and, even worse – kill the lovely animals. It might be our fault, so we should pay (isn’t that right?) but, crustaceans – sharks – whales – even land creatures – have done positively nothing wrong.

Now, first, I am to talk about how littering our planet with straws, chip packets, water-bottles and even gum (which is polymer, similar to what car tyres are made of) can affect our own mental health. Yes, if you are so inclined to save yourself from the matter that you’ve (consequently) created, then let me tell you; pollution causes a type of cancer. So, rather than throwing away your cheese-stick wrapper into the stream nearby, think – that it all will go to the ocean and you – yes, you – may experience something deadly in return. Cancer.

Now that we’ve got that covered, I wish to speak of the less-liked fish. Sure, the Angler Fish look scary, but imagine if it were you? And now try comprehend a piece of gum floating down beneath the Sunlit zone, and catching a small baby-fish in the sticky contents of its trap? Yes, now, again. Empathy. A beautiful word, eh? – and a useful one. Again, that one Fangtooth old-granny fish may die because of you.

Then, dolphins. Ah, my most favorite creatures of all! – and what wouldn’t I give to become one, at that. One of the most intelligent animals of all, and so loyal, playful, slippery (I’m a Pisces) and full of happiness. They even adapt by travelling in threes, so that if one gets injured the other two may support its’ body whilst swimming back home. They’ve done practically nothing wrong, and probably want to live their life at the fullest. But... imagine them snacking on the insides of a plastic bag or something of the sort and you aren’t as happy anymore. Please, for the godly sake of dolphins – please – pick up rubbish whenever you see it. Just an odd piece will be enough, I promise.

And lastly, probably the most-favored sea creatures (not for me, though) – turtles and sharks. They’re so different, but need the same things – though in different amounts. Yes, even the Great Whites need affection, care, and love – and who wants to think of how to try and survive every other day? What if a straw comes up one’s nostril, what then? Oh, and they also need to feed. Before, plankton fishing nets have been brought out only to be filled with wrappers, packets, containers, gum, bags – and you can help.

What’s your favorite sea animals? The flat-faced “pelican eel”? The “sarcastic fringehead” (sounds like me) Remember, you’ll be doing a favor for some kind of fortunate soul out and below the aqua shoreline. Please, do not be like the kid I saw the other day in the school yard kicking a yoghurt-container with his shoe. Be... a role model, and stand up for humankind. For dolphins.

Mindful This Month

Is there anything wrong with your story, that you would like to change? That you extremely don’t like? Makes you feel simple, like-minded, even ashamed? Well, if there’s something you’d like to change, badly, then sit down somewhere you wouldn’t be disturbed for a while, get a notebook, and write down all that you don’t like about your little novel.

Now, once you are done, list reasons why you aren’t happy with what you wrote/are writing, and, one thing at a time, think of what you may do to change/rearrange the content. Don’t feel stressed out if the parts are major to the plot, let yourself breathe. Look around, observe, smile, breathe in deeply through your mouth and exhale through your nose, feeling content at the very core. Don’t stress, decide dates for when you want to finish each step of the way, and start to work mindfully — bit by bit.

At the end of each day, collect your thoughts and decide for what you have done for your book to improve it. Don’t stress of its nothing / too little, just decide for what you’ll improve on tomorrow. Keep things going like that, and to feel energised eat, not only what you enjoy, but at least a few fruit / veggies, some carbs, and dairy, so you feel good.

Stay mindful, stay writers
— Yvonne

Ya guys like my new cover? I got it made by a user (see above) on Wattpad, and am in love! It's like glory in a new dress... nvm. So yeah, wanted to let y'all know, cos i'm super proud of this and everything, and kinda wanted to show off... sorry.. hee-hee

Guys, I know this isn’t a Sea Website or anything, but I just wanted to have my voice heard over all of this puking glitter and plastic sabotage. I know, most of you try say no to a plastic ocean, like me — I’d do ANYTHING to keep dolphins alive, btw — but... there are some who are still unconvinced. Like yesterday, I was passing by at Lunchtime in the school yard and saw a kid kicking a bit of plastic with the sole of his shoe, and I was like “HECK watcha doin’?”

Just letting y’all 140+ followers know that even bacteria, such as crustaceans, and up to our beautiful big whales — they need to feed, and even if the ocean looks clear from your point of view, there’s millions of fragments floating around down there... so... please, if you want to keep the oceans safe and going... just for the love of turtles...

Also, thanks to everyone who ain’t usin’ ‘em plastic straws, I’m so glad! But did you know, .... the pollution is also bad for humans, actually! Because, it’s important to have low and high tides — even spring tides — and especially currents of water travelling from place to place,  it if plankton nets are filled with this garbage, then what can you do?? Please, help. Save dolphins.

Also, if you don't already know this, pollution causes cancer so it's a win-win to save animals by not using plastic!

Chapter Twenty-Four Sneak-Peek

The lordling paced up and down the cabinet, every now and again looking up at the banister, shooing away at the maids in bonnets and butlers in suits. At one point he sat down into his throne, and locked the small golden gates that led to it, feeling the carpet of velvet smooth under his feet, when a little man bustled by and he called a guard to come take him to the dungeons. Feeling somewhat bored, he stretched his hand to candidly take a sip of his drum wine, slurping as he ran his spare hand through locks of red hair, steel-black eyes focusing on the feel of his tresses.

He did not appear to at all feel like an animal in a cage, as he looked up at the walls, all illustrated with him at graveyards, planting blades into necks, bloodied on the ground kissing maidens, looking like a raging storm on the battle-field, landing an arrow at a green boy's chest and... a painting much similar to another one, with him pinning a woman with her hair up in a beehive against the walls of his stone castle, in her skin-revealing dress, all bruised and sweaty from the workout but still able to push his lips against her cheek, hand gripping her backside. That was love he growled to himself. That was love at its fullest and then she hit me hard, right in the heart...

He touched his thraes (bear-like) skin cape, fingers gripping at the pink quartz intertwining at the loose fabric, velvet like his carpet. A large canvas with illustrations of him walking in an alley, so narrow three relatively-slender man could not walk abreast, with an apple-like fruit glowing bronze in his hand, heard covered by a hood, showed in front of him, much with the other deeds that he had done.

A bowl of fruit-like objects sat beside the teacup on a table of ivory, but there seemed to be something missing . . . ? Puhkinz. They were, in Earthian, much like pumpkins, — actually, they were pumpkins, except that the outsides were crisp and crusty while the insides were all orange goo, one that was not meant to be devoured, but rather left on the face for a Time or two, until it were taken off and put in the bin. Ahh. Not quite like pumpkins, but still pumpkins.

Arachphat "Arach" had, irritated, pulled at the string on the bell attached to the wall, which clipped to it, as if the rope were a cord. A ding-ding-drrrrr echoed upstairs, over the bannister, and to the left, where the kitchen was, and out of a little pebble by the string there projected a voice. "What is it, Royal Prince Arach?" The pale cheeks of the twenty-six-year-old (so to say if he were Earthian) sighed, feeling tired.

His eyebrows, previously like caterpillars (on Earth) but now smoothly cut to two slanting lines, furrowed and knotted, eyes steel-black, as he flexed his jawline, running a hand through red, unmattered hair, face chiselled, high-defined... nose was long and straight, like a Russian one (Earthian references again, bare with me), his body taught, shoulders extremely large, thighs thick, he lean and strong, back pulled and massaging his temples.

The Next Chapter Sneak-Peek

Wen curled her hands into fists, breathing deeply and out through her nose. She couldn't bare to open her mouth — maybe the vulture would snap a hand at her jawline, and what happened to Henry Withrew would happen to her... but she was just a girl with a weird last name and pale-no-good hair! One. Wen willed herself to make the first move; to show she were not weak.

"I fought your dwarf, the leader of his gang!" She seeped. "What I hate is you..." and she hook-kicked at the woman, standing up, foot landing squarely between Euginie's legs. She howled, and threw a pebble sharp and hard at Wen's spare arm, which was left sitting by her thigh, ready to act, and she sprang out with a palm in front of her, letting the small stone graze her fingers.

Blood oozed out. But I am blood... I am the Wena, I am — and then the girl tensed. She pulled back. She let her fists fall. I am no Wen. I am blood. I am Wena, and that is my name! "I am Wena of Earth, and you — shall be killed! Pathetic scum! Vulture! Call-girl..." because she'd heard her father use that word when he scolded Ksenia; she once came home, bruised and crying, and told them all why, in tears and torn and broken.

"Calv told me to come over spend a night with him, at his Papa's house, and when I came... he... said I was too bad for his son, and we got into a hell of a conversation, and then he said that... that... he would give me money if I left, and I NEED some for my car, so he gave me a thousand..."

Wena bolted for the woman. She slid down, ducking under the feet of the woman, and she could smell sweat suddenly, and felt it on her brow as she came up on the other side. Gothcha. Two. She pushed Euginie into the grave in front of them, using all her eleven-year-old might to do so. Hell, she was like a grown fourteen-year-old boy, despite her more-or-less slim figure and gentle, carefree attitude. The bull had risen, oh yes it had - and it rocked down below in her belly and roared and along with her inner master. She was... she was a Catyr.

A Catyr was a sort of creature, all scales and fins like a fish's, it's body a sort of Pom-Pom. The eyes were very small and black, glistening, moist, glazed-over. It was believed to be a creature from the stories of old - and, every night, when the crescent rose the Catyr would leap up and chew off a bit, as if it were cheese, for it was a stupid creature who was always hungry - and that explained why sometimes we could not see the moon.

Yes, Wen's soul was a Catyr - she was always hungry, but fierce, and did what she intended to, and looked not the best with her mattered curly head... but she was fine. Slim as a cat... she ducked. Swift as a Wena... and she box-blocked, with a crescent-kick ending the balance of Euginie, who had just managed to stood up and wipe away the dirt. Quiet as a snake...

But she bolted. She bolted and she ran, because she was scared and she was tired and her legs hurt and there were scars on her hands and knees, and the darned creature swiped a long stick down, below her stomach. And her hair was all a mess, of course greasy, and the dress... hell! The new Wena stripped down and faced, nude, the woman in front of her. It was a rare sight. She would never leave her ground. Not today...

She ran to get to the bag. Ran, ran swiftly - quickly - and she sighed, relieved, when she had time to put on her underwear and old flower print dress. She'd worn it at her friend's funeral. But... she'd pay her respects later!! Turning around... Euginie was close, sharp knife in hand. Where did she get that??

"Give me the pink quartz," she told Wena. Give it, or... I will slit open your throat!" The dagger had looked rather menacing, shining bright, pommel all twisted with iron of old and looking like a holy gift from a god of some sort. Especially the glow of a sort of evil magic - as if a theumaturgist - a sort of sorcerer - a necromancer - had cast some style of a spell.

Wen glared. She... had ran. She was not Wena. Just as other people like Eddy aren't even in their fanciest dreams Edda. And Ksenia would never be Kseniwe or Ksenied. And she... she wasn't Wena. She wasn't some sort of hero-girl from a cringe tv-show with an extra letter added to her name. Just as... just as... Val could be Vala. But she wouldn't DARE try be like Val. For she was not that person.

Just as she was an extrovert.

Sneak-Peek of Chapter 22, "Illys Laktle"

When Wen awoke, the two were already sitting on the ground, glaring at each other through sullen eyes, and Wen went about a "kilometre" to wash herself in the stream, and she felt the water gently hug her figure. She had found a mossy stone nearby, and as she stood, half-naked, in the blinding morning light, scrubbing at her body.

She was beginning to go through puberty, and so now had a few pimples on her forehead. At home she'd been able to wash her face with soap, but this time the girl simply kneel down and was on her knees, for she didn't want any passers-by through the grasslands to see a nude child. Damsel in distress. Oh bother.

Then, the kid put her dress back on, affectionately stroking the top part, but at the same time she thought of how she always felt more comfortable with her body when wearing shorts. Huh. She was weird, wasn't she??

And then Wen went back, but she stopped behind the Australian-wattle-like tree, holding her breath, for the two adults were bickering frightfully. At first, Wen thought it marvellous that she was like a book heroine, standing behind a big plant and listening in to a ... secretive conversation?? But the colour drained from her face when she heard the following...

"If ye don't softe' the lordling's heart, then may-bee I'll kill the gurlle," The dwarf grinned, lips curling. He touched his pocket knife at that and the woman tensed. "I don't expect ye to make 'im fall to yarr knees, bu'..."

"I understand, I'll do what I can," and then, the woman went over - knelt down, falling to her knees, and kissed the dwarf softly on his lips. Wen almost gagged. Sure, she'd seen teen movies and Game of Thrones but of course, she just couldn't endure the sight of kissing - softly as slowly, as if one's mouth were a feather or a cheese pudding.

The dwarf was surprised, but he didn't push away, and simply mumbled something. Ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew eeeeek.... I gotta punch somethinn'... the girl thought to herself in disgust. This was beyond okay, and the fact that she was here, now, overhearing - heck, seeing this thing be done - she felt helpless.

And that was when the girl crossed a meter to the South; the two couldn't see because there was a thick, vine-crept fence in front of them - where the last grave ended. Wen was still afraid - why on earth would Euginie begin to dig up a grave, and then fall asleep, and now kiss this unknown creature..? Well, the girl did not wish to guess, and she now held in between her fingers on her right arm a sort of twig. It wasn't like the ones the woman and the dwarf used - it was thick (for its' size), and knobbly, and not smooth!

But that was when the "inner bull", as Lilliane would whisper into the girl's ear when the teacher wasn't looking, when she was feeling particularly nasty - kicked in. It charged at a man holding up a red flag, and snot came out of its' nostrils but still it leaped up. And Een was like this; her eyes darkened, the little brown chestnuts, no spark in them. Her lips were suddenly a thin line, because being this inappropriate involved some sly skill, and she hated to think of that. So, if those two weirdos could cast spells with sticks, then so could Wen (she'd seen Euginie "invent" a blanket for them to sleep on)!

The girl marched swiftly in behind them, crossing back - making a U-turn by the fence - and stood, hands shaking in anticipation, eyes moist and breath caught in her throat. She choked soundlessly, clutching at her throat, and then gulped at air savagely... hopefully, the two were rather absorbed - ahem - to hear anything, and snorting and other sounds could be heard in the distance of five meters.

Now, Blodwena held the stick even tighter in her hands, and tried remembering a Latin lesson that she'd been taught about in Year Four, back when she still went to a private school (the girl had had to move as her parents lacked much money)... "Right," she told herself under her breath, thinking hard "Right... What I want to say, is - exactly - ...DECIDANT GENUA MALUM!" And she raised her stick, just as she'd seen Harry Potter do it, and spat out those words in a violent whip, each word a separate stroke.

What dear Wen had wanted to say "let them fall to their knees", which lacked the important word sua, instead she had used her last word as "malum" which was, inconveniently, an apple. Thus, as she said those words, a brussel sprout began coming out of the tip of the twig, and it stretched so long in a matter of picoseconds (in Earthian Time), that one second later everything had changed, and Wen only had to blink once to not be able to ever again witness the magic of her first spell.

In fact, apple or no apple - a spout had risen up - and out the tip of the twig - so that it looked quite funny - it had blasted out in a mass of energy and somehow managed to grasp the dwarf by his lower lip and yank it aside, so the creature howled and his toes most likely curled.

"Thffffff—" he spat out "—ease..." , but the plant only yanked more and more. Euginie stood, shaking, staring, dumbstruck, and crying. Tears streamed down her face, her hands curled and she screeched out a rude word. "—"

"Don't say it," Wen told her warningly. "I have... this... mighty thing!"

The woman glared. All previous light had gone out of her face, and she marched to Wen, fingers digging into the chin of the girl as she held up her face. "You little... insolent brat-face mahogany!" She yelled. "My baby... you ambushed him, stupid traitor!! And you aren't even the One... not the Helper... oh, it has been a mistake!"

Wen round-house kicked Euginie just below her stomach, and then shot a punch at her breasts. "What in the blood did you say??" She howled. "What in the stupid earth and this dwarf who you were being all sticky with just say? I have been waiting... I travelled across a cliff, the freaking dwarf himself bit a cord into my gums and tongue, and I still feel the metal... and I encountered red eyes two times and taught your boyfriend a lesson when suddenly you are saying that, damn, I can't serve in a castle anymore and wear clothes that are beautiful?? I want to lead this life, you... she-cat!"

Euginie stared. This was enough, this... this had crossed all limits! So, she went over

Sneak-Peek - 21st Chapter, "The Lordling's Coward"

It was the day of — (as I am not positive), and in the land of the Second of the Triplets. Morning. The sun hung above like boiled gold, not quite shiny, without its usual sheen and with bleak rays casting down heavily upon the island. This wasn't popular - in fact, the birds didn't even sing that morning, let alone the bullfrogs which did not begin with the choir and the off-tact sound-making. Children awoke with colds and mothers with children in their wombs lay upon their couches, holding stomachs and moaning frightfully.

It was nothing serious, perhaps, but men went off to work coughing and looking down and the snakes stayed hidden underneath their sacred boulders, enjoying the stones weighing them down and the cool, crisp air. Meanwhile, three beings were huddled under the lonely wâttłê tree in the graveyard, and they all slept - all but one.

Mr. Recovery and stood and stretched his legs. By Euginie there was no blood, for it all froze on her face like icing on a badly-made cake, making her features hideous. Then there was Wen, who was sleeping like a perfectly thorny devil who didn't want nobody to invade her space (drooling, body spread out over the grass and legs and arms lying across the body of the woman). However, there was something very melancholy about the child; —

I 'ever told 'er of my intenshons... i 'ever said tha' she must' die... the thought was airborne in his mind. But the dwarf just felt under his woollen jumper and produced a pocketknife. Sabres - longswords - all that sort of stuff was in Tilla, and in Ruthenium Picke, and he wouldn't even dare try using one of those. Actually, wait no; Ruthenium Picke would be for the cowards, so of course there would be all the gòœnś (items, much like guns, but rather plastic looking. And before one was killed, the other had to perform... a certain ritual... which included cutting out one's — Never mind. The cuts would be long and painful, but at least that would satisfy his lordling.

The dwarf touched his beard, feeling fingers intertwine together over the mass of the scraggly mop, and bitterly and wistfully he sighed. But the vision of his lordling - there, Dear Arachphat, with his weapon bared and his cloak of platinum trailing behind him, pink quartz shining bright, made the dwarf first look away - and then beam boldly. And she - the sacred little child chosen for the job - of the Helper - had something that he didn't. That was bad enough... very bad.

So the dwarf made his way towards the girl, thinking all the same as he brought the knife down to her lips. He would cut now - now - send the blade cutting across her face, and flesh and blood and bone would be out, with only the pathetic shell of the creature, all crust, left to be given to his lordling. He would bare his teeth and he would claw at the shell and roar and reveal bloodied teeth, with whisky stains (it's the same word both in Earthian and Consilii Language) And pieces of bannickse in between the gaps.

Now.

Now.

Now.

His honour... who was he to do this?? And suddenly the dwarf sat down on the hard surface, stunned, thinking, right hand at the side of the vest and left gripping the pocket knife. It was blunt... it would cut away slowly, and she would scream, and the lordling would be pleased. But not that way... not in the ecstatic way. No, no... at least he owed her some respect. Respect - to hear her final plea -...

"I 'ate you," he hissed to nobody in particular, and the wind whistled back. "My lordling will be prou' to 'ave me..." But then - she could make a ripple effect. Could be the first Earthian Helper. Maybe she'd save the planet from destruction? No. To think that that far back.... it'd be in a hundred baby-suns times, that's what!

"She could have a child... in fifteen baby-suns. She could be the first Earthian Lady... become an upper-er... return her pink quartz. Perhaps the damsel isn't a burglar," faintly whispered Euginie. She had quietly and tenderly laid aside the hands that'd been thrown upon her and she slid away from the body. "I feel like a mother to this child. I never had one. She pressed to me... her weight... her heat... it's all familiar to me. My senses, my spirits - I'm blooming again."

The woman stood and and suddenly she looked grotesque. The dwarf wanted to scream out. Her eyes were both unseeing, glued to skin with blood, but perhaps the darned woman could see through her lashes? Her cheeks were torn, bone showing, hair sticky and covered in... leaves, and more of the sticky red substance. Like soy sauce in Earthian.... "I can see." Euginie whispered. "With my senses, I tasted the air with the tip of my tongue and your heartbeat is a siren inside me."

The dwarf stayed still, sitting upon the ground.
She now extended out her hand, sighing, weighing him in - not with her eyes but with her ears, for she heard his breaths low and hard. "After all, I used to be your lordling's woman, do you remember not?" And suddenly the woman walked over to to the empty grave, and she selected her twig again.

Damn.... the dwarf thought. He was dumb. And then the woman pointed it at her face - which, of course, didn't take away the scars, for those were impossible to heal! - rather, all the blood was gone and the face was glistening from just being washed, as if... and the scars were lining her skin, but gone was the weak girl. And now her hair changed, too - to a golden blonde, and her eyes went to a dark and boiling red, for without the sticky substance the eyes could be opened again.

And finally did her outfit change; Euginie stood in front of the dwarf with a smug look about her torn lips, for she was in a dress like her eyes - but it was quite very revealing, with a cut going up, boldly, so that one of her legs was seen fully and and there was a large gap at her chest, collar low.

"I can go... to my dear... and he may execute you," said Euginie, beaming. "Remember all those times ago when I first came to him?" And then suddenly, the thought flashed right before the dwarf's eyes;

***

Euginie wore a dress see-through, so that the lordling could see her bra. It was like mail, except smooth like cotton, and her hair was up in a beehive. The dwarf and her were friends - long ago - and they walked through the gates of a ruined area, he remembered.

Now they were in the front yard, and as Euginie saw a handsome man standing and fighting with a gòœnś against a young green-skinned boy, who was cowering in the corner of the yard, against the iron fence, moaning, she smiled curtly.

Euginie was many years younger. She was about twenty, to count in Earthian, and she walked over to the man boldly - nonetheless. She pulled back her shoulders, and sat down on the bench, patting the seat beside herself. At first, the lordling scowled - But she flashed him the smile of a lady who knew what she was doing, and she batted her lashes so he took a seat beside her. The final "bullet" flew to the heart of the green-skinned boy, and that was how the last race of his kind was extinct.

Euginie touched the collar of the lordling and grinned. She felt his hair - touched behind his ears - and whispered something to him, lips brushing his cheek. "I want to see you, tonight, my place..." she had murmured, and the lordling surrendered.

That night he must have thought that she was quite the woman for him!! Sure, she had a beautiful body with hair like the brow of the night and straight spine and fireworks in his eyes, and she acted as a woman five years into her prime, but the lordling still kissed her back.

And the dwarf was there. He watched the last of the green kind dying, and the flirting, and everything else and how the lordling took him in and was nice. But the night Euginie left... the lordling spanked his dwarf, and he yowled, and then snake liver had been given to him on a golden platter.

***

The dwarf stroked his scraggly beard and felt his eyes going moist, so he rubbed at them and looked at Euginie again. "Wha''s there yar stick cannot do..? Aye, bu' I 'ave one myself...." and he drew out his own, and then he raised one knee, slamming fat fists unto his leg. The twig snapped. He ... he was only holding his pocket knife now, and Euginie talked to him...

"You, I say - you are the lordling's coward, and he's a cheeky bastard," she growled, prowling closer to the dwarf. On further inspection, all the twigs honestly looked more like wands; smooth, with edges rounded off, each one the colour of ivory. To cast a spell one simply had to utter the ancient Consilii words, and think of what one was trying to do, and then - mentally or not, something would happen, sending off foam - lights - sparks -... and better, all got their wands at the Shattered School, a gloomy building atop a cliff facing down unto the mouth of water. They said, time never stops...

"I... I know what yer thinking," said the dwarf quickly, and he raised his pocket knife. "If.... if I don't kill 'er...."

FULL 20

Gotherd pronounced him having to go back home, and the two friends said goodbye to him - Wen glad and Mr. Recovery tearful. Then, once over the cliff, they climbed out of the seat (which honestly was more or less simply a log attached to a wire - a long, strong cord which then intertwined with the rope and twisted over, knotting). The town turned to be a very beautiful place, with much firs - and then houses, houses, and then there was a very tall hill in the North and atop that hill stood a castle, and beyond were just grasslands.

However, in the South, and that was where started the island - there were open, thatched houses, and there was a lovely lake in the West as Wen and the dwarf made their way though streets of kiosks, shops, and lanterns that hung high up in the sky. It was late evening now, for it took quite too long to get over the cliff, and now they strolled - and it was more chilly. But then, deeper into the island they went, and soon all the loveliness was gone, and they were shrouded by a forest of trees.

To the East opened up more alleyways, and cafes, and people were screeching and laughing and singing drunkenly. But they must have went more to the West, for it'd make more sense then, than to any other direction... however, now they were in a forest, and large mountain peaks were seen from the North, and a house of clay stood in front of them, in a clearing.

Wen touched the delicate patterns of her dress and smiled reassuringly to the dwarf, however she was very scared. "Why... are we here?" She whispered, afraid. "Is there anybody you'd like to meet..?" And then suddenly, she remembered Gotherd talking about a "li'l hut in the midst of a(h) forest", and shuddered. "Oh...."

"There's a friend I 'ave," Gotherd noted. "I... ah... I 'ave one, lives 'ere. And he's going to, ah... show us... where to go. Say, girl - d'ya mind walkin'... till First Time? I promise, you may sleep for the secon' Time! afterwards!"

Wen was confused. It was true, she wanted to sleep, and she rubbed her eyes in agony. But she was fine! Of course! Even the mere thought of sleeping in a place that was unmapped, made her guilty with pleasure and excited and tense. But suddenly, a thought struck her, and she reached into the dwarf's bag - quickly - and pulled out her old attire, the one she wore when she felt her tongue blister with the cord and small hands carrying her away. Into the flower print dress she reached, and out of it took the bright, pink quartz that she and Valentine had found ... back when she was alive.

" 'Tis wha'?" Asked the dwarf, but Wen only hissed at him and feverishly fought to turn around. Though the dwarf contemplated wheeling her around with his short, stubby hands (and he were already holding her shoulders in agitation), the thought wasn't too pleasing and he let go.

Meanwhile, Wen inspected the stone, almost a fuchsia pink. Strangely, she remembered it being much lighter on her Home Planet... but as her homing thoughts raised to the place where she'd been raised, a still coldness built up inside her slowly. Yes. This was a magical world... or perhaps she were simply lucid dreaming, but whatever! She mustn't get too excited or she'll awaken. And anyway, she counted her fingers and had all ten in place - and then she thought that in this world anything could happen.

The girl fingered the blunt edges. "Ha, it'll be a problem proposing to Ksenia... ha, ha, Terry must be really pissed! So I'd probably just saved my sister from a horrible future with the stupid boy who killed her one and only friend. Bah!" but as the girl snorted and dug her stone back into her old attire, something made her tense - and recoil. Because, the dwarf was watching.

"Tha'... where did you get, tha'?" He asked, voice quivering, and Wen suddenly felt as if she had committed a crime. Her cheeks flushed and her dimpled fingers grappled for the stone again, and this time she held it tight in her palm. "I... it's mine!" She yelled.

"You got tha' where..?" The dwarf asked. This time, his voice was like wine - rich and cruelly agonising, yet bitter and calming. "I 'ave everythin' I need, to leave you in this forest..." and he swung his hips about, taking a few steps back. "My pride... lest I ever lose my pride!" And he massages his beard, eyes twinkling.

"It's mine," repeated Wen. Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to say what she'd been hoping to say - what she'd been wanting to say. Just the idea... of her finding - stealing - helping - dead Valentine Sue to keep the bright pink-quartz away from TerNia (Ksenia And Terry, a "ship" name the two made up what seemed like a year ago. Heck, the two didn't even know each other as long!)... "I can't give it to you, I can't, I can't, it's mine - don't take it away..."

And she pressed the stone hard to her chest, breathing heavily, and the dwarf swore. She didn't think that dwarves knew how it felt to say bad words - and anyway, she thought that this fantasy realm was all happiness and rainbows and fat little Recoveries - but, now he said "Shit!" And she tensed, recoiled, gaped at him.

Because Wen was a little girl, and a very proper one at that - who uttered not a word of madness, never - unless ever instructed to by Eddy. So now she looked at him boldly, and wanted to quote a line from "Game of Thrones" when she realised that she weren't even allowed to legally watch the show (never mind that she had) and anyway, Wen's mind had went blank just at that moment.

Luckily, just as in cliche movies she'd watched - exactly when the character is at a loss of words - the door of the hut swung open, and quite a curious persona had presented oneself in front of the two; a woman, with a dress quite peculiar; why, it seemed to be made of crèpe fabric, with hyacinth - or what looks like hyacinth - petals sprinkled all over the attire, and then lapis lazuli came in; in her ears, woven in her hair, on her mermaid dress with the bare back and crèpe fabric coming out in a pompon of magnificence right above her ass. She looked about thirty, and her hair was a bright pink, and she was smiling at the two a very excited, enjoyable grin.

"Hello! My dear friend... and, ah, the Helper! What's your name..? Wait, don't tell me! ...blood."

"I'm sorry?" Wen Asked, massaging her forehead. This all was stressful, and this woman... well, she was intimidating for one, and her style... quite fascinating. Sure, if she had picked more pastel and baby- and light- colours, that'd be fine... but Wen watched moist-eyed, breath caught in her throat.

"Blood. And what charming little voice you have! How pretty you look..." sure, everybody said that she was a lovely little girl when she smiled, but Wen never remembered being called "pretty", and she clasped her hands and her cheeks flushed again. "I mean to say, Winnie... Wen. Yes. Blood...Wena. Blodwena. Ah yes!" And the woman strode forward, gently stepping down the steps of her mossy little hut.

"Thank you... I really—" Wen began, smiling, but woman just sighed.

"No time for chit-chat, and let's go!" She said, and suddenly she was holding a stick - a stick rather familiar looking - and now she uttered a few words, and then she changed;her hair was now a dark, glittering black - and even if she were in the mermaid dress and even if the pompon still trailed behind her in an amusing bundle of fabric - it was now the same ebony, the gemstones flowering and burning. And a moment later they were walking very quickly, Wen stumbling, until soon... they were shrouded by a canopy of trees again.

The woods were dark, and now it was bitterly cold, and a wind blew. A howl was heard, soon, and suddenly - just when the peculiar woman, why by the way informed them that her name was Euginie - out of the hood of spiky firs, jumped out a creature; it was standing on two legs, and it was furry and a sleek black, and its face was like a long pointed one... with features sharp, and eyes bloodthirsty and red and mouth big and wide. The body was broad-shouldered, and the hands enormous - each like a car wheel, as to count by the Earthian ways.

"Stand back..." and Wen touched the scar jutting out right across her eyebrow, noticing - with a guilty little laugh - that the dwarf was cowering behind her! Just then, her hands began to sweat. Meanwhile, the woman raised the familiar looking stick in the air - (Wen wondered if she'd just shoved the twig in between her bulging breasts, but that seemed not such a pleasant idea to think of so she rather went with the idea of the stick in the bra) and shouted words that cut through the air like sabres, and Wen covered her ears. "What is this madness??" She yelled over the screaming of the dwarf.

A moment later, the creature lurched forward, and with a massive hand - knife-like nails sharp and pointed - it sliced at the face of the woman, who stepped back and screamed. With her dying breaths she pointed at the creature, yelled out a name that sounded much like Gryphiannah (who might she be??), making the beast look wide-eyed at the scarred woman - before it wheezed, spat out a jugful of saliva - and sprinted away.

Wen ran to Euginie, and began to cry wordlessly. The woman's face was a mess; it was scarred, truly, because a deep gash ran right down her face and her left eye was just a mass of blood and flesh, and it seemed like her eye would now fall out of its socket, for it felt so loose and Euginie was scared to touch it. She moaned.

"I'm fine," she said, however, after a few moments of blood trickling down her face and sweat and tears rolling off Wen's forehead and eyes. "Let's go, before it's truly dark!" And she stood up, whining and purring softly to herself as she kept walking. Nobody said a word - nobody even tried to knit together a conversation...

...Until the moment when the forest was a two-path way, forking left and right, and in the ten-metre clearing which soon got cut off by bushes and, soon, more trees and vines and thickly-growing flowers grew - there was a graveyard. A rather legit one, with graves upon graves, plants such as a mix of roses and chrysanthemums upon every inch of soil.

...so that the graveyard seemed like a part of the forest. The woman then ran to a grave - a certain grave, deep in the very back, and she knelt down and put her twig by the grave. The tombstone was old and jagged and the words were faint, but Wen could make out the words Lady Odetia Inkreigh And they left her shuddering from head to toe.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Euginie began digging, and the dirt went everywhere. At first, Wen protested - but then the dwarf put a plump hand over her mouth, so the girl couldn't scream even if she wanted to! ...in the end, the woman triumphantly lifted the wooden lid, made of maple bark - and felt all the colour go out of her face.

Wen dug her sharp nails into the side of Euginie's hand, biting her tongue, trying not to scream out. Because - there lay no corpse. It... the hole was empty. The grave of this Odetia Inkreigh was, well, empty.

"Last baby-sun (year) Odetia was here... and now... she has Awoken."

Chapter Nineteen (NOT whole) - ...

They were still in the boat, and Wen was shuddering from fear... but the dwarf simply wiped his mouth on the side of his woollen vest, stood up, so that he was about the height of her (mind, the girl wasn't very tall - at least not as knobbly and sharp-looking like Stella Vunis). "You saw that..?" He questioned her. "I neve' would a'thought.. you?"

Pulling up his breeches fringed with sweat, he sucked in some breath and curled his tongue about a piece of succulent meat, so that his gums hurt and his teeth ached unpleasantly. "I... why would'ya think.... tha'? Perchance yarr simply mist'aeken..." And he let out a long, narrow, foul breath which made Wen cover her nose.

It's been some time since she'd seen the eyes, and she was seated now, tearing away at a leg of meat. Perhaps the girl had never eaten as much as this, but her whole body ached and she only groaned, sucking out the marrow and biting her tongue in the process. But now she stood up, which gave the dwarf the pleasure to look at her more-or-less slim figure, and she laughed.

"Ha! I'm becoming much like a cow on this boat with you, darlin'... and maybe you're right..." her small bug-eyes widened and her shoulders sagged and eyebrows creased... "Well, I'll eat no more, I can promise you. Because, I've already gained 1.2 kilograms last week, so I'll be sure to lose some of the kilos when I live up in the Low Mountains or whatever. I'll be hiking every day then, going down to the forest and then swinging through that as if I'm Mario before I walk straight up to the border. I'm thinking... shouldn't I have some proper clothing if I'm maid at a castle?" Wen grinned, for no longer did she feel too vulnerable.

The eyes had come and gone - what was there to worry about truly? "Ah, yes... afore yarr go up to the Low Mountains - just call 'em High Hills if you wish — we shall go up, up, and where the peaks are mattered a'ay by snow and boulders face north, we shall hike down to the South of your a-livin' spot... and there's Mattiâs, he'll make ya some clothin'! Say... what do you like?"

"I'd like a woollen jumper, a pair of pants, like - three dresses... each polyester... one, dark brown to bring out my eyes — then, a sorta' mustard one for my very pale, no-good hair, and the last the deepest of purples. Some underwear too - a singlet or three," thought Wen out loud. "I suppose I'll wear the pants and the oversized jumper when at home, and the mustard dress every day to the castle. The other two would be for special occasions, like... say... on a date..." and then, Wen remembered how hard she had been crushing on a boy about her age - slender as a jian weapon with eyes hazel and curling hair of brown. And then she also thought how he teased her, and the charming dimpled mouth...

"Date?" The dwarf smiles. "Seems like a'somethin' good for recovery!" And Wen put her face in her hands, sitting back down, grinning, for it was a relief that the dwarf knew not of what she had just joked about. Then, out of his woollen vest, he produced a small moleskin notebook, and began scribbling down feverishly. Huh. So he can wriiiiiiiiite? Wen asked herself. Luckily, her usually-loud self held back from throwing the punch at the "recovery" guy.

"I wrote all dat down," he told her, turning around to show her his messy writing. Wen squinted, trying to make out the words; flowēš tīgebāt vōjk ßulłbāē - it said. The girl's shoulders slumped. This man was impossible!! First, he captures her, then, he feeds her on a freaking boat and finally he... writes down weird stuff, and shows it to her, and his vest is so cute! Oy...

At that she yelled out - "Frick! What do you expect of me?" Before her toes dug into the side of the boat, and she soon felt the sand and a few sharp pebbles between the cracks. Her dimpled fingers also turned to the crevices and before long a small pile of dirt and whatnot was lying there beside her, and she chucked it out to the lake... "God I'm helpful!" She congratulated herself.

The scenery changed... for now, steep hills of boulders and more hemlocks flecked at the area all around, plus the once-wide stream not was rather too narrow - and anyway. If the girl reached out her hand, she could touch the water and one of those steel-silver fishes would most likely swim up to nibble at her hands. Then, an hour or two later - the boat came to a halt.

There was now a canopy over them - trees, mighty green oaks with wood dwarfs sitting in them and chattering happily, and the boat came to a stop in front of three enormous mountains. Yes, they were mountains alright! - not some hills that her friend had so lamely described - oh no, they were snow-topped and each one about as wide as an elephant that Wen never had seen... except in a zoo.

But it was good that the mountains had crevices, so one could rather skilfully climb atop. There also seemed a bit of a pathway, wounding up and up and up, and Wen thought — I am so NOT playing the main role in a cliche movie, but lemme ask - what's the fun in anything if there's a pathway straight up??

The dwarf now packed all of the scarce belongings into a sack which he had retrieved when first they met on the boat, and now he huffed and puffed and jumped down to the grass. But Wen was not so lucky, and now she was in the deep water - screaming and flailing and then gasping for breath while the dwarf patted his woollen vest and roared with laughter.

"Hey ho, dear gal!" He chuckled, and then out of the sack he took out a pair of robes - much like in the movies Harry Potter, but except that this one was a plain white, not a black made either out of crepe material or silks. Rather it was polyester, and not half as fancy, but it did have a collar of the darkest brown, which accentuated with the eyes of the girl. Honestly, what surprised her was that the top half - or less than half - of the dress was a waist trainer. Not laced up, and not the fancy type that the girls with flawless hair of melting milk-chocolate and azure green eyes wore on their wedding days - rather, it was a simple white one, much like a prop for cosplay - but it was lovely, and the girl smiled for she remembered being told by her Grandmother - who in fact was rather too strict on weight - saying, "Your waist is so narrow!"

So it wasn't a robe. Not too much. Not a dress, really, but the girl felt very vulnerable as she changed behind a tree and threw her tent dress with the ugly toad into the sack, which no doubt was wet, and the water must have somehow rinsed itself out on the food.

And then the girl stepped out, with hair a dull pale-blonde, but catching sunlight in the warmth of the day. And her eyes were warm too - that is, 'till they went back to being bug-eyes and she lightly stepped towards the dwarf. She was though quite worried that she was meant to lose weight, but the dwarf said that he knew nothing of what she was talking about and that in the Second of the Triplets this was merely a fashion, and anyway corsets were the trend in Tilla whilst here it was less fancy - more hard, no laces, no frills.

Wen asked not of how he got this dress, for simply she smiled stupidly as they descended up the path. The dwarf said that she should wear his woollen vest, because it was far too big for him and there was dust, and that the dress was a gift from his friend for Wen. So she hastily pulled on the vest, which fitted her in a lovely manner - but I'm afraid it hung like a crop top on her, barely ending where her breasts would be in a year or six.