Fairy Kisses and Nonsense…or My Attempt at Writing for Children, Part II

So here is the second part of what I’ve written thus far. Enjoy.

Once Upon a Raindrop, Part II

     “Owwwie!” I grabbed at nothing; then brought my hand back to my eye. The dumb little fairy pulled out an eyelash and it hurt. How did she keep getting back in my room, anyway? I kept closing the window. I even pulled the shades to keep her from watching me tonight. 
     But when I looked up she disappeared; little flecks of glitter lay haphazardly on the blanket. 
     Long after she left, I dreamed I was tiny and looking up at the fairy with the glitter suit. I wore a dress, a deep blue-purple the shade of blueberries, and my wings were penny copper. My chocolate mane was tossed into a bun with a small tiara twinkling in the sunlight or moonlight—I couldn’t remember which—but I recall being happy. 
     The glitter fairy frowned and curtseyed. “Your highness,” she said, “Rosalina, at your call.” Was her name really Rosalina? It seemed so real. I nodded my head in acknowledgement and looked out over my kingdom.
     Sunlight peeked through the window, but I could barely see it over my mass of sheets, blanket, and my giant stuffed bear, Toby. Giant? He was humongous! I felt small; my little heart raced and I panicked, flying back and forth. Wait—flying? I had reddish-brown wings. I stared down at my bed where I should have been sleeping. I felt dizzy and flustered. It was then that I remembered my fear of heights and I fell to the bed, faint with wonderment and fear. 
     I sat there for hours wondering what to do when my aunt came home. My aunt wore her hair clasped tight to her head; she had hair the color of cigarette ash and black eyebrows that she dyed to make her look younger. She was prim and hateful; her sister, my mother, used to tell me before bed of how my aunt would dress her up like a doll, and hit her if she didn’t do as asked. When my parents died, my aunt was all I had left. 
     So when I found myself tiny, I stiffened; scared of Aunt Rue. 
     Brushing the soft hair of Toby’s coat, I let my mind wander. My mother once told me if I just close my eyes, sing the first melody I hear in my head, and imagine myself in a better place, I would go there. I could free myself of sadness and fear. It was in this place I transported myself when my mother and father passed. It was in this place even Aunt Rue couldn’t find me. 
     My better place bloomed with magic: fairies possessed amiable qualities unlike Rosalina’s; flowers danced in the rain; many creatures could fly, disappear, transform. I ruled this place, much like my dream, but in real life I was not queen. To Aunt Rue, I represented all the world’s defects. Because I looked just like my mother, she punished me. I was her China doll; she tore my dresses, pulled at my hair, and rubbed her greasy fingers across my porcelain skin. I could not say a word. 
     For a long time, Rosalina made the problems worsen. When she pinched me and I yelped in surprise, Aunt Rue would hear me and come down the stairs. My aunt’s voice was quiet, but dark. When she spoke, the ground shifted; graves appeared and I swear I could see blackness grabbing at me with claws as swift as shadows. Aunt Misery. Aunt Hate. Aunt Evil.

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