First Trips to the Dreaming [for the Jacks]
At the end of the hall, where there shouldn't logically be one, there's a door. This door is locked at all times, and only rarely does anyone open it; when they do, Sasha and Ali try to be careful that nobody's around. But today there's no need for secrecy: there's a carnival to attend! Ali made very special cocoa for breakfast, making sure all the goslings and other nonfae in the household (who weren't already enchanted) had some.
After breakfast and whatever time was needed to adjust, Ali lined everyone up outside that door. From a small pocket in her belt, she took a shining silver key, sliding it into the lock and opening the door that shouldn't really be there...
On the other side of the door lies a forest, dark and forbidding, crowding against the edges of the shining silver path that winds through. The trees seem to turn when the door opens, and if they had faces would be watching the newcomers expectantly. Branches reach for hats and trailing things as the little party passes through, until Ali reminds them just who is in charge here with a sharp retort.
Yes. The trees sulk when she tells them they're bad.
Eventually the forest clears, and the foreboding feeling of being an intruder lifts like a shrugged-off blanket. The land spreads out in gently rolling hills dressed in the silver lace of trailing paths, a shining lake in the distance. A few storybook cottages dot the landscape, the smoke curling prettily up into the bright blue sky, perfect gardens spread around them in technicolor. And there, from the right, drifts the familiar sounds of a carnival and a hint of fried-dough perfume.
After breakfast and whatever time was needed to adjust, Ali lined everyone up outside that door. From a small pocket in her belt, she took a shining silver key, sliding it into the lock and opening the door that shouldn't really be there...
On the other side of the door lies a forest, dark and forbidding, crowding against the edges of the shining silver path that winds through. The trees seem to turn when the door opens, and if they had faces would be watching the newcomers expectantly. Branches reach for hats and trailing things as the little party passes through, until Ali reminds them just who is in charge here with a sharp retort.
Yes. The trees sulk when she tells them they're bad.
Eventually the forest clears, and the foreboding feeling of being an intruder lifts like a shrugged-off blanket. The land spreads out in gently rolling hills dressed in the silver lace of trailing paths, a shining lake in the distance. A few storybook cottages dot the landscape, the smoke curling prettily up into the bright blue sky, perfect gardens spread around them in technicolor. And there, from the right, drifts the familiar sounds of a carnival and a hint of fried-dough perfume.