On the morning of Abby's thirteenth birthday, she found herself curled up under her covers, wishing she could sneak away to the grove and spend her day cloud-spotting and daydreaming. The many clamors and clanks and muffled swears that wafted up through the vent of her room, however, were quick to dash that wish.

Today would be filled with the tortures and horrors that came with a fancy to-do. There would be bathing and soaking until Abby looked like a dried up fig. She'd be slathered and spritzed with so many floral-scented lotions and perfumes that Abby would smell more like a garden than an actual garden.

Afterwards, she'd be laced into a corset so uncomfortable her own organs would rearrange themselves just to have some room. Finally, by the time Abby would be ready to pull out her own hair, rip off her dress, and turn feral, the actual party would commence and she would have to face a whole new set of tortures head-on.

Grimacing, Abby poked her head out from under her covers and found a dozing Lucy curled up on her pillow.

At least I'll have someone, she thought. And food. Thank the gods for that. 

"So," Abby said as she pinched the tip of Lucy's tail, coercing the sleeping cat to open his eyes. "You think they'll notice if I skipped my own party?" 

They most certainly would, Lucy meowed. Your kind may have poor eyesight, but it's not that poor.

Abby rolled her eyes and released a soft scream into her pillow. "Maybe I'll put a blonde wig on one of Mrs. Seviers' scarecrows," she said as she turned over, the painted forests of Royal Back greeting her."Use that ratty old thing as my stand-in. What do you think?"

Lucy took a moment and eyed his companion incredulously. They'd notice something amiss. The scarecrow would do no talking. And a no-talking you? Why I couldn't fathom such a thing.

Getting up, Lucy jumped onto Abby's chest and tapped her forehead with his own. His cat gesture, breaking the boundaries of their species, conveyed a message even Abby could understand: You'll be fine.

Abby smiled and ran a hand over Lucy's head, delighting in the way his purr grew loud like a little motor.

Even though Abby continued to satisfy the cat's desire for rub, her attention had been drawn to behind him, to the stone that lay on her bedside table. Ever since the ride home from Laos, it had stopped its song. The warm surface had cooled. It was almost as if its magick had fled and it'd become like the thousands of other stones found on the shores of Laos. Abby wondered why. Was it waiting for something to rouse it back to life?

It doesn't matter, she thought as she sat up. "Today I have bigger fish to fry and since I'm a year older, I'll start handling those fish like an older me."

You speak of fish, love, yet I see none. Do not cry fish to a cat. It's quite rude, Lucy meowed as he kneaded the bed's sheets under his paws.

Abby gave the cat one last pat before getting up and moving toward her balcony. Before she had a chance to open her curtains, a blur of disheveled brown locks, wrinkles and lumps whirred past her. Scabbed, sausage fingers flung the curtains wide without care, and flooded the room with the morning sun. 

"Morning, Miss!" Margo squeaked as she scuttled toward Abby's closet. "Happy birthday!"

Squinting from the room's sudden shift from dark to light, Abby watched the frantic maid plucking dresses from her closet and throwing them onto the bed. One dress, a gaudy gold chiffon, landed squarely on Lucy's head.

"Busy, busy day we have," Margo said as she paused. Her gaze shifted between a peach-colored lace shift and a heavy evergreen two piece. Shaking her head 'no' to the first dress, Margo placed it back on the hanger and tossed the two piece onto Abby's bed with the rest.

Picking a pair of mule-colored slippers off the shelf, the maid scurried over to give her work a once over. Pleased with the green dress and brown shoes, Margo set them aside and went back to the closet to retrieve some towels.

Abby grimaced. She had thought she'd have a few moments of quiet before all the terribleness began, but her time to relax—and to think of escape—had been ruined by Margo's lumpy and loud entrance. And now her misery was to begin with a pinetree-colored dress and soft, dirt-colored shoes.

"Mimi's tasked me with getting you showered and ready for the morning's preparations," Margo said as she strained to reach the closet's top shelf.

The maid's wobbling middle bits made a spectacle for both Abby and Lucy. She looked like a dung beetle caught off guard during tremor season. And though the lumpy maid teetered and tottered, to both Abby and Lucy and admittedly Margo, herself's amazement, she did not topple over.

"I have so much to do." Margo hurried back over to Abby, towels in hand. "Tend to you, check in with the kitchen staff, stir the stew—" Absentmindedly, Margo thrust the towels into Abby's chest. "Mustn't let the stew burn. Why, can you think of the waste? And the earful from Mimi? I have shivers just thinking about it." The maid turned, gathered up the green dress and shoes, and added them to Abby's stack.

Feeling the weight of six heavy duty towels and a dress Abby was sure was made of stone thread, she lurched forward. Before she could complete a full-on face plant into the cold tile below, she caught herself on her bed post and managed to stop from falling.

"Sorry, Miss," Margo said, as she rushed over to Abby's side. Her cheeks were puffed and red with embarrassment, like a mouse caught in the pantry. Margo took the pile from Abby and set it back on the bed.

Once Abby was freed from all the deathly fabric, she took to rubbing her arms."Good gods, what are those things made of? Dragon bone?"

Margo raised an eyebrow. "What a curious thing to say. Dragons don't exist."

"Not in this world," Abby replied as she thought back to Rowland's words. If he had been right, then her stone had been from another world - one that may have dragons.

"Curiouser still. What makes you say this worl—" Margo's voice trailed off the moment she caught a glimpse of Abby's magick stone. 

"What is it?" Abby asked. The usually frantic maid stood sentinel, as if she had left her body to travel to some faraway place. "Margo?"

The maid shook her head and smiled Abby's way. "It's nothing, Miss. Anyway, I've prepared your bath." Margo gave Abby a nudge toward the door. "Now, don't dawdle or the water will get cold."

"I know, I know," Abby grumbled.

"And don't forget to wash behind your ears, either."

"I know. Maybe I should start calling you Mini Mimi."

With a slightly smaller tower of towels and a forest for an outfit, Abby entered the hallway, ill-prepared for the long road ahead.

After a tedious morning of bird-sized breakfasts, breakneck bathing, and an hour long Naomi Froster rant on what was and was not acceptable for a party of this caliber, Abby was back in her room, exhausted before the sun had set.

She stared at her party dress, the simple rose-patterned black one, that had been laid out on her bed. A fracture of a smile slipped onto her face. The dress was nice, no itchy lace in sight, so at least she'd be comfortable while miserable.

"Are you decent?" a familiar voice bellowed from outside her door.

Pulling the dress over her head, Abby nodded. "That depends. I'm not covered in mud anymore."

A chuckle, one deep and honest, found her ears. "That certainly won't last long."

Abby laughed. Her dad was right. If not today, then sometime soon, she would make her way back outside, getting covered once again in mud and leaves.

Striding over to her door, Abby opened it to see her father propped up against a table, his elbows precariously close to one of the Tells' many heirloom vases. She smiled. Her father had no regard one way or another for fancy objects; he'd only purchased them because it was expected.

As he walked past her, she felt his green eyes looking her over, a slight blush creeping over his cheeks.

"Don't," Abby commanded as she plopped herself at her vanity. Culpepper took his daughter's lead and plopped onto her bed, making sure to straighten out the wrinkles before doing so.

"Don't what?"

"Don't gush. I'm still your daughter. I'm still a child."

Pulling out a cigarette, Culpepper rolled it between his fingers. "Society says otherwise today." Removing a matchstick from his tattered coat pocket, he lit his cigarette. "My precious baby girl, all grown up. Soon you'll be married and having kids of your own."

"Gross," Abby said as she took a compact and threw it at her father's gut. He feigned pain, though he couldn't contain his smile.

"I know. That's not the life you want. That's not even the life I want for you." Her dad took a slow exhale on his cigarette before continuing, "No matter what you decide, I won't be able to keep you here much longer."

"You don't do a very good job of that now."

Culpepper laughed. "You're right. You're always off having your own adventures, leaving your boring, old dad behind."

Abby stopped brushing her hair and turned around. Her dad was sitting there, smiling, and playing with the frayed cuffs of his shirt. There was a sadness though hidden in his expression, one that dulled his almost always mischievous green eyes. He looked like he did on the rainy days when thoughts of Abby's mother floated into his head.

Propelled by her own sudden feeling of sadness, Abby got up from her vanity, ran toward her dad and threw her arms around him. She wanted to smother his sadness, and her own. "I'll never leave you behind," she whispered as tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

Culpepper released a soft chuckle before returning his daughter's embrace."I know. People carry their loved ones in their hearts and in their minds. No matter how far away you may go, you'll always have me beside you. Your mother too."

Abby chuckled before letting go. Wiping at the few tears that trickled down her cheeks, she put on her best, biggest smile. "Well," she said as she stood upright, smoothing the fabric of her dress, "I should continue getting ready. It's almost time."

"I guess I'll leave you to it," Culpepper said, getting up and making his way over to Abby's vanity. "Before I do, though, here." His hand went deep into his coat pocket before producing a lacquered box. "Happy birthday."

Wide-eyed, Abby looked at the box. Another present? Her father had already given her her dress and, even though she hadn't asked for it, he was throwing her a party. She didn't want anything else.

"Quit looking at it like it's poison—it's not—and open it," her father goaded. "This silent version of you is making me nervous."

Abby scowled before sliding off the box's lid. Laid out inside, on a swatch of red velvet  were three black ribbons, each decorated with a rose similar to the ones on her dress. Abby beamed.

"They're perfect!" she exclaimed as she plucked one from the box and placed it in her hair.

"Of course they are. I had them custom made to match the dress. Those other two," he began, pointing to the box, "are for your friends."

Before turning to leave, Culpepper planted a kiss on Abby's forehead. "I'm off to prepare in my own way for your party—"

"You mean you're going to have a drink," Abby interjected.

Culpepper laughed. "Or three."

Abby rolled her eyes.

"Don't you dare judge me. You know these fancy to-dos are hard on a man who made his fortune from the sea."

Abby nodded. She knew all too well how hard it was being the fisherman's daughter. She couldn't even begin to understand how awful it had to be being the fisherman.

"Hey," Culpepper said as he stepped out into the hallway. "I love you, little Miss Tells."

"I love you too, dad."

Once again alone, Abby looked down at her ribbons. One for Lucy and one for Sebbi. Lucy loved wearing matching ribbons with her, but Sebbi? The last time she'd tried to get him to wear one he'd—

Love! Lucy purred as he bounded into the room. You're a vision to these handsome eyes.

"I've been wondering where you've been," Abby said as the cat jumped onto her lap. His gold eyes sparkled as he looked up at her, then his cat curiosity kicked in and he eyed the  box with the two black ribbons.

For me? Lucy meowed as he pawed the ribbon. But there's two. One's enough to accentuate my handsome features.

"There's one for you, one for Sebbi," she said, her eyes trained on the floor.

Lucy's eyes lit up. You hear that? he meowed as he looked at the door, A ribbon for around your stupid neck. Quit stalking around out there and claim what's yours.

Shut up, Sebbi hissed. He sulked into Abby's room, tail between his legs.

"Sebbi?" Abby asked, her face full of shock.

The younger cat brother jumped onto Abby's vanity, disgust in his eyes as he stared at the ribbon that was to be his.

"Sebbi, why are you—"

—you love her, Lucy cooed.

Annoyed, Sebbi pawed his brother on the nose. Then, he turned to Abby, took a deep breath, and lowered his head.

Do it, he meowed.

Abby looked from him to Lucy, unsure of what Sebbi meant. Frustrated, the cat swallowed a hiss and sunk his neck lower. The ribbon, do what you must, he meowed again, louder.

"Really?"

Sebbi held his position.

Plucking the ribbon from the box, Abby held it in front of the cat. With trembling fingers, she placed it around Sebbi's neck, careful not to make the bow too tight.

Happy birthday, Sebbi meowed.

Turning, Sebbi hopped off Abby's vanity and was greeted by Lucy.

You did good, cat.

Lucy took his place before Abby and waited for the fine silk ribbon that was to be his. Without reservation, she tied it round his neck, into a perfectly sized bow. The cat gave her and the bow his very loud purrs of approval.

When the three of them were ready, they left the bedroom and headed for the stairs, Abby the most beautiful girl the cat brothers had ever seen, her smile the most radiant. For a moment, Abby lingered before the staircase, bracing herself for what was to come.

Though she felt she would never truly be ready, she took a step forward anyway, both Lucy and Sebbi following suit. She had the two greatest friends she could ever ask for at her side, and with them, she could take on the world, least of all one silly, little party.

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