Sasha believed that the lacy patterns on her frozen window pane were made by fairies as they danced outside her bedroom window on frosty winter nights. Her grandfather had told her long ago that this was so. She imagined them dressed in flowing gowns of soft white fur with wreaths of starlit greenery on their heads.
When arctic winds blew strong, sending tiny beads of ice to tap against the glass and wake her from her dreams, Sasha would slip from her bed, wrap herself up in her quilt, and tiptoe to the window, hoping she would see the fairies dance.
One time her mother found her in the wee hours of morning, standing with her face pressed to the window pane, and scolded her for being out of bed, warning that she surely would catch cold and soon be sick with fever. Dutifully Sasha climbed back beneath her covers, knowing that her mother was a non-believer who summarily dismissed her grandfather's tales as utter nonsense.
Sasha's grandfather told her that she was a child of the moonlight, able to see and hear things that others could not. He said it wasn't that her mother didn't want to believe in fairies, but that she had forgotten how, being busy as she was with caring for her children with seven hungry mouths to feed . Sasha had vowed then and there that she would never grow too old to watch for fairies, and the old man had smiled, remembering a time when he too had believed that life was magical and good.
This story was written for Two Shoes Tuesday
where the theme choices this week are frost and call