I like to think that I am a level or so above being an utterly naïve fool. I had seen plenty of things in my life, the Spirit World, and my wandering; a girl stealing a few berries is hardly the epitome of crime. Do not ask me what was going through my head. Perhaps it was just my proper upbringing coming back to haunt me, as princesses knew the law of the land and that stealing in any form was wrong. Perhaps it was that this elfish little Christine looked far too innocent to be doing anything of that matter. She did not see me, had not seen me at all since her friends' cart had pulled into Whiteberry, and therefore paid no mind to my gasp of horror and whatever hideous look that had gone over my face.

The nice man had hoped to be blessed for fetching Christine's silver!

Speaking of him, he retrieved the fallen coin and looked up to see Christine smiling at him with all the gratitude of a five-year old as she clutched her four pounds of berries. "Here you are, miss. Don't feel ashamed, you are not the first to drop money."

"You are very kind, sir." Her voice was enchanting, nearly angelic. "I hope I wasn't any trouble."

He couldn't help it. She was a charming girl and he fell for her like a box of rocks. His tanned face beamed as he retrieved his less-full box of berries. "No trouble at all, girl. No trouble at all. Is there anything else with which I can help you? You're not from town, are you?"

"No, I'm from the city." Berries swung awkwardly to one arm, she gestured behind her at the path the Adams had come down.

"And you see fit to find a little town in which to shop?"

Christine shrugged. As I stared at her I could notice the bulge of the berries in her pocket and I secretly hoped her pocket, or at least her handkerchief, would be horribly stained. "Whiteberry is famous for its leather and fruits, famous throughout the kingdom. Besides,"—and at this point her voice became less angelic and more mischievous--
"This is where my stepmother sent me."

"Shop well for her, then." The man seemed ready to continue his sales attempts.

Christine batted her eyes. "Point me to the tanner's?"

I nearly laughed. I could not put my finger on it, but this girl amused me. I suppose I had always been prone to being amused by the vague. She also infuriated me. I could not abide a thief. She might have been amusing, but I tried to tell myself to ignore her. Certainly there was someone in this town I could help. I needed to make a reason for my wandering here and I did not want Christine to be it. But as I watched her chat with the man I could not shake the atmosphere that had fallen over me. The Prickling, I had heard someone else call it.

I had chosen to wander, but the Spirit World was now a part of me. Those who wandered had an angelic duty to help others. But Christine did not need help unless said help would stop her from stealing a poor man's wares!

In the end I decided to go with the excuse of her mention of Lady Melissa.

And so, when Christine had her directions, I followed. She was friendly and made a point to greet every citizen of Whiteberry with obnoxious vim to which they more or less responded well. She walked quick, but with a bounce in her step that said she meant to enjoy every second of her trip to Whiteberry. It was almost hard to keep up with her, me, invisible to the world, wrapped in my hood and cloak, tagging along like a stubborn breeze.

She stopped at the tanner's shop. I think that shop smelled the best. I had never much appreciated leather before, but it had a good, earthy, living smell to it. Many things had living smells, many things I had never noticed before. She charmed the tanner, and he sold her a length and three new sets of reins. He also unwittingly lost a small pouch. A small pouch that made its way into Christine's pocket. I hoped the berries would stain that as well.

I had run into others that would have punished her severely. I was afraid I still did not dare do so.

Leave her, my mind told me. Leave her, ignore her, and move on from this town. But the Prickling was still there, like small shocks from lightening in my heart. And, frankly, I could not wait to see what else she would steal. Five apples. Still very petty for a thief, but I still disapproved.

I followed her throughout the town, followed her lack of any real purpose, followed her as she stopped to talk with others and examine their merchandise without purchasing (or stealing!) it. She was certainly herself, amiable and pretty, and just coquettish enough to entertain, the sort of girl that would travel three hours to shop for her stepmother. Lady Melissa.

I had met a Lady Melissa once.

By the time Christine had reunited with her wizened old friends the Adams I had nearly convinced myself that my fascination with her was only because she was entertaining. It was not everyday one watched a thief. But as she climbed into their now-empty (good for them!) cart, the Prickling came so hard I felt light would burst through my skin.

We had a purpose, those who chose to wander. We helped where we would and could, often unseen and silent. But the Prickling was something else, a calling, a connection to which we desperately belonged. And that Prickling was about to tear me apart! As the horses set into motion I felt like I was falling into the wind on which a little voice seemed to whisper "She's yours."


The truth is that dying, especially being murdered is just as terrifying as all the stories say. Many say it is peaceful, if the death is natural and at the right timing, and I'm sure it is. But could that possibly change the very real truth that one is torn from this world at the time of death? The universe changes, the light comes, and I do not believe for a second that anyone does not feel any sense of exhilaration and madness when the time comes.

I do not know if I screamed during my death because I do not remember. I remember the face, the differently colored eyes, of Gavin Gray and I remember his knife. I remember seeing the blood oozing from my chest like juice from a tomato. There was no pain when Gavin slit my throat. I think that is because I was partially dead at the time. It was a strange sensation, admittedly, a clean and almost-satisfying cut, smooth. My blood tasted cool, fresh air at that time, though I don't understand why I would feel those if I had been in that musty old corridor at the time. I did not see much of my body on the floor in a red pool, Gavin Gray standing over me with his knife, because I had been torn away then through the flash of light and water that is death. It was like plunging off a cliff.

It is true that Heaven, the Spirit World, whatever you wished to call it, was wonderful. It's meant to be, but it's also connected to the world. That is also meant to be. There were others there, billions and billions, but it was not crowded. It is not peaceful, at least in the definition that peaceful is boring; rather, it's purposeful and good, and those are much better adjectives than peaceful. Even so, I did not stay permanently. I found the borderline between that world and this—many others did the same.

My body had been found hours later by the guard Alan—the one I had called Simon. Several days later Gavin Gray was caught and put on trial. He said he had been hired to kill Princess Fawn. Me. He never revealed his employer for he did not know. My father declared that he would hang by his neck and he did. His neck did not break, and he strangled to death. I did not see him in the Spirit World. I do not know what I would have done if I had seen him.

The truth is that the living are hard to watch. Mama's tears, Father's anger. Wyatt's very face.

So I left and I wandered.


The Adams dropped Christine off at a house outside a city. It was dark, but I could see the world around me. The city was tucked into the mountains and the stars above were so bright I nearly feared they would fall. I hung to the side of the cart and looked on. The city was like shadow mountains themselves.

"You're not too late for evening chores?" Mrs. Adams asked as Christine scampered from the back of the cart. "Lady Melissa won't be furious, will she?"

"I will simply tell her that they ran late," Christine replied confidently. "She's the one who ordered me to Whiteberry for her stupid reins."

"Will she catch you coming in?" Mr. Adams asked.

"I know other entrances. I was born here, if you remember."

A horse whinnied impatiently, and Mrs. Adams clucked her tongue. In the dark she looked like some wise old goblin. "Your parents would have never approved of this, Christine. They would not have liked this at all."

Christine laughed. "Lady Melissa is very kind. She simply needs help, that's all, and I am happy to oblige."

"God bless your soul, Christine," said Mr. Adams. "Good night, darling."

"God bless."

Little thief. My thought.

The Adams took off down the winding path and Christine, purchases clutched bulkily in her arms, ran behind the house. She was strong for such a little thing.

The house itself was beautiful. I had grown up in Tamenrook's palace, but a house did not need to be large to beautiful. At the same time it was certainly not a poor, tiny place. It had three stories and the wood was good, though mostly covered in creeper vines and roses. I followed Christine. By the time I caught up with here, she was half way up the side of the house. The berries, apples, and leather lay in a pile in the grass, Her skirt was tied between her legs and she, barefoot, was testing the weight those vines could hold. She was so pale she looked like a ghost.

She passed the second story window. Her eyes were focused on the third, a smallish window half-way open. It was like a gaping mouth, it was so black inside. I whisked my may up to that room.

I found myself in a space that had to occupy a good half of the third story. The floor was bare wood, as were the walls. A few books were scattered over the floor, and in one corner lay a squashy mattress covered in a rat's nest of blankets. I picked up a book and opened it. I wasn't sure of the last time I had read a book. But its pages were blank.

There was a gasp and a grunt, and the form of Christine tumbled through the window. She lay where she was a moment, taking in air, and then rose to her feet. She walked to a small table I had not noticed, and in a moment a small candle was burning. In the light I could see her face.

I gasped.

This was not the Christine I had seen in town. The smile was gone.

She placed the candle in a holder and sat back down to eat her stolen berries. She did not wolf them down; she lifted each and every berry specifically into her mouth and chewed slowly.

The little brat from the village was completely gone. She lived in this room. Lady Melissa ran the house.

The same Lady Melissa I had met at that luncheon?

My question was quickly answered. The door suddenly swung open with a flicker of candlelight. There in the doorway stood another girl about sixteen years old. For some reason I could tell on her while Christine's age was a mystery. This girl had blonde hair as well, as she was beautiful—strikingly beautiful. Her nose was pointed, her cheekbones high, her lips full. I could not tell her eye color, but it was dark. At this time her golden hair was in long, thick braids. She wore a pale green nightgown that seemed to glow. "So you're here at least, Christine."

Christine nearly choked on a berry. Her hands fluttered about her handkerchief, wrapping up the last few and sliding the whole into a corner. "Amelia."

Amelia laughed, her candle flickering again. "I surprised you, didn't I? I've been checking on your room for the past two hours. Where have you been?"

Christine rose to her feet. She did not meet Amelia's eyes; instead her gaze fell to the floor. "I was in Whiteberry for your mother. You know that."

"How did you get there?" Amelia's voice was sharp and demanding.

"I went with the Adams—the weavers."

"I know them. I've bought cloth from them for years." Now her voice was like ice. Strange little thing, trying to make such odd conversation.

"They were kind enough to give me a ride," Christine said softly. "I bought the reins for the new horses."

For a long time Amelia merely stood there, the light from her candle bouncing about. And Christine stood there, head down. I stood somewhere between, unseen, watching.

"Mother says there is dishes in the sink," Amelia finally said. "She also says that she no longer prefers Whiteberry if it takes you so much time. Do you have the money purse?"

Christine reached into her pocket and pulled it out.

"Bring it here."

Christine quickly crossed the floor and placed the purse in Amelia's outstretched hand.

"Did you take anything from it again?"

Christine took her head.

That was because she had stolen the goods themselves, but this was probably not the best time for my input.

Amelia opened the purse and studied its contents. Apparently she was satisfied, because she put her hand on the doorknob. "Remember the dishes. And bathe. You smell like rotten fruit."

When the door was shut, Christine uttered a definite "bitch" under her breath.

I had to agree. Something was not quite right in this household.

She bent down to retrieve her berries.

Amelia. Lady Melissa. I tried to think. The Lady Melissa I had met had a young daughter named Amelia, another called Grace. But she had been married to a Lord something-or-other. Is this where they lived? Christine had called Lady Melissa her stepmother. Amelia and Grace had been only young children at the time… it was so difficult to keep track of time…

Christine was licking the last of the berry juice from her stained fingers when I approached. I'm sure I must have looked strange: appearing in her room in a hooded cloak. I let the hood fall back, and my hair tumbled down. "Christine."

Christine let out another swear word that had nothing to do with her stepsister and spun around to face me, the hem of her giant brown skirt whirling like a wheel. She nearly screamed, but common sense put her hand over her mouth.

It is kind of fun appearing randomly, really. "Hello, Christine," I said. "Don't be scared." I spoke softly—I had still never quite got over my shyness.

An odd command. The girl was plenty terrified. Her stained handkerchief fell to the floor and her feet backed her up a few steps.

"My name is Fawn," I said. No longer Princess Fawn. "I'm here to help you."

She did not appear to hear me, for her first words "Who are you?"

"Fawn," I repeated. "I'm an angel."

Her eyes darted to the window. "Where did you come from?" She took a deep breath, clearly realizing just how stupid the question was. "How did you get in here?"

It was a process too difficult to put into words. "I'm here. I saw you in Whiteberry."

She stared at me. "You weren't in Whiteberry."

"You didn't see me." Yes, it was fun to do this. "You stole berries, apples, and a leather pouch."

Her mouth moved for a reply, but nothing came. "You couldn't…" Shakily she lowered herself to the ground. "An angel, you said."

I nodded.

Her face was paler than before, her freckles standing out like those stars outside. "It's rather late for an angel right now, don't you think?" It was a challenge, and for a moment I saw the same girl from the village. But it was a question I did not want to hear. The living had their complaints, many of them.

"You believe me, then?"

She nodded. "Or that I'm dreaming. But I believe in angels." Yet she would not even look at me. "Three winters ago my father caught ever. He suffered for two months before he died."

Complaints, complaints. "I'm sorry." It was all I could say. I had not killed the man.

"It's not your fault," she murmured as she climbed to her feet. "But there was no angel there. Why are you here?"

It was impossible to explain the Prickling to the living, but I had no other answer prepared. "I don't know," I confessed. "I'm here for you. That's all I know."

She sniffed. "I see. Wonderful. But I have dishes to do and you probably are just a dream." With that, she left the room.