Bridgette was a sensible sort of girl.
The kind of girl who you would expect to be seen in class working hard, writing down everything the teacher said, getting good grades, being a good child to her parents. The practical, thoughtful, serious sort of girl. A girl who certainly would never be caught dead believing in fairy tales.
She even looked very serious, with slender crystal glasses, heavy, dark-brown waved hair that fell over her shoulders, and a thoughtful, melancholy expression on her plain little face.
"She's so wise for her years, the little thing," the maids whispered in the hallways of her three-story marble home.
Nobody in a million years would have thought that Bridgette still believed in fairies.
In public, Bridgette was the serious, grown-up little girl everyone assumed she was.
She did her work, did well in school, was very respectful to her wealthy, respectable parents, who smiled and bragged about their smart little girl to their wealthy, respectable friends, who in turn , smiled too and said how lucky they were to have such a good little girl, how beautifully polite, how sweet and good, how wonderfully brought up she was.
She was very good at being that girl.
But sometimes........
sometimes when she was alone at night in her room.....she would look out the big closed window into the night sky, try to count the stars....and dream of a faeryland where anything could happen.
Adventures untold, with mermaids, pirates, unicorns, dragons............
..........fairies.
She would read at night, in her room with only a candle by her beside, storybooks of romance and adventure, fantasies, and magic.
And she would wish with all her heart that they were real, that she could be in a story too.....!!!!!
But of course they were only make-believe.
There were no such things as mermaids. Or unicorns, or dragons, or pixies.
Or fairies.
There was no such thing as magic.
At night, Bridgette sobbed into her pillow because they were not real, the things she loved in her heart of hearts, they were not real, they had never been real, and they never would be real.
Oh, why couldn't they be real? They were real when she was little. Why did it mean that when you grew up, you had to stop believing?
But of course, she never, never showed this secret side of her to anyone. Anyone. Because no one would understand. Of course they couldn't. How could they?
She was supposed to be grown-up.
And grown-ups did not believe in faerys.
So, one night in December, Bridgette had just recieved an award at her school for being the best student in her class. Her parents and some of her parent's wealthy friends were there, beaming proudly as she recieved her blue ribbon. Her teacher pinned it to the front of her frock and said to her, "Oh Bridgette, you're such a good little girl. I'm so glad you turned out to be so grown-up, and not some little dreamer, lost in fairy tales and such nonsense. Can you imagine, believing in fairies?"
And she tipped back her head and laughed and so did her parents and her parents oh-so-important friends.
Bridgette gave a tight smile, hiding the shattering heart inside her.
She managed to hide her agony until she got back home, excusing herself from dinner, feigning exhaustion so she could go to her dark room. When she got there, she threw herself onto the floor and cried so hard her crystal glasses fogged up.
She was utterly heartbroken by this statement from her teacher, her teacher! The one grown-up she thought might understand her secret love at least a little bit, and she was betrayed yet again.
Why was she even surprised?
Her teacher, however understanding and patient and sweet, was a grown-up.
Just like Bridgette was supposed to be.
Bridgette cried and cried, shaking from her sobs and from the cold winter's chill coming from the window left wide open, curtains frenzied.
Then it happened.
The event which would change her life for all eternity.
The thing that would lead her to the place she truly belonged.
A voice.
"Girl," it said, "Why are you crying?"
Bridgette was so shocked that at first, she couldn't do anything more than lie shock-still on the floor, her nose pressed down flat.
Then she slowly raised her head and, trembling, turned to look at the open window.
Standing there was the strangest boy she had ever seen.
He was clad in what looked like green leaves running like ivy from one corner of his body to the next.
He had dark curly blond hair that was tousled and looked like it could do with a good wash.
He had dark golden skin that was made even darker by the patches of dirt all over him.
He had an upturned nose, pointed ears, and eyes that changed color in the light, glittering from green, azure, and even chocolate brown.
He had an expression of puzzlement upon his curious face as he gazed at her, his curly blond head cocked to one side.
He looked like an elf from one of her beloved fairytales.
He was majikal.
And he was standing on the marble windowsill, hands on his hips, curtains a-flutter about him, night sky illuminated behind him.
How had he gotten in her room?
Who was he???
"Well?" he asked, narrowing his woodland eyes at her, head still tipped to one side.
Bridgette found her tounge again.
"What-why-how-"The Boy waited impatiently, tapping his filthy foot on the white marble as she struggled to form words.
"Who are you?!"
The Boy's face split into a grin, showing a mouthful of white teeth.
Bridgette's eyes widened; it was like the Sun coming out.
"I? I am Joy! I am Youth! I am Freedom! I am Peter Pan!!"