The map had led her to a “door near a forsythia” alright, but what she hadn’t expected was that the door was on a tall rock and appeared to lead nowhere at all. She couldn’t see how this door would get her any closer to finding her brother.
She tries so hard to make friends. All the other kids run away from her, though, and their parents glare at her. If only Great-Aunt Griselda hadn’t gotten mixed up in that nasty cannibalism business. What a blot on sugar witches everywhere.
This is sort of for #Colour_Collective, but it is mostly me playing around with ideas for illustrating a story I have mostly written. A little girl moves to the city and misses her garden at home and tries to figure out how to replace it.
When we looked past our wall, we could see the lake. Sometimes it looked blue, other times green. We could see the town, the shape of the church standing out among the smudges of all the houses and shops. Auntie rarely let us go there, so it was as hazy in our minds as in our view. Our best view was of the old Melendy estate, the fallow fields and broken fences giving the still beautiful manor house an air of terrible loneliness. Nobody would tell us why the Melendys weren’t on the estate anymore, so we imagined reasons. Maybe everyone fell ill with a dreadful plague and died while in quarantine. Maybe there had been a tragic love story, one that ended with tears or blood or both. Maybe a witch had enchanted everyone and they were still in the house, sleeping until someone – maybe us? – came to break the spell.