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The door to the cellar strained against its hinges, making the heavy iron chain across its surface rattle in the quiet forest glade. But, as always, the door held. "You can't keep me down here forever, child..." the voice hissed with malevolence.
"I can" the Fairy Princess Magweed responded as she always did. "I will."
"Why don't you ask your big strong parents for help, dearie?" the voice chuckled. "Surely they must be worried about you... your lack of sleep. Why don't you tell them what keeps you up at night?"
Maggie set her chin and didn't answer. They both knew why: to talk about the thing in the cellar would give it shape. To name it would be even worse. "You can't hurt anyone anymore. You're nothing but a bad dream."
The thing in the cellar clucked its tongue. "If you insist, child... I can wait. So tell me... how shall we pass the time tonight, my precious? Shall I tell you another of my stories? Did I ever finish telling you about the Fairy Princess Bluebottle?" it asked, slurping drool at the memory.
Maggie shuddered.
"Egads!" a small voice sounded from behind her. "Are all your dreams this ghastly?"
The princess whirled around in the moonlit cottage clearing to find a tiny figure emerging from the edge of the forest. He wore green and red stripped hose, a white tunic, and a green and white stripped hat ending in a jaunty jingle bell. "Zebulon?" Magweed recognized the little elf with surprise.
"Shhhh-shhhh-shhhhhh!" the elfin messenger responded, wincing and holding up his hands. "Ix-nay on the ames-nay!" He noted her blank look. "Er... don't use my name. You know... in Pig Latin."
"Oh" Maggie replied. The only pigs she knew were the boar family of the enchanted forest... and they spoke English. "Um... why not?"
"I could get in a whole lot of trouble with the Queene for talking to you..." the elf admitted. "Even in a dream. Especially considering why I'm here..."
There was a loud thump against the cellar door, but the chains held again. "Is there someone out there with you?" the voice growled. "He smell delicious."
"Is that what I think that is?" Zebulon asked with sick fascination, tip-toeing closer to the locked door.
"It's nothing, and it will continue to stay that way" the little girl answered with determination.
"Right. Okay." The elf took a deep breath and got on with the point. "Normally, I wouldn't go out of my way to court Her Majesty's wrath and all, being the most loyal of subjects, but... well... old allegiances die hard and all of that. You know I'm an elf, right?"
She nodded.
"And you know I'm not a muckity-muck High Elf, with their pretty boy looks, excessively tall statures and oh-so-shiny hair and all... I swear, those vapid ego-maniacs must spend half their waking hours doing archery, and the other half washing and combing out their tresses. Can't have split ends, oh no! How would that look framing their perfectly symmetrical pointy ears! "Woo-hoo! Look at me! I can reach the sink without a step ladder! I'm the centerpiece of epic fantasy literature!..." He paused as he noted the look of puzzled concern on the Princess's face. "But, ah... perhaps I digress. What I mean to say is that, I'm a different kind of elf. I'm a workshop elf."
"Workshop?"
"Santa's workshop" He confirmed. "And that's why I'm here..."
The wind swept over the rocky peak, alternating between a soft whistle and a hollow sigh. The sun shone brightly through the crisp mountain air, casting everything in a stark contrast at this height far above the tree line. Below, the valley was in full color as autumn hung on, spreading through the oaks and aspens which shimmered in the blowing winds. In the distance, the glittering coast spread across the land with tall-ships dotting the horizon. But between here and there laid a great, sweeping plain... and nestled in the tall grass so far, far away sat an unsuspecting jackalope nibbling on some clover.
Even with the impressive antlers, it wasn't even a speck to most eyes. But Griffins did not possess "most" eyes. Griffins were as sharp of sight as they were of beak and talon. Their eyes were the homing systems of the most impressive air to surface attack missiles in the Mythlands arsenal. They were the ultimate aerial predators, able to swoop down from unbelievable cliff heights like this one to strike like feathered and furred lightning before the unwary, unfortunate subject of their relentless concentration even realized they were...
"Cripes, this is high!" a voice squeaked in his ear.
"GAH!" Griffin cried, scrabbling with his paws and talons to find purchase as he nearly leapt out of his skin and fell off his rocky perch. His wings hugged the rock outcropping as his limbs wrapped around it for safety, and he blinked his eyes at the two figures looking over the edge next to him. "M... Maggie? Zebulon?!" he gasped. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm sorry to come in without knocking" his sister apologized hurriedly. "Zebulon said it was important, and we needed your help."
He turned his beaked face towards the elf, who was still looking over the side and whistling.
"Hmmm?" the elf asked, finding himself the center of attention. "Oh! Right... Well, we needed to move the dream on to the North Pole in order to get on with things, and since the Princess's dream is locked to one place..."
She coughed forcefully, making the little man jump guiltily. "Er... right, sorry about that. Forget I mentioned anything about the cellar and the horrible..."
Magweed stepped in front of the elf to cut him off, and took Griffin's feathered head in her hands. "I needed your help" she informed him simply.
He blinked as he processed this. "Right" he agreed, pulling himself back up on the ledge with the two of them. "Absolutely. Um... for what?"
"Saving Christmas" the elf replied with a shrug. "What else?"
to be continued
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... But it's fun to see their dream-selves. So, is Auntie set to make a comeback? If she does so in the waking world, she'll find that Maggie has a much bigger family now.
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