Tuesday, 29 May 2012

Knocking on Faerie Door part 10

After I don't know how long, the sun was streaming through my window. Rising to meet the day I recall my last thought before I dropped far away into dreamland: “I wish I could go back to being myself!"

Looking down at my legs, my arms, my nose (no whiskers!) aah and my hair, not fur, but hair! My real hair. I’m me again!!
Quickly snuggling under my covers, my eyes closed. The door handle turns and in walks Nanny. No! Not Nanny, not my sweet dear reliable honest Nanny, but Delores Daffodil. She is the undercover faerie posing as my Nanny. She is such a con-artist. No I will never again impart any personal feelings or secrets to her. Mostly I will never tell her about my trip through the faerie door. In retrospect she who may no longer be trusted, probably already knows, hence the conversation with Mr Bowfinger.

The door swings open; her deceitful hands swish the curtain. Lying lips call my name, “Beatrice, time to rise and shine”
Begrudgingly out of my bed I rise to face the day and knowing that no one can be trusted.

My hand slides under my pillow; it touches the familiar binding on my spell book. I am feeling comforted.  Where will I find my velvet bag? Faerie Dust, that’s going to be such fun, just imagine the mischief…. There was a rule about using this stuff wasn’t there? Oh well I can’t remember, sure it’s not that important.

My clothes are laid out on my bed by her. She looks at me and says “what do you say, young lady?” I mumble “thank-you” under my breath, avoiding her determined stare.
“Look at me when I talk to you Beatrice, where are your manners this morning?”
Glancing up to look at her in the eye and thinking to myself “Where is your everything??”

The dress is simply gorgeous!! Daddy had brought it on his last trip to London; he had said it was very expensive and that I should be very careful whilst wearing it. It is a pretty pastel yellow and made of satin; oh I do love the soft smooth cool touch of satin to my skin. My mood is lifted. I need to get back to the old Oak tree.

Breakfast was a non-event as all I could think about was the little door and how I am being attracted to it once more. Lessons with her fly past; I’m reprimanded for being absent-minded time and time again. Eventually through sheer exasperation she says those sweet words once more: “you can go out and play now!”

Feeling freedom in my heart I rush out of the kitchen, down the hall and through the drawing room to the porch and down the stairs, with her voice trailing behind me “Don’t run in the house Beatrice!!!”


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