The Way to Believe

The next morning I woke up with a pounding headache. I groaned and sat up in bed. I wonder if they have Advil in Neverland? I hope so. I growled and got out of bed and shuffled over to the bathroom. I rummaged through the drawers and came up with a full bottle of Advil Migraine Relief. I took two.

I went back into the room and stared at the wardrobe. I hope there are other things besides dresses in there.

I opened it and found, not ball gowns, but rows upon rows of breeches and shirts. I laughed. Not a magic mirror, but a magic wardrobe. I pulled out a pair of soft black breeches. I tried them on, and they fit perfectly. I looked at the shirts. A light purple puffy top with black feathers embroidered on it, caught my eye. I took it out and looked for a bra or maybe a corset. There weren’t any in the wardrobe, so I walked across the purple plush carpet, to the dresser. I pulled open a drawer; inside were about 25 different belts. I chose a simple black one with a silver buckle.

I opened another drawer.

The contents of which surprised me. There, inside this simple drawer, was a long curved sword. I gaped. Had this been in my room the whole time? It didn’t seem likely; surely I would have noticed it before. I grasped it. It was light. Almost too light for a blade its size. I drew it out of its sheath and tested the blade.

“Ouch” I sucked on my finger, and tasted blood. It was sharp. I examined it. The hilt was inlayed with tiny amethysts and black opal, and it fit in my hand perfectly. On the blade was a small inscription. I looked at it and tried to read it but it was in a different language. The symbols were not of any language I neither knew nor recognized.

I smiled and whispered softly, “What is your name?”

The blade didn’t answer, it just glimmered with a silver sheen. I hefted it and did a few passes.

I knew how to handle a sword. After all, I wasn’t named the Junior Fencing Champion for nothing.

I stared at the blade, on the other side was an inscription, that I was sure hadn’t been there before. It was in English.

“Beauty,” I read in a hushed tone. It had answered my question. “Beauty,” I said again. “Well we’ll just have try you out then.”

I placed her down carefully on the dresser and watched the word disappear.

I looked back in the drawer. Next to where Beauty had lain, was another blade. Albeit a shorter one. Its hilt was identical to Beauty’s. On the other side was an assortment of small knives indistinguishable from their larger counterpart. I smiled, those I could hide on my person.

I laughed. What a wonderful present.

I looked through the drawers but found nothing except undergarments and more silk pyjamas.

I got dressed and clipped the sword and knife to my belt. All I needed now were shoes. I glanced around. Nope.

I walked to the wardrobe and thought, Hmm. Boots. I opened it and giggled. Inside it were only boots; shelves upon shelves of boots. I picked out a comfy black leather pair. They were my size, of course. I slipped one small knife and sheath into each.

In one of the drawers there had been two wrist sheaths; I slipped them on and secured two knives into them. I pulled my sleeves over them.

I tucked two knives into my sash and strapped one against my chest.

Normally I didn’t have enough knives to cover all the spots, just a simple kitchen knife tucked into my boot or up my sleeve. Growing up in the slums of London makes you cautious, especially if you’re a girl.

Mum had always made sure I knew how to defend myself. I used to wonder why; what had happened to her? I guess I’ll never know. I sniffled, thinking about mum was sure to make me start bawling again. I’ve always felt ridiculous crying.

She always was fascinated in medieval arts. I think that’s why she loved fantasy and myth. And probably why she sent me to learn all of it. She signed me up for several self-defence classes before I was even 5, and it just continued from there.

I’m a yellow belt in karate and as I’ve already mentioned my fencing teams Junior Champion. My favourite is by far, fencing; but hand combat is always fun.

The only class I’ve never taken is any sort of gun class. Mum deplored guns. People always say guns don’t kill people, people kill people, but mum disagrees. Guns definitely help.