The four fairies were gathered at their usual forest table made of stone, the greenest grasses and the tallest delicate trees thrived all around them.
Dolselphe fluttered her translucent wings nervously and turned over her papyrus book as it lay flat on the table. “I don’t think I want to share mine this week,” she said.
“Oh, but you have to,” said one of the other fairies in the book-sharing club. She turned around and glanced at the teapots on the ground, sitting by a fire burning in wood logs nearby. The tea-water is warmed,” she said. She daintily scooped one of the teapots up and started pouring the heated water into the other fairies’ stone cups, wherein lay a round ball of grasses.
Dolselphe stared sadly into her cup, as she grasses within started unfurling in the hot water, exposing a tiny red flower within. The flower slowly started to rise and bloom. “Oh,” said Dolselphe, with a sigh. “I suppose so. It was so heartbreaking—and cruel.”
And so, Dolselphe revealed the story she had read over the last week on her papyrus. “There was a little young fairy girl,” she said. “She was sitting in a tree, on an brand, and saw a platt bird nest toward the end of the limb with a young one inside. She ran down and told her mother and father, who were at the bottom of the tree, talking with fellow fairies.
“Then they rushed up the tree and took the young platt bird—a new hatchling—and put it in their carry pouch and ran down the tree with it—”
One of the other fairies gasped. “But the platt babies will perish!”
Dolselphe nodded, for everyone knew that the baby platt birds must have the aroma of the branches in their nests to survive until they are half-size. “But they took the young platt and ran with it to the Eternity Mirror.” At this, the other fairies sat their mouths wide open, their wings completely still. “They held it up and looked to the mirror, then gave it to the next one, then the next fairy…until they all had their image etched within the mirror depths with the baby platt.”
One of the other fairies declared, “No one will wish to see someone simply standing with a baby platt when they look for other in the Eternity Mirror! They shall be disgusted! How dare someone take a young one from its nest like that for such a purpose!”
“The worst thing,” said Dolsephe, “the baby platt…perished. And they just tossed it onto the dirt and left it there.” She covered her mouth with her hands and stared at her blooming tea, now fully brewed, with flower already starting to wilt.
The other fairies sat staring at the table or the air, just bewildered that another fairy would think of writing such a papyrus. Finally, one of them said, “Oh, Dolselphe, I can’t believe anyone would write such a papyrus! But do not worry—it is only a story—no one would ever commit such cruelty.”
But do not worry—it is only a story—no one would ever commit such cruelty.