Her breath caught.
Magic.
The path shimmered faintly, as if woven from morning dew and sunlight, leading her through a corridor of bright, oversized flowers—poppies, bluebells, sunbursts in vibrant hues. Their petals trembled with laughter in the wind, and somewhere nearby, children giggled.
Children?
Spring crept forward on silent feet, crouched low. As she rounded a cluster of golden snapdragons the size of carriages, the full view opened before her?—
A meadow. Vast and radiant under the afternoon sun.
In the center stood a large, inviting cottage with a red-shingled roof and flowering ivy twining up the chimney. The soft scent of lavender and honey drifted through the air, mingling with the perfume of hundreds of blooming flowers.
Laughter bubbled up like a song.
Dozens of giant children raced across the meadow—yes, giants—their bare feet thudding softly on the grass as they chased after equally oversized chickens, scruffy dogs, and each other.
Spring’s jaw dropped, her dragon eyes wide with awe and disbelief.
We’re not just small… we’re tiny.
She barely dared to breathe. Yet instead of fear, what pulsed through her was wonder. It felt like stepping into a storybook. Vivid images of the story of Thumbelina swept through her mind. It had been her favorite as a child.
Everything loomed, vibrant and oversized—like she’d flown into a dream painted for giants. The joy radiating from the meadow wrapped around her, pulling her forward.
The path led her straight to the cottage. Brightly painted shutters stood open to the sun, and from within, she could hear the low hum of a woman’s voice. Spring’s heart stuttered. Something about the sound drew her in—warm, gentle, familiar.
With a flutter of her wings, she leapt onto the wide window ledge, careful not to disturb the flowerpots teetering on the edge. Her talons clinked softly on the wood as she edged closer.
Inside, a tall woman with silver-streaked black hair stood at a wide wooden counter, rolling out dough in smooth, practiced strokes. The kitchen glowed with golden light. Herbs hung from the rafters. Dried flowers were twisted into wreaths. There were pies cooling on the windowsill and a bubbling pot on the stove. And that humming…
Spring’s breath caught in her throat.
The woman was humming the same song her mom used to sing when she baked pies back home. How was that possible?
The ache hit hard.
Sudden and sharp.
She missed her mom.
Missed home.
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she leaned closer. The woman moved with serene grace, her presence wrapping the room in quiet magic.
I wish I could just stay here, Spring thought, blinking back the wetness in her eyes. Just for a minute. Just to pretend everything’s okay again.
She stepped forward for a better view, resting one claw on the low windowsill.
A sudden squeal shattered the stillness.
Spring jerked her head up, startled?—
Whomp!
A heavy clink of glass echoed around her as a clear container slammed down over her, trapping her in a bell jar the size of a greenhouse.
She yelped, twisting in alarm, her wings flaring against the glass. She pressed her claws to the smooth surface, her breath fogging the inside.
