Do you remember battling your way out of that wooden box? I thought the stall-lady had sold me a gremlin that would destroy mum’s beehives and flowerbeds.
Before I had the chance to tear into those envelopes, the box rattled on my bed — tilting almost completely over. No wonder the stall-lady gave it to me so cheap. I lifted the letters, the pendant ricocheting from one side to the other. Begging for freedom.
No way I could let this thing loose in our house.
I just wanted the letters! To read from the comfort of my bed and in the familiarity of my bedroom walls. To escape reality. Imaginary adventures, not a literal one.
I know not to mess with unknown magic — I know that. But I still picked it up.
I held on tightly to the necklace, until it flared my whole room in a blue light and water trickled through the gaps in my fingers. The pendant was empty, but life inside darted from wall to wall.
No, no, no, no, no!
And I chased a mystery-magic-water-creature around my room. Trying to clap my hands around it. A blur of glowing blue attacking every inch of my room — smacking itself from floor to ceiling and everything in between, spiraling around bed posts, knocking over books.
Mid-zoom, it stopped.
A sweet, little bilby-face creature formed. A fox-like tail swishing to life behind. You floated towards me — as if only noticing me for the first time — more curious than threatening, leaving wispy trails of light behind you.
You made a home in the palm of my hand. I carefully petted the spot between your tall ears and your head rippled.
A warm wave lapped between us. Calm and stable.