Once upon a time...

[timefather]

[ For the residents of Märchenstraße, and all the land surrounding it, the eighth of December was a day to look forward to. Looking at it from an outside perspective, strangers and travelers could easily assume it to be a holiday. At the very least, a day for a festival, if a modest one. A day that shopkeeps spent all morning preparing for, that all manner of creatures spent days traveling to the city to witness. They'd heard the talk that passed around, the rumors from those still left. But would it work? No one knew for sure, no matter how confident the stories seemed to be. But hope was very quickly becoming all they had left.

They had decorated the whole town. Streamers, banners, wreathes and garland made of autumn flowers, plus whatever the Fairy Godmother had cooked up. Oh, she was just giddy. No skepticism could be spoken around her, not if you wanted to escape the wrath of her wand! Rumor had it that she had caught wind of a few piglets squealing about the likelihood that their magic would fail, and that they were subsequently transformed into the band of musicians who could be found performing in the park.

Well, at least the music was festive.

Of course, the decorations weren't for the newcomers alone. Autumn was coming to a close in just a few weeks, and Old Man Winter would take the reigns like he did every year, and their weather would turn cold and harsh. The chill was already there, cool and biting when the wind picked up speed. Lady Autumn was much preferred to the citizens of the city with her gentle nature, even if she failed to show up, finishing her work in the orchards instead. That was what they liked about her.

It was mid-morning when Father Time was found outside of his tower, checking one of the numerous pocket watches he kept on his person. "Unnecessary, but comfortable," he called them, and closed the watch again. It was twelve o'clock in the afternoon, and where empty space had been just seconds before, now they were. Sitting on benches, lying in flower patches, scattered about the city and outside of the gates in peaceful slumber. They would awaken to the bells of the clock tower. Some, to many friendly and relieved faces all around them, some to grateful ones carrying gifts of food and clothing and magic, and some to fearful, cautious faces. Regardless of how the town treated them, they would awaken to a celebration of their arrival, and choices to be made, and the books. Each and every one. ]

Comments

[big_n_tall_paul]

[The thunderous rumble of Paul's chuckle undertones the girl's laughter. He doesn't know where France is, and he knows he does not speak French. He leaves that alone for now and confirms her suspiscion.]

Of course it's magic! Magic is what got you here. Everybody knows that. What kind of place is France that it doesn't have magic?

[gardienne]

But there is no such thing as magic.

[This place is mad. This whole place and everybody in it - or else she is mad. Has she gone mad? Has her father addled her brains? But, why? Why should he do that? Eponine doesn't know what to think.]

But - how? How does it be so? There is no magic, and yet I see my brother fly, and I have matches and a man with red eyes screams for a girl with blue hair. And now you - you are as big as Monsieur Brujon and yet, you do not grunt at me, and you do not raise your fists. Have I truly gone mad? Am I so hungry that this time Paris has disappeared all together before my eyes? Things are queer when you are hungry, but this is the strangest thing I have ever seen.

[big_n_tall_paul]

[It breaks Paul's heart to see the girl so scared. It was not his intention to worsen her situation. Sadly he could not tell her how magic worked. However, he could try to cheer her up.]

I'm sorry, ma'am, I don't have the answer to how magic works, I just know that it exists. I promise you one thing though, as sure as I am tall, you are not mad. However, if your belly is rumblin' you're in luck, you've woke up in the middle of a festival, and there is enough food here to feed even me.

[gardienne]

Not Ma'am, Monsieur. I am not a Ma'am. Just 'Ponine.

[That much, at least, she can still understand. She doesn't have a title. Nobody ever gives her a title. That much, at least, can stay normal.But she looks curiously at him.]

A festival? I might eat? You're not sending me away? I am allowed to have food? But, I have no money. Just this book, and the matches.

[She holds out her book, entitled 'The Little Match Girl', and one of her bundles of matches.]

I will swap you matches for food. Or the book. Both. Please, Sir. Just a crust. It has been so long - three days, perhaps? I do not know. I barely know if I sleep or I wake. A crust is good, though. I do not mind stale - it is good to get your teeth stuck in - it lasts longer.

[big_n_tall_paul]

[Three days? Three days? If there is one thing that Paul cannot stand, it is an empty stomach. Before anything else, he must quiet Eponine's rumbling stomach.]

If it's an empty stomach, I can fix that. Be back, quickerer than you can say TIMBER!.

[Paul finds one of the nearest shops, a bakery. The warm, bread-smelling box is a chorus of hellos as Paul leans down and orders a barrel, no, two barrels of fresh baked biscuits. The baker nodded eagerly, for this kind of order was expected from a man of Paul's size. Paul flicks a small sack of coins through the bakers door and leaves with the barrels in tow. He sets one before Eponine, digging his hand into the other and stuffing his mouth]

No, no, I don't want your book, and I don't need any matches yet. Just consider these a welcome gift.

[gardienne]

[Eponine is exactly where Paul left her, sat in a sort of astonished stupour. He's going to fix that ache in her belly, just like that? After years of sitting in the street, holding her hands out, and stealing coins and doing anything else it took to get a sous or a piece of cheese. So when Paul sets a whole barrel of biscuits in front of her, she gasps.]

For - for me? Might I have one? What are they? Oh, I don't care. It's not a trick, is it?

[big_n_tall_paul]

[Truth be told, Paul has only given her what he would call an afternoon snack, and a light one at that. In the back of his mind, he's worrying that a barrel full won't be enough.]

They're all yours, do with them as you like, no tricks. Is there anything else I can help you with?

[gardienne]

[She gasps, and it's all she can do to prevent herself from throwing her arms around this big stranger.]

Do you truly mean it? Monsieur, on my life, when it is that you need a favour, or a message taking, or... - well... I will do it for you. Or matches. I think I am to be a match girl here, but I don't want to do that. There is no money in matches and I would rather not sleep outside, you know?

[Carefully, she takes a biscuit, holds it to her nose and inhales. And, slowly, slowly, she sticks her tongue out to lick it, before biting a little off. Her whole dirty face lights up, and she sprays crumbs as she speaks.]

Oh, it is how I imagined it would taste. And sugar! There is surely sugar in it! You know, I had biscuits when I was little, but for years and years, not a single one. Not a fresh one. Perhaps, when someone threw a bit away... but they go soggy when they are left in the rain. I used to drive myself mad outside the bakeries, smelling them. I used to say, 'Now Eponine, sit here and someone will give you one, just to make you go away.' But they didn't, and now you, in just five minutes, have given me a whole barrel of them. It is truly magic.

[big_n_tall_paul]

[Paul basks in the glow of Eponine's smile. If only it were this easy to please everyone. He was unsure if he liked this France place that the girl came from though.

If I ever runs into one of their lumberjacks... he stops the thought before it can finish, actually, that's not a healthy line of thought to follow.

When she says match girl, his attention is shifted, thankfully. His heart breaks for his new friend.]

I don't know about France, but here in Märchen a good match is mighty appreciated in the thick of Winter. Wintertime is frighfully cold, especially at my camp at Round River. Once, and I swear this story is true, it got so cold in the forest that anything that was spoken froze in the air. That same winter it was so cold, it turned everything blue. Why, that's how my good friend at lumber ox, Babe, got to be the color he is today.

[He gestures to his side, only to find that Babe was nowhere to be seen. In fact, now that he thinks about it, Paul had seen neither head nor tail of his blue skinned pal since he started talking to his new friend. He wondered where Babe had wondered of to, and if he was behaving himself. To be on the safe side, Paul calls him over.]

Hey, Babe, I got somebody I want you to meet. Don't worry 'Ponine, Babe may look big and ferocious, but he's tame as kitten.

[gardienne]

[Eponine hadn't been entirely sure what an ox was - and she was a little alarmed at the big blue creature bumbling over towards Paul and herself. Not scared exactly, but worried.

Worried it'd eat her biscuits.

She put a protective arm over her barrel. Just in case.]

Is that a true thing? Or do my eyes deceive me? It is an animal, a living, breathing animal, and yet it is blue! Animals are not blue. Howis it so? It cannot be the weather alone - I have lived outside in such cold, and my lips have gone blue, and my feet and my fingers... but they turn to normal when the spring came.

[big_n_tall_paul]

[Oh that is a good question. A good question that... Paul has no answer too. He knows people that might have the answer, should he ask, but the truth was, Paul didn't want to know. Why spoil the fun with knowing, when you could perpetuate it with guessing.]

Honestly, I aint got the slightest clue as to why he is blue. He just kinda is. Hey Babe, you wouldn't happen to have a hint, would you?

[The way Babe looks at Paul hints that he might know, but that he's not telling. Babe can be really ornery when he wants to.]

Personally, I think that something somewhere deep inside of him is frozen. He's the only creature I know that likes winter in the forest. But enough about Babe, he gets enough attention as it is. Is there anything else I can help you with?

[gardienne]

Can he understand you?

[She looks in wonder from Paul to Babe and back again.]

But you jest about him being frozen, no? He cannot truly be frozen - that is not a nice thing to be, and he looks so lovely, Sir. He would be warm on a winter's night.

[Above curling up in an animal's stall she was not. To Paul's last question, she pauses to think. Finally, she holds out her book and her bundles of matches.]

Why have they given me a book with no words called 'The Little Match Girl'? And why do they give me matches? It seems a funny coincidence to me.

[big_n_tall_paul]

Babe can be a bit thick sometimes, but I like to think he understands me. He definitely acts like it. Still don't know if he talks though. And yes, Babe is mighty warm to lay against on a cold night, though his hooves are colder than a witch's titter in the dead of winter. Maybe his hooves that are frozen.

[A pang of pity resonates in Paul. Such a sad story for such a sweet girl. It's damn near enough to break his over-sized heart. If he could find away to exchange her story with another, he would. He wasn't in charge of that though, he is just a simple lumberjack. A simple, incredibly huge lumberjack with the strength to move mountains.]

I think you're suppose to sell the matches you have there. If my memory serves me, I believe that's what happens to the story. As for your book with no words, why don't you write some down yourself? That's what empty books are for. As to why you have them, I'm kinda fuzzy on the details, but according to father time you and all the other newcomers are here to be new versions of fairy tales that have been lost. They tell me it's quite the honor. If your book says that you're "The Little Match Girl" then that is your fairy tale. Was that any help?

[gardienne]

[She laughs loudly.] Well, Sir, perhaps that is where you shall find me on a winter's morning. And you must not chase me away, for truly, I won't steal from you. It is just for the warmth, you understand.

[She looks back at her book, stroking it gently.]

I could practice my writing - I can write, you know? I know I don't look much, but I was not always meant to be such a woman as I am, you know? But I do not see much honour in selling matches, Sir. I don't want to be that. You know, my brother can fly? I would rather do that, I think.

[She sighs. Eponine rarely gets her way.] Thank you, Sir, for the biscuits, and for stopping with me. I ought not to take more of your time. I suppose I ought to try to sell these beastly matches so I can at least buy a hot meal for the night.

[She stands up, and brushes down her filthy rags, and pushes her bundles of matches into her pockets. Quickly, she curtseys.]

Thank you, Sir.