Once upon a time... for all things begin once... even lies.  Once upon a time there was a little girl.  Like many little girls in fairy stories her parents were dead. She lived with her wizened old grandfather and his many rules.  Some were clever, some were odd, but they all had to be followed lest the dark thing... those things hiding in the deep dark shadows sweep her away.  And she feared the darkness under her bed, and the shapes in the closet, and the sounds in the night.  She was told all that could hurt her were locked away in forbidden rooms with keys she was forbidden to turn, or twist, or touch.  In the mansion she was kept safe... locked away... just like the shadows... and was happy.

But all things grow up. For any story will tell you- Eventually Wendy must return from Never-Never Land, and Alice must climb out the rabbit hole.  Fairies and mermaids must be put away in boxes, unicorn posters must be exchanged for boy bands- And, one day the little girl, who was now not so little, tucked the magic and stories, nightmares and monsters aside, for many other less important things.  Still she followed the rules... and was happy.

Things don't last forever... especially wizened old men in fairytales.  And like so many before him, the girl's grandfather died.  And as the keys fell from his fingers all of the locked doors sprang open and the secrets came out.  They slunk from the shadows and dripped from letters.  Big black spots of ink told her many things: Truths that looked like lies and lies that looked like truths, and the magic mansion disappeared, and the dark things came to call... and the little girl discovered...sometimes the window is latched when you fly home... and sometimes you don't make it out of the rabbit hole in time for tea... and sometimes you have to face the shadows you just thought were little girl fears...
Because the story...
                    is...
                         just...
                                beginning.



In her ordinariness she was stunning.  The woman who stepped off of the plane at Heathrow was 5'6 and slim.  She was neither particularly athletic looking or shapely, and she carried with her one suitcase barely big enough to hold anything of consequence.  Her white t-shirt with some sort of graphic and picture beneath the folds of the black jacket looked rumpled as did the dark colored jeans.  The only part of her that didn't look disheveled was the leather jacket that held to its crispness with a obstinate defiance, despite her efforts to push up the sleeves- giving away its absolute newness. In contrast below the cuffs of the jacket a pair of vintage green gloves, the color of soft sage, edged in the colors of autumn covered her hands completely past the neck of her wrist almost to the middle of her forearm.


She walked with less purpose and more curiosity as she flocked with the other passengers through the terminal.  Her teeth picked at her lower lip as her eyes moved from sign to sign.  Customs. Pulling the burgundy passport out of the jacket pocket she looked at it with hesitation. Threbee Weaver- Grandfather's last name.  Her lips pursed.

She flicked over to the picture and stared at the image of herself.  Smooth and pale, the woman in the photo have been a ghost if it weren't for the subtle blush rising from under the contours of her cheeks.  Hair the color of dark whiskey warmed her features- gave her face life. The soft auburn waves made a simple frame for her cupid's bow lips, pert little nose, and eyes.  Eyes that neither belonged to her mother nor her father. The hue of the new spring growth, bright and soft all at once- they were made up of the kind of green that comes only as summer advances.  Mother's skin- father's hair... and eyes given to her by the fairies, her Grandfather liked to mutter when he'd been out too late at Calahan's.