A Fairy's Tale
Chapter Seven: The Sketch
Mary had disobeyed her uncle. She hadn’t meant to, but she couldn’t stand the thought of wondering what was upstairs behind the closed door of her uncle’s study any longer. So, she took a rag to dust off the filthy room upstairs, into the study. The door creaked as she pushed it wide open.
The study wasn’t much. Just a desk, a candle, and papers scattered all about. Mary had tried to convince herself that she had made her way upstairs only to dust her uncle’s study. Yet, she knew deep inside her that she really hadn’t. Curiosity had gotten the best of her, and she soon began going through her uncle’s papers, sorting them into neat piles so that it seemed as if she had been cleaning a bit.
Her uncle’s papers were far more interesting than the room itself. There were countless watercolors and sketches of beautiful landscapes and the most adorable woodland creatures. Mary had no idea her uncle was such a talented artist. When she had finished sorting through the strewn papers and organizing them into neat piles, she walked over to her uncle’s desk and motioned to place them in a single drawer. When she had slid the drawer open, a beautiful sketch was revealed. It was a sketch of a fairy queen. With silver wings that seemed as if they were fluttering in the air, elegant garments made from petals of the most flowers, and a crown made of twigs with a precious stone in the center, the fairy queen almost seemed to be dancing about in the picture, leaving a trail of fairy dust behind her. It was almost as if she would flutter right off of the page.
At that moment, Mary’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, stern voice.
“What are you doing up here?”
She quickly closed the drawer shut, and spun around only to face the angry eyes of her uncle. She grabbed the rag she had left on the table, and held it up to him.
“Cleaning,” was all that Mary could think of to say.
“I think you’re just about done up here. Head downstairs, and you can begin scrubbing the pots we’ll be using to cook our food for our supper,” her uncle said with a stern look in his eye.
Mary walked past her uncle, and out of the study. As her feet gently tapped the steps as she descended down the staircase, her uncle closed the drawer to his desk in the study. His stubborn-headed niece had left the room after being scolded, without saying a word.
“Fancy that,” thought her Uncle Alan.
The study wasn’t much. Just a desk, a candle, and papers scattered all about. Mary had tried to convince herself that she had made her way upstairs only to dust her uncle’s study. Yet, she knew deep inside her that she really hadn’t. Curiosity had gotten the best of her, and she soon began going through her uncle’s papers, sorting them into neat piles so that it seemed as if she had been cleaning a bit.
Her uncle’s papers were far more interesting than the room itself. There were countless watercolors and sketches of beautiful landscapes and the most adorable woodland creatures. Mary had no idea her uncle was such a talented artist. When she had finished sorting through the strewn papers and organizing them into neat piles, she walked over to her uncle’s desk and motioned to place them in a single drawer. When she had slid the drawer open, a beautiful sketch was revealed. It was a sketch of a fairy queen. With silver wings that seemed as if they were fluttering in the air, elegant garments made from petals of the most flowers, and a crown made of twigs with a precious stone in the center, the fairy queen almost seemed to be dancing about in the picture, leaving a trail of fairy dust behind her. It was almost as if she would flutter right off of the page.
At that moment, Mary’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, stern voice.
“What are you doing up here?”
She quickly closed the drawer shut, and spun around only to face the angry eyes of her uncle. She grabbed the rag she had left on the table, and held it up to him.
“Cleaning,” was all that Mary could think of to say.
“I think you’re just about done up here. Head downstairs, and you can begin scrubbing the pots we’ll be using to cook our food for our supper,” her uncle said with a stern look in his eye.
Mary walked past her uncle, and out of the study. As her feet gently tapped the steps as she descended down the staircase, her uncle closed the drawer to his desk in the study. His stubborn-headed niece had left the room after being scolded, without saying a word.
“Fancy that,” thought her Uncle Alan.
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