This
corridor, illuminated by glass chandeliers, was, like the restaurant, empty and
silent. The noise of my beating wings
sounded too loud in the stillness around me.
As I buzzed along, weaving and bobbing, expecting to plummet to the
ground at any moment yet moving forward all the while, I felt vaguely
troubled. My illness had made the many
snickets of my mind as dusky as the sky outside, but that wasn't the
problem. I’d been ill before. I had forgotten before. But when I’d woken up the other times, it was
to find myself at school and late for a math exam, with just a faint,
frustrated notion of where my classroom might be. I was used to that, even if I hated it. I was not used to this fairy business.
Uneasily,
I wondered if I would ever be big again.
Where would I live until I was?
The doll house in the attic had gone long ago. As with nearly everything else I cared about,
it had been sacrificed for a future that kept morphing into a past I could not
remember.
The
corridor seemed miles longer than usual, maybe because I was so little
now. I peered into all sorts of paper
thin passageways I’d never noticed when I was big, but they were so dark and
uninviting that dared not travel down any of them. I needed to solve this fairy riddle
first.
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