Note: The stuff in italics is French
In Lyon, France a little girl named Madeline Daviau, age five, sits in her room having tea with her two imaginary friends and a fourth companion. Anyone that walked in on the party would have seen Madeline talking to herself quite contently at a small table, pouring invisible tea from an invisible teapot for invisible guests.
"Would you like some tea, Mademoiselle Rouge, Monsieur Pierre and Mademoiselle Ciel?" Madeline chirps politely in French.
"Oui, merci beaucoup," Pierre says in a funny, posh voice which makes Madeline giggle. Pierre can be so silly sometimes.
"Don't call me Mademoiselle!" Rouge demands. "It's just Rouge!" Sometimes Rouge acts fierce but she really is friendly. Only with Madeline, Pierre and Ciel though. Occasionally mère and père if they are nice to Madeline. She can get very angry at mean people. It makes her tail twitchy.
Ciel smiles. She does not come as often as Pierre and Rouge but when she does it is very exciting. When Ciel comes Madeline can touch Pierre and Rouge, even though she usually can't because they are from another world which is hard to get from, and they always stay longer. That is because Ciel is magic. She does lots of really amazing tricks, some so extraordinary they seem impossible. Madeline wants to do magic one day like Ciel. "Tea would be lovely," Ciel says. "And because you are so lovely I have a present for you."
Madeline grins in anticipation, showing off the half grown bottom tooth. It is her absolute first grownup tooth. Ciel grins back with her eyes. A lot of the time Ciel doesn't smile with her mouth but Madeline is smart and knows eye-smiles mean just as much as regular smiles, especially from Ciel.
With the sweep of her arm Ciel makes a china teapot appear, a china jug of frothy milk, a china bowl full of sugar cubes, a china pot of honey and four china teacups. On the tea set are tiny vines and buds of unopened flowers. Steam curls from the spout of the teapot, wound with delicate stems that shift ever so slightly as though they are swaying in the breeze. Madeline gushes over tea set, thanking her friend profusely, Rouge cheers and Pierre claps.
"You're welcome," Ciel replies. "May I have some tea?"
Instantly Madeline lifts the teapot and pours Ciel a cup. To her delight the flowers on the pot and on Ciel's cup begin to bloom and unfurl. Madeline pours everyone some tea and it has the same results, though each one different from the other. Putting milk, honey and sugar in the tea has an identical effect until the entire tea set is adorned in beautiful flowers. Most magnificent of all is on the teapot, where a face emerges in the arrangement of petals and leaves.
The surprise is not over just yet. "Pour some tea on the table," Ciel instructs once everyone has their tea. Madeline is baffled by this request but does it anyway. She trusts Ciel. Instead of staining the tablecloth the liquid stops before hitting the surface. It begins to grows and mould into various shapes, changing colours as it does so. Finally the entire table is covered in an array fit for high-tea: intricately decorated biscuits, cakes and sandwiches stacked in tiers; napkins embroidered with fluttering butterflies; the tablecloth becoming a lush, green meadow. It is fantastic.
Madeline breaks out in another stream of thanks but Ciel brushes it off. "Bon appetite," Ciel announces and the tea party truly starts.
In Madeline's opinion it was the best tea party ever. She could practically taste every delicious thing with such detail it was heavenly. But when she went to dinner she was not full at all! Afterwards Madeline raced back to her room, slightly worried that Ciel might have left. To her relief all her friends were still there. So the four settled down for an evening chat, Madeline glad to get to spend so much time with her companions. She does not care what mère says. They are real.
That is how Sandy finds them: a human child with light brown curls waving her hands about animatedly. She is talking with a lithe man, cobwebs draped in his hair and paper yellow skin defined by bold, black strokes; a little hybrid girl with deer antlers sprouting from her head, crimson red hair, racoon-like marking around her eyes and a racoon tail; and the Muse.
The Muse does not turn to the window from which Sandy watches, peeking through the gap in the curtains, when he arrives. However she seems to sense his presence, although he is hidden. "Excusez-moi Madeline," the Muse interjects kindly in flawless French, "but I must leave. I am expected elsewhere."
"Oh," the human child looks disappointed. "You'll come back soon, right?"
"Of course." The child's face brightens considerably.
"Good," the child affirms. "Au revoir! I'll miss you!"
To Sandy's surprise the strange man and girl hybrid also say their goodbyes. He thought they were simply imaginary. Maybe the Muse has some effect? "Pleasant travels," the man says.
"Salut!" the girl hybrid calls.
"Bon nuit," the Muse replies. "Sweet dreams, Madeline." The Muse stands and faces the window. To Sandy's further astonishment she looks him in the eye as flower petals and leaves burst from her back like butterfly wings of whites, pinks, yellows and greens. The window curtains fly open and, despite the pane of glass between them and Sandy, he is blown out of sight of the human child. The Muse then moves through the glass like it is water and comes out the other side with spirit and window looking untouched, much to Sandy's great awe. The Muse soars from the window, the curtains shutting behind her, towards where Sandy was swept a short distance away.
Sandy drifts back to the human child's window and peers back into the bedroom. Already the man and the hybrid girl look faded until they are but shadows of what they were moments ago. The child continues to interact with them as though they are in plain sight.
"Sanderson," the Muse greets, flower wings still flapping. "Fascinating, isn't she?" she acknowledges the child, who is nodding her head in agreement to whatever her invisible companions said. "Such vivid imagination. I suspect it will be another two or three years before she stops seeing me. But don't worry. Most likely her belief in you will not waver until collège."
A fond smile grows on the Sandman's face, watching the child's innocent play. From her dreams he remembers the extent of her bond to her two imaginary friends and the comfort they bring. When his gaze returns to the Muse her expression has become serious.
"Why are you here?" she asks. Sandy points to himself and a montage of quick-fire sand images flash over his head. No ordinary person, or spirit for that matter, could decipher his meaning out of the split second creations. The Muse is no ordinary person.
"The Guardians?" her brow furrows slightly. "Then let's get to the Pole."
Her flower wings wilt into dust and a small boat resembling a wind-surfboard sized traditional junk with the Muse's personal flair appears floating in mid-air. She jumps on, adjusting the electric blue sail decked with swirls and curlicues. "Would you like a ride?" Sandy shakes his head and she turns her face to the horizon, soft orange sun just beginning to set over the buildings.
The boat creeps forwards in sky, the air underneath it beginning to distort and bubble, becoming laced with jewel bright points of light. "Ready?"
Sandy shoots off on the back of a Dreamsand manta ray. The Muse's vessel speeds up along its winding, rising, falling path towards Santa's Workshop.
A/N: Ciel is French for sky and Rouge is French for red. Just a little extra for you.