She is the guardian of this forest. She carries its stories in her belly where she will not forget them. Ask her of the tree who walked away, the stream that went to college, and the ogre who wove a cloak of fireweed wool. She will bring them up for you.
Run screaming in fear of her slithering scales and you’ll be none the richer for her stories. Show her disrespect and she’ll introduce you to her fangs. Tell her stories, on the other hand, and she’ll invite you to join her guild of forbidden fables, of which she claims to be treasurer. To enter the secret libraries of the guild, you must first step through her unhinged jaw and descend a spiral staircase deep into her belly. Be prepared, for she will be offended if you hesitate.
You will be rewarded for your bravery. Within you’ll find all the stories never told. The stories have grown lonely to be read within this secret place. They will spoil any reader with mugs of hot, delicious drinks, comfy pillows, and rainy windows to ease their reading. Take heed, for you may never wish to leave again.
The waters flowed into the pool, refreshing and cool. Within moments it mixed with fairy droppings, the tears of a frustrated dragon, and a drop of diluted ink from the first book ever printed.
“That is the secret recipe we goblins have been guarding these many years, but we’re tired now, and we haven’t got paid in centuries, so there you have it. It’s yours now. Use it wisely,” said a goblin who’d been cooling his feet in the pond. He picked up his satchel and headed off into the shadows with two other goblins.
The bewildered family watched them go, unsure of what to say and wondering what the recipe might be for. It had been an odd vacation thus far.
The sunlight winked upon the water’s surface, sending secret messages to the bottom of the sea. There the mermaids scooped them up in long lost buckets and relayed them to whom they belonged. Who that is, I cannot say, but I’ve always dreamt of hidden sea beasts, impossible and mythical, whose deep sea movements become the waves that greet us on the shore.
She looked out at the world with her good eye, the one that could see past illusions to all the things unsaid and unseen, and it made her sad to see that people hid the best of themselves deep inside where no one could ever harm them, and no one ever saw.
The pixie left detailed directions to her den written atop a mushroom. This was often how the pixies shared their secrets, knowing there would only be an hour or two before the notes rotted away and were lost forever. They never did realize the greater fungus down below kept careful notes of all these writings and shared them far and wide.
She pulled her hood lower as she stepped through the wood, willing no one to notice her there. “Think like a flower,” she told herself, and kept her head down.
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