Paraline's Dream

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

Featured Review on this writing by HJ FURL

I have always been fascinated by folk tales, myths, and origin stories. This is a story about the origin of catching fireflies and putting them in jars or bottles (obviously this is just my take on the origin). The story is about a "curious" Ms. Paraline, who lives all alone in a Victorian house in a town named Wickle-Berrington, and one day awakes into a marvelous dream which is unrelentingly disturbed by the "strange little man with the sly smile."

Front Cover (c) ian dooley on Unsplash
Photos #1-6 (c) Pixabay by various artists
Photo of man (c) Bernard Hermant on Unsplash
Photo of fireflies (c) toan phan on Unsplash
Photo of house (c) Gregory Culmer on Unsplash

Ms. Paraline lived an unparticularly unamusing life. She lived her life as a brief wind blowing to and fro and truthfully never going to anyplace in particular. She resided in an old Victorian house on the outskirts of Wickle-Berrington, the sleepy town where no one remained awake for very long. The house had the appearance of a haunted mansion, ivy-covered with peeling paint that curled around the wooden frame. Two darkened windows graced the upstairs portion, which lay rotting as a forgotten garden bed of chalk-white roses and fraughtly forget-me-nots. The whole structure slept at the end of the road that wound far over the purple hill to the lonely grassy plain that plummeted into Bookman’s Hollow, an undisturbed forest far from the town.

Ms. Paraline mused fondly over her unwanted relic, but upon her grandfather’s passing, he had bequeathed her the decaying meadow of another man’s forgotten dreams. Had she an adoring gentleman to enliven the mansion, perhaps she could find the discarded memory more tolerable. As for Ms. Paraline, she was disagreeably alone, and this had not been her choice. Her hair was a fiery scarlet, a soft blend of ruby and auburn. Her lips donned a luscious pink, but her eyes were a disenchantingly chilling blue. Her fingers were long and elegant from many years at her job as a piano teacher uptown. There was little about that sleepy town that quite suited Ms. Paraline. She was an extravagant woman, a dreamer, and she long thought on how she might escape that dreadful Wickle-Berrington.

On one occasion, a pleasantly warm afternoon, Ms. Paraline wandered into Wickle-Berrington. She indecisively passed back and forth between the alluring window of Mrs. Arbenley’s dress shop, where she beheld a lovely and irresistible gown. The gown was a soft pink with a lace petticoat and layers of smooth material abounding with ruffles and donned with minuscule ribbons of silk and satin. Paraline wilted against the window, daydreaming of a nameless Gentleman dancing around the flaccid mansion, nestling the passionate Paraline in his arms. She found that her fantasies were shattered by the maddening presence of a strange little man with a curiously sly smile. He nodded to her as if he had read her mind.

Paraline dashed into the shop and returned elatedly with the alluring gown in her hands. The sly man smiled widely and doffed his hat at her before he disappeared quickly around the corner. Paraline pirouetted towards the empty mansion, her thoughts excited by the imagination of a tall, stylish Mister frolicking with her in the meadow in her sprightly gown. The euphoric emotions passed in a bluster as she gazed into the hollow and overcast structure. She indignantly collapsed on her bed and dreamt of another time and a different world.

When Paraline awakened, she lifted her head to find that she seemed to be trapped inside a wall of some sort. She felt enclosed in a small, dark space, but her fingertips touched the satin sheets of the bed. She pushed her hand through the covering and found that she was encased in a covering of pink, wrinkly paper. She lifted her body through the paper, as though entering through a portalled wall, only to catch a glimpse of a young man in the room across the open doorway. Paraline blushed with an amalgam of fear and embarrassment as well as a hint of pleasant desire. How had this beautiful creature found his way into her unsightly house? She cursorily perceived that the house was not her house at all but quite lovely and ornate. The bed had golden and towering bed posts with an overarching and discreet canopy. The sheets were a rose satin, and the little pillows resting on the sheet were daintily embroidered with petite rosettes. Paraline gazed down at her hand to espy a sweet little ring. What kind of fiendish nightmare must this be? thought Paraline. No gentlemen had shown interest in her before. Now who possibly would want to marry her? The young man skipped to her bedside, and she caught a glimpse of a matching ring on his finger.

“Hello, love,” he whispered in her ear and gently kissed her lips. Paraline felt ill and excited. Her head swooned, and inside her stomach writhed with fliting butterflies. My first kiss! I don’t even know him, but I feel as if I have known him a lifetime. I know everything about him, and I do love him. thought Paraline. She nervously returned his kisses, and he reciprocated with rhythmic kisses to her neck. Paraline felt safe with him. He shared her innocence and gentility. I wonder if he knows about the dress?

Mr. Berrington was courteous and well-mannered, and he acted in a fashion that exceeded that of even the most chivalrous gentleman. He was not without humour or passion, however, and he and his bride shared many an amorous and sleepless nights and mornings occupied by her adoring husbands’ flirting and dalliances. Mr. Berrington was tall with thick locks of midnight black hair, and he dressed in a most stylish manner. His skin was tanned from working his garden, a pastime he and his bride shared, and a gentle blush of innocence and manhood graced his strong cheeks. Paraline enjoyed nothing more than stroking the thick locks of black hair upon his head, first running her fingers through and then pressing her cheek against the locks taking in the sweet smell of his cologne. At times, he shied from her passionate glances, and he blushed against her thrilling touches, but she always managed to arouse him to action.

Paraline found her husband resting pleasantly on the massive satin bed. She reclined beside him and gently cuffed him on the rump. He gazed up with playfully blue eyes as his wife grappled the fabric of his shirt and kissed his honeyed lips until he breathlessly tumbled off the bed. Paraline peeked over the side of the bed and held a little basket over his head. “I planned a picnic for us if you would like. I know of a lovely spot with roses and rows of cherry blossom trees. We call it "The Faux." I hear it is rather playful. There is a little thicket there too…” Her voice trailed off mysteriously as she eyed him with blossomed lips and sleepy eyes.

Mr. Berrington giggled, and he curiously followed her to the picturesque spot enclosed in by silken roses of pink and yellow and grass that lay softly on the ground like strewn out dusts of fallen starlight. Paraline settled in the fairy-tale glade and pulled her husband down onto the picnic blanket. She wrapped her arms tightly around his broad shoulders and persisted to kiss his neck eagerly. His laughs were sweet like the purring of a kitten and only excited Paraline’s curiosity all the more.

He laughed against her delightful pecks. “You never intended to eat anything, did you now?”

“Of course not!” whispered Paraline into his ear and the two tumbled over onto the blanket.

"You will have to catch me first, love," giggled Mr. Berrington who had escaped from his wife’s arms and took to running toward the field of roses.

Paraline skipped after him, pulling the bottoms of her new pink dress over her white, high-laced boots. “You forget, husband dear, that I am faster than you,” she bellowed out, and she cornered her husband against the field of roses. “I love you,” Paraline smiled, and her heart skipped excitedly at the sound of the words, and the inviting and irresistible smile strewn across her husband’s face. He echoed her words with a sweet purr. As he stood against the crystal blue sky, a warm smolder encircled him, and the pink glow of the roses swathed his skin. The summer breeze, warm and enchanting, cast his black hair to and fro and in that moment Paraline was unable to resist the ravishing sight before her, both a bewitching spell and a beguiling mystery to unravel. She leaped into his open arms, and the two tumbled into the warm and secretive safety of a small clearing surrounded by the bed of roses.

Paraline and Mr. Berrington strolled down the winding road that circled around the glade and wound back toward the enchanting cottage. Paraline smiled satisfactorily as her husband, whose customarily tidy hair was now disheveled and blustery and at the cheeky blush painting his bashful and sleepy countenance. Her own hair had the appearance of a windswept field. “I must admit, sweet wife, that you have far more vigor than I,” he chuckled playfully and Paraline smiled mischievously as she whispered a coquettish remark into his peaked ear. He lunged toward her, fire in his eyes, but she darted away from him and nearly tripped over a bicycle that someone had abandoned against a shadowy tree. “And I thought that you had not had enough of me,” giggled Mr. Berrington as he skipped to his wife’s side.

“It was this outlandish cycle. The cyclist must have left it here. I nearly broke my neck,” Paraline teased as her husband inspected the strange contraption that appeared in fine condition.

“Do you know how to?” asked Mr. Berrington cheekily.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Paraline boasted proudly as she endeavored to seat herself comfortably on the bicycle. Mr. Berrington eyed her from behind, pleased with the sight of her voluptuous rump seated on the bicycle. “Please, dear, do not just stand there. Help me onto this contraption!”

“Yes, indeed. Allow me,” Mr. Berrington naughtily pulled up her dress and the lace petticoats to reveal her pink bloomers. Then he reclined against the tree to inspect the lovely sight nestled on the bicycle seat.

“You little devil,” giggled Paraline, and after rectifying the mess he had made of her dress, Mr. Berrington gave her a gentle push, and she went hurtling down the hill back toward the cottage.

Paraline let out a bark of laughter as she hurled toward the bottom of the hill. She placed one hand on top of her head to hold down her large, extravagant hat. Mr. Berrington ran after her trying to keep up with her pace. Paraline kicked her legs out capriciously and let go of her hat, which Mr. Berrington caught and waved over his head in a boyish manner. “You will have to give me a kiss if you want your hat back, my lady,” Mr. Berrington caroled, but Paraline stuck out her tongue at him and increased the speed of the bicycle.

As she plummeted toward the bottom, she caught a glimpse of the sly man, the very same one she had encountered at the dress shop. He leaned into the tree at the bottom of the hill, the shadows of the tree’s branches enshrouding him, dissonantly interrupting Paraline’s otherwise perfect day. His eyes smoldered in the dark corners under the tree, and a billow of ashy-white smoke encircled his head arising from his flickering pipe.

Paraline found his presence disquieting, and she nearly weaved into the brushes when he winked at her and waved one gnarled hand in her direction. She swerved to one side and looked down momently to fix her foothold on the pedal, and when she looked back up, the sly man had vanished. At the sight of the sly man she became lost in thought, forgetting that she was cycling. The bicycle continued to lose speed until at last, it came to a stop, and Paraline toppled off the cycle beside the tree. Her dress flew up over her head as she flipped over an extended log, her left leg smashing through the rotting wood.

Mr. Berrington rushed toward his wife, his chest rising and falling with fear for her safety. He slid down beside her and smoothed her dress, placing a kiss to her temple and one to her neck. She bashfully looked up at him, unsure of what had happened. He caressed her silky, scarlet curls and patted her bosom and torso gently to make sure she had not broken any bones. “Whatever happened, love? Have you hurt yourself?” asked he, alarmed by her peculiar accident.

“No, not that I am aware of. Did you not see that strange little man down by tree?” asked Paraline, her eyes wild with fear and embarrassment.

“The little man? To be precise…well…to be honest, love, I did not see a thing. Perhaps someone was making mischief on us. Taunting the young lovers, I would imagine. Try to forget the apparition, dear, I am certain that it was some misunderstanding,” Mr. Berrington struggled to comfort her, but Paraline nestled into his brawny arms and snuggled into his neck. He curled into her side, nuzzling her with his nose and cheek as he rocked her to sleep, whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

Paraline lay awake in the haunted atmosphere tossing and turning at the sound of every cricket nearly flinching at the creaking of the wooden floorboards below. Mr. Berrington, however, was curled securely into his satin pillow and buried snuggly underneath the warm darkness of the generous blanket. Paraline kissed his boyish curls taking in the sweet scent of his masculinity. She ran her fingers over his robust, bare shoulders admiring his sun-kissed skin. How long she had waited for this. It nearly seemed a lifetime or more, a thousand ages times two. An innocent and contented smile graced his pleasant face. She smiled at the rosy blush that half-way emanated from one side of his face that was not buried under the pillow. Paraline shivered at the sound of the wind tiptoeing through the low-lying grass.

There had to be something haunting about that uncherished grove. For when Paraline flew to her window from her husband’s bedside, she gazed from the casement to witness that same sly little man creeping about the premises. He appeared as nearly a shadow, slithering low to the ground beside the trees that lined the grove. She heard him calling out in some indefinite language as if he were in communication with the creatures of the night-world. He lurked around the trees in a stooped-over position, nearly contorted. He held in his hands two mason jars, which he opened and closed in hurried intervals. Paraline observed his shrewd ambush from the window. He was engaged in the most curious behavior. He set about to catch as many fireflies as his two jars were able to house.

Paraline felt a bold impertinence remove her inhibitions. She dashed to her armoire and retrieved a robe. She would put this peculiar stranger in his place once and for all. She disliked the thought of that ghastly man skulking underneath the window that peered into her and her husband’s bedchamber. She intended that their lovemaking should remain cloistered. Paraline deliberated on her next course of action. She threw the front door open, grasping her husband’s ball-bat, and tiptoed toward the grove where the sly little man presently crept.

Paraline slid behind a tree and eyed the short man scrambling around in the grass, holding the jar over his head and clamping the lid down on unsuspecting fireflies. The lighted creatures writhed inside the jars attempting to break loose from the stronghold. The moonlight fell across his crooked body, giving him the appearance of a senseless madman, an egregious troll. His handlebar moustache curled upwards angrily as he pounded his fists on the ground whenever a firefly managed to escape from the jars or evade capture altogether.

She dashed out from behind the tree, shrieking unwelcomingly at the stranger. The moonlight gave her wild, scarlet hair the appearance of a banshee. “Hallo out there! You, whomever you might wish to be called, remove yourself from these premises at once! Otherwise I shall commence to thrashing your hide!”

The sly man upstarted, disconcerted by her unforeseen presence. He brushed the dirt from his pants and made toward her in a most disturbing manner. She surmised that he was no less than five feet tall, but his posture was nonetheless threatening. He moved in the night amidst the warm summer zephyr like a willowy tree, hushed and surreptitious. He stroked the tips of his ashy moustache impishly. His eyes, like two blistering coals, glowed an eerie and burning blue. He snapped his fingers, and straightway his smoldering pipe appeared between his fingertips. The smoke curled around his head, rendering Paraline dizzy at the scent of the putrid tobacco.

She fled at his wraithlike appearance, fleeing down the unlit path that plummeted into the haunted grove. The ivy and emerald halls of the grove blurred past her like a train thundering through a hollow tunnel of seemingly unending dimension. She cursed the sly man for the blighted muddle he had made of her long-awaited honeymoon. The sly man was not far behind her for Paraline heard the sound of his heavy boots tearing at the ground. The tips of her toes scarcely touched the ground as the barreled down the hall of ivy. She escaped into the safety of the moonlight as she tunneled into an obscured thicket. Lying motionlessly on the ground, the verdures and branches of the brambles above her head, she observed the sly man’s boots rush past her, dropping off somewhere far down at the end of the pale and moonlit grove.

Paraline listened for the sound of the sly man’s return, but he was without sight save the thousands of lighted creatures that flickered in the shadows. For what seemed like an eternity, Paraline lay frozen, half in fear and half in disbelief at what had transpired. She reasoned that to recount this occurrence to her husband would only breed suspicion or concern about her whereabouts and, indeed, her sanity. She was certain of one thing, however, where all other things remained uncertain: there was unquestionably something haunting about that grove. And Paraline felt with the greatest certainty that the sly little man was at the back of it all.

“Mr. Berrington! Poor love! I hope that odious little man has not found his way back to harm my dearheart,” cried Paraline, her heartbeat roaring in her ears as she flew like a ghost in haunt back toward the bedchamber where her unknowing and beloved husband lay asleep.

Paraline had settled quite agreeably into her new life with Mister Berrington—which she had amused on how odd it seemed that he took the name after that miserable little town. She had been with Mr. Berrington for a short three weeks, and in that time, she had become quite addicted to married life completely discarding all thoughts of that grotesque house she loathed.

One day Paraline decided to amuse herself by taking a walk into the town that always slept while Mr. Berrington worked in the garden. She skipped out the door around to the white picket fence and leaned over the railing to flirtatiously swipe Mr. Berrington’s hat. “Do you love those pitiful radishes  more than I?” giggled Paraline as Mr. Berrington rose to his feet and pulled her into a kiss.

“Your kisses taste much sweeter,” said he, “sweet like honey.”

“Will you help me with the wash?” asked Paraline, who directed his attention toward the clothesline near the porch steps. He eyed the white corset, sweet petticoats, and soft bloomers with satin bows that swayed irresistibly against the gentle wind. He naughtily looked back at Parlaine, who blushed in a girlish manner.

“As you wish,” he cooed, wiping his soiled hands on his pants as he followed his wife to the clothesline.

Paraline had become curious about the entire situation. What had become of that dreadful mansion that her grandfather had bequeathed to her? How had she found her way into Mr. Berrington’s bedroom through the mysterious paper wall? “Love, do you remember the day we first held company together?” asked Paraline, and she scanned his face for any signs of an answer to the puzzling question.

“But of course, dearheart. We were properly introduced to each other at the Wiggins’s party. You shamelessly flirted with me the first time you saw me. You stole my breath away! I am dreadfully shy with a woman, but you persisted regardless.”

“The Wiggins’s?” asked Paraline, searching her memory for a face or location to place the name to. She considered it most curious that she had no recollection of neither the Wiggins's nor her first engagement with Mr. Berrington. It had become evident that the presence of that bizarre little man had sent Paraline's mind into a spiral of confusion and forgetfulness. Paraline could not understand why the sly little man had only made his appearance known to her. Her thoughts were continually haunted by his presence. Why had he created such a disturbance within her?

“Mr. Wollingsford Wiggins’s and Mrs. Wellingsford Wiggins’s. They reside in that horrid yellow mansion on Hartford-Haresfoot. You remember, Mr. Wiggins’s, of course, he is quite portly, and he chortles at his terrible witticisms in a booming voice, and his wife is rather jolly too. You must remember her—the lady with the rosy cheeks and double chin. They are wonderfully fun, I am afraid. Always the ones for jokes and mischiefery,” Mr. Berrington finished and excitedly fondled the velvety, white corset he held in his hands.

Paraline swiped it from him and tossed it into the wicker basket. “Did you court any other ladies before you married me?” asked Paraline as she gazed at her feet, shuffling them back and forth, biting her lip awkwardly.

Mr. Berrington edged into her ear. She blushed at the warmth she felt against her face from his cheek. “No, love. I was a virgin, like you, until our wedding night.”

Paraline smiled at his answer, relieved, and he rhythmically kissed her neck. He bent down and retrieved the corset and held it up to her with longing in his eyes. She giggled gently, placing a finger to his lips. “I have some errands to attend to in town, and then we can play.” She sashayed away from her husband, who tossed the corset down impatiently. “I won’t be long, love,” she waved to him, and he waved back, flashing a seductive smile her way encouraging her to return as swiftly as possible.

As she moseyed down the steps, she noticed the sly little man standing nearby slumped against a tree. He smiled almost wickedly and doffed his hat to her. Paraline disliked him without reason. She wrinkled her nose at him and huffed off toward the center of the town.

When Paraline returned a few hours later, the house had vanished along with every trace of the angelic Mr. Berrington. Paraline felt her heart shatter. She suddenly found herself longing for the caresses of her honey-lipped husband. She lost all control at the sight of the vulgar house she thought she had escaped. She ran to the tormented structure and began to rip and tear apart wooden boards and staves, her tears pervading the sleeves of her dress. She screamed the scream of a mad man and only stopped at the sight of the sly man leaning against one of the wooden posts on the porch.

“You monster! What have you done with my husband?” screamed Paraline as she struck his face with her balmy fist. He did not flinch, but his smile grew wider across his wrinkled face, and his handlebar mustached curled upwards under his pointed nose. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully with one gnarly hand. 

“Come now, Ms. Paraline. Control yourself. If it were not for I, you would never have tasted of love at all. I am your benefactor, you thankless, foolish child,” said he as he turned around and surveyed the dark woods nearby. He quickly spun around on his feet to face her bloodless eyes. “I created your dear little lover and that enchanting house and what thanks you gave me! I can as easily rob you of him and his kisses,” he bellowed, and Paraline clenched her ears at his voice that echoed as a shrilling wraith. He walked up to her face, his nose nearly touching hers. “Try to live without him now,” said he as he roved away his boots galumphing and his impish laugh filling the evening air with doom.

“Yes, indeed…” Paraline cooed, revenge writhing every corner of her mind. Her mind conceived of a wicked plan to rid the world of the sly little man who would dare play a dirty trick on such an innocent and kind-hearted mind as Paraline’s mind was. She heard rumors in town of an elfish man with an unsightly mustache and unpleasant disposition who frequented Bookman’s Hollow deep in the woods to catch fireflies—a most curious pastime the townsfolk observed. She found a glassblower in Pockie Acres, a nearby village, who had earned a reputation as the finest glassmaker in the entire region. She commissioned his services to construct a large bottle the size of the sly little man.

Paraline transported the finished bottle to Bookman’s Hollow inside a hollowed-out tree in the center of the woods where the fireflies were known to gather at twilight. She circulated a rumor which eventually found its way to the odious creature that a mysterious bottle filled with fireflies lay abandoned in the woods. Unable to tame his curiosity, the sly little man crept into the woods one evening to uncover the treasure of dancing lights. He foolishly marveled at the bottle, falling delightfully into Paraline’s trap, as he crawled into the bottle to satisfy his insatiable curiosity of all the beautiful, lighted creatures. Paraline dashed from behind the tree and capped the bottle laughing violently at the sight of her inglorious 'benefactor' beating his fists against the walls of the bottle.

“Rot in there as I have in life, you devilish creature. I need no benefactor, especially one as cruel and heartless as your horridness!” shrieked Paraline, and throwing her subconscious to the wind, she flew home the feeling of justice seething through her veins. She did not care what was to become of the wicked little man. For now, she had her revenge.

A year passed, and Paraline had not returned to the hollow where she had encased the sly little man. Her malice toward that house had only widened. She heard from the glassmaker, by the name of Hollis Syre, that a circus which toured the world—the East and the countries far away—was passing through the sleepy town of Wickle-Berrington. Paraline longed to leave the town that bore her late husband’s sweet name, a demonous memory which caused a burn of biting pain to surge through her body and heart. She resolved to join the circus as an animal caretaker and traveling musician so that she might travel the world and forget her sorrows. She hoped that she would someday find another love, although she deemed this quite unlikely.

In time, as Paraline toured the great cities of Europe and lands far beyond earning the reputation as the finest animal tamer and tasting the delicious foods and traditions of the other cultures she forgot the memory of the sly little man and her late husband altogether seemed but a distant dream that had never occurred. The glassmaker had even heard rumors that Paraline had become engaged to a renowned gentleman, a French ballet dancer, and painter, who toured with the circus. 

The town of Wickle-Berrington, however, did not forget the sly little man, for he had done a great injustice to that gentle town. In memory of Paraline’s lost love, the town began to have light festivals where the townsfolk captured thousands of fireflies in glass jars and bottles and put them to rest on the steps of Paraline’s abandoned mansion. The town fancied that wherever Mr. Berrington was perhaps, he would see the lights and imagine how sorry the sleepy town and Paraline were for his disappearance. As for the sly man, no one truly knew what had become of him, although they speculated that the fireflies had devoured him.

And all alone, on those disheveled steps—the derelict road to yesterday—the jars of fireflies lighted the lonely mansion where once Paraline’s footsteps had echoed and long before her grandfather sat on the porch in his rocker whistling an old-world tune which could be heard over the purple road that wound into Wickle-Berrington, the town that always sleeps.

Submitted: September 16, 2019

© Copyright 2021 L.E. Belle. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



A tale really well told, L.E.

Mon, September 16th, 2019 8:16pm


Thanks for reading this, Hullabaloo. I think I write too much poetry and not enough stories. I am trying to remedy that.

Mon, September 16th, 2019 2:28pm

Robert Helliger

A good well written story.

Wed, October 9th, 2019 2:26am


Thank you!

Wed, October 9th, 2019 3:42am


I love your style, your way of writing, the characters, the quaint way of it, the excellent description, names, unique style, oddity. I loved it!

Wed, October 16th, 2019 5:52am


Thank you, HJFURL, for reading my short story. I am glad you liked it.

Wed, October 16th, 2019 4:31am


A pleasantly-embellished tale well-crafted. If only we knew what had become of the sly man in the bottle and indeed, of the enigmatic Ms Paraline, rumours notwithstanding ...

Thu, October 17th, 2019 5:10pm


Thank you for reading my short story, Adam. I wanted to leave some mystery in the tale, but I have also entertained the possibility of a follow-up story.

Thu, October 17th, 2019 4:44pm


Another novel, I've started to read this week is Billionaire's Intense Love- (available on amazon kindle)

Sat, November 9th, 2019 9:36pm


Thank you!

Sat, November 9th, 2019 1:58pm


excellently told folk tale with pretty and fitting images. I really enjoyed reading this.

Tue, July 20th, 2021 5:09pm


I'm so glad you enjoyed reading it! Thank you for the inspiring comment :)

Tue, July 20th, 2021 2:54pm


A fantastic, well written story.

Fri, September 3rd, 2021 11:03pm


Thanks for reading it, Rob :)

Fri, September 3rd, 2021 4:05pm

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