Faerie Dust: Chapter 1

It is said that in the mind of a child are all the revolutionary ideas waiting to escape. They are bottled up and stored on vast shelves, just waiting for someone to topple them. Some last forever while others wither in the glass, but they are all good ideas and worthy of merit.

Some children have more bottles and more shelves. Some have fewer. There was one little girl who had more bottles and more shelves than ever had been seen thus far or ever after. She was an awkward little thing who had yet to find her place. Though taught over and over to her, she could not get the basics of any science or math, and her needlework was positively atrocious. Her temper was legendary and boys of all sizes stayed clear. Her mother received a letter from the teacher no less than once a week and more generally once a day. She tried to be a lady, but the whole thing was so very boring that she often forgot how she was to be. Her name was Francis Patricia Thompson.

Francis was born to Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. They had met at a party once and though it was not love at first sight, they sought one another out many times after and eventually married. Mr. Thompson was a statesman and busy most of the time. He wrote speeches all day and then other people said them and got the credit, but Mr. Thompson was still a very sought out person within politics. Mrs. Thompson was a writer as well, but she tended towards fantastic children's stories. She had begun writing at the tender age of fifteen but hadn't been published until twenty-two. This never daunted her and her works proved very popular quickly enough. Somehow, even with the atrociously busy schedule, the Thompsons managed to have five children before Mr. Thompson died.

The eldest, Jane, was married off already with a baby named Margaret. She had turned out perfectly, always gentle and graceful, but Francis liked to think she saw a little mischief in her eyes. Second oldest was Daniel, but he had died a year before from drowning. Daniel had been as much of a dreamer as his mother and was very much missed. Next was sixteen year old Kristine Elizabeth Jennifer Thompson, and if you forgot one part of her name, she gave you the most awful look. Kristine tried to be as ladylike as Jane and her mother, but never quite lost the arrogance needed. She was obsessive about her appearance and spent hours in front of her mirror. Kristine was waiting for a rich suitor to take her away. Near to last was Colin. He was a brilliant child of twelve with a love for knowledge that rivaled any known. Colin often read stories to Francis and they would talk for hours about them.

All four has been born very normally. From the very beginning, Francis was very different from her elder siblings. First, she was born very late. Mrs. Thompson carried her for a full ten months before she finally came into the world. She was the only one of the five not to have met her own father, as Mr. Thompson had died of a terrible cold just before Mrs. Thompson found out she was pregnant. Thankfully, he'd had his affairs in order and the remaining family was set to live comfortably as long as Mrs. Thompson managed the finances sensibly, and she did. As Francis grew, Mrs. Thompson noticed what an odd child her youngest was. Francis had very curly, almost white-blonde hair that she kept cropped at her shoulders and her eyes were the brightest, liveliest green. Mrs. Thompson was rather confused over how these looks came to her child, as the four before her were darker headed and blue or brown eyed, much like her husband and herself. Daniel had been closest with his dirty blonde hair and gray eyes, but Francis was still an oddity. It was a very confusing detail that had caused a number of rumors to circulate about Mrs. Thompson and her character. Francis was well loved by her attentive mother regardless, almost to the point of being ridiculous.

Mrs. Thompson adored doting on her children, but Jane was married, Daniel had passed, Kristine often laughed at her efforts, being the mature lady she was, and there was little she could do to make Colin happier. He was a very content boy as long as he had a book in his hands. Francis, however, reveled in every little thing. Life was a gift and all things were to be savored.

The Thompsons lived in a modest home that had just enough room for them, plus a guest room. Mrs. Thompson spent most of her time in the living room, tapping away at her typewriter and making notes to herself by the side. It was a lovely sitting area with comfortable, lived in furniture and a short, round table at the center. An old, beaten piano rested against one wall where Francis's grandmother had played soft tunes, when she was still alive. Her grandfather had passed soon after she, but it had been a good while since then so they were remembered fondly and cherished. Beside that room was the small, but adequate kitchen. Kristine was learning to cook from her mother as Mrs. Thompson passed down the recipes her own mother had taught her. Francis stayed away from there, as she was clumsy and found interesting ways to burn herself, but Colin secretly watched and learned, as he had a weakness for learning anything new. Upstairs, Kristine and Mrs. Thompson each had a little room to themselves and then there was the nursery were Francis and Colin slept. It was bright and lovely, though usually the floor was littered with little toy soldiers, books, building blocks, and other such toys. Out back, they had a little yard and Mrs. Thompson had a small garden in the corner that she grew fresh vegetables in. There were plans to add a dog to the family, as Colin had very quietly mentioned wanting one, but none yet graced the yard. All in all, the house had all they needed and they were content enough.

One day, the Thompsons were visited by more uncles than anyone else would know what to do with. There were Uncles John and Michael; Uncles Tootles, Curly, Slightly, and Nibs; and Uncles Twin (they were always together and only Mrs. Thompson could tell them apart so everyone else just called them together). All of them were great gentlemen and the children adored them, even Kristine. Always when they came, each uncle would take Mrs. Thompson into his arms and give her a kiss on the cheek, then turn to Kristine and kiss her hand. He would ruffle Colin's hair and lastly, each uncle would greet the youngest with a hug and a pat on the head.

As with every visit of the Uncles, for they visited quite often though rarely all at once, the entire house was full of rich smells from the kitchen and gay laughter. Uncles Curly and Nibs took over the kitchen each time. Uncle Nibs was a great chef for only the noblest of families and Uncle Curly was learning from him, since he had jumped from his last trade as always. He couldn't decide what he wanted to do, so he did one thing until he grew bored of it and then tried something else. There was always music playing, as Uncle Tootles was very good at dancing and loved to drag the girls in with him, and Uncle Slightly loved to sing.

When they tired of eating or dancing, they would all sit in the living room and listen to stories. Most often, Mrs. Thompson was the storyteller, though she usually got Francis to help her. Uncle John sometimes gave chronicles of his travels, as he was always in some far off country, although none of the children knew exactly what he did. Uncles Twin were the actors of the group and acted out the scenes of the stories with great finesse.

Uncle Michael would present the children with a gift each after the stories, though they were not always from him. The uncles took turns in this, but Uncle Michael was the only who always distributed the gifts when he was there. Kristine got a new hair comb this time, Colin a book called simply "Tao" with strange symbols all over it, and Francis received a splendid ceremonial dagger. It was not sharp of course, for Mrs. Thompson would have skinned him alive if it had been, but the hilt was heavily ornamented and fit perfectly in her little hand.

When the Uncles visited on their own or in twos, they often stayed the night in the guestroom. However, none would this time. Goodbyes were said at the door with each Uncle giving his the same way he said hello. Francis was the first to receive hers and Mrs. Thompson the last. The house was always so quiet after an Uncle visit, but the children were tired and it was time to sleep.

Mrs. Thompson took her younger two progeny back into their nursery. Kristine was far too mature to be tucked in by her mother so she only bid them good night and went on her way. Colin got his night shirt on and crawled into his bed while Francis did the same in hers. Mrs. Thompson tucked both children in and sat down on Francis' bed to tell the evening story. She always asked Colin first what he wanted to hear. He rarely had a preference, so when he did she tried to meet it. This night, he didn't mind, so Francis decided it was high time to hear of Peter Pan.

Francis loved Peter Pan. She made Mrs. Thompson tell her tales of him often. Routinely, she dreamed of meeting him or playing with the Lost Boys. (It was a dilemma of hers to wonder if a girl could ever become a Lost Boy, as Lost Boy entailed that only boys were welcome. Mrs. Thompson assured her that she would be as fine a Lost Boy as any real boy, and a sparkle in her eye convinced Francis that some other girl had done it once already. She secretly thought it had been Jane.)

Presently, the story was told and the two youngest laid down for sleep. Mrs. Thompson moved to Colin and kissed his cheek, then placed a kiss upon Francis' forehead. She lit the night lights and closed the door. As soon as it was shut, Francis got out of bed and crawled into Colin's. She could not stand to sleep alone, as she had the most dreadful nightmares, but she hated to worry her mother by crawling in with her. Colin, being the kind brother he was, resigned himself to the little one's presence.

----

School was something little Francis had never enjoyed. The endless recitation and work didn't interest her and she found that no matter what she did, it was never good enough for her teacher. The gray haired woman found herself at the end of Francis' anger more often than not. It was a normal sight to find the girl standing outside the classroom door with heavy books or water pails in both hands. There, she would silently stew until it was time to leave.

This was one of those days. Colin noticed immediately. They always walked home together, talking about anything. When Francis didn't talk, it was time to worry. Colin knew from experience that Francis would tell him everything in the comfort of the nursery. He could only hope that Kristine did not arrive before them.

He was disappointed when she met them at the door, her blue eyes gleaming with cruelty.

"Mother received another letter today," she said in an almost polite tone, her pink lips quirking to show her amusement. Francis glared at her with every fiber of her being. The smirk grew larger. "My, Francis, such an expression!"

"Sod off," snarled the younger sister before she stormed past. Kristine gave a shocked, though faked, little sound, lifting a hand to her mouth to cover her still smirking mouth. Colin frowned at her and pushed his glasses up.

"Confrontation is not ladylike," he admonished his older sister. Then, he went through without another word. Kristine only scowled after him. Colin often stood up for Francis. The two had a close bond that had once been shared between five, but Kristine had betrayed them and grown up, Daniel had died, and Jane had gotten married. Colin remembered the old days of play, when a little dirt hurt no one and if Kenneth Rogers down the street saw them, it would make no difference. It was no use remembering, though. They were gone, as were the little girls Kristine and Jane had once been and Daniel's wonderful imagination.

Colin came to the door of the nursery and glanced through. Francis sat seething on her bed, arms folded and eyes full of angry tears. He heard the voices of his older sister and mother from down the stairs. There wouldn't be much time to soothe his younger sister. He sighed a little and pushed up his glasses.

"Frankie?" Colin began gently, changing to the familiar nick name to show he wasn't cross.

"It's not my fault!" shouted the little girl immediately with such intensity that her brother winced. ⌠Edwin put ink in my hair and Mrs. Brown wouldn't do anything about it!"

Colin glanced over her and found traces of the telltale black still covering a few of Francis's blond curls. Without a word, he went to the washroom and retrieved a bowl of water and a cloth. He settled in behind Francis and quietly began to wash the remaining ink from her hair. The green eyed child didn't speak. Her shoulders shook from anger and hurt as her small fists held tight to the bedspread.

"Frankie," Colin murmured, setting the cloth back down. He gently took Francis's shoulders in his hands and turned her to face him. Her head was bowed, but she lifted it when Colin nudged her chin upward. Bright tear streaks decorated her small face. "Frankie, you can't let idiots like Edwin Potter get to you so much!"

She bit her lip and nodded slowly. Colin sighed and took his younger sister into his arms, rocking her gently. One long fingered hand brushed through her shoulder length hair, smoothing the wet strands down. Francis clung to him like her only lifeline.

"I don't blame you," he said. "I would probably have done the same."

"You have black hair," she replied. "It wouldn't show."

"Doesn't matter," Colin decided. "In any case, the ink is completely out now. Today can't possibly get worse, can it?"

"No," murmured Francis with a shy little grin. "No, I guess not."

Colin smiled. "That's better."

The voices below were traveling up the stairs. Francis didn't move from Colin's grasp, but her green eyes were set to the doorway. A shadow crept to it, then she saw the edge of one of her mother's dresses. It was the green one with lace trim. A shoe appeared before being covered by the fabric. Francis let her eyes slid upwards, past the white ribbon wrapped waist and the embroidered blouse, and then saw her mother's face. It was an expression she saw often, one that Colin couldn't soothe no matter what he said. It was disappointment.

"Colin," their mother said quietly. "Please leave us."

From behind, Kristine stifled a pleased giggle. Colin got up and kissed Francis' cheek before going off. The youngest saw the glare he snuck at Kristine as he went past her. Mrs. Thompson closed the door and moved to stand before her last child. She was quiet for a long while, taking in the girl's form. Francis' hands went tight on the bed sheet once more. Colin never condemned her but Mrs. Thompson had stopped believing her long before.

"I received a letter today from Mrs. Brown," started Mrs. Thompson. She was using the deadly quiet voice, not a loud yell. Francis almost wished for the yelling. Mrs. Thompson only used this voice when she was truly furious. Wisely, the little girl said nothing. Pursing her lips, Mrs. Thompson folded her arms over her chest. "That's it, Francis. I'm through dealing with your childish behavior. You're not a wild animal; you're a woman. It is time you acted like it."

Francis didn't move at all. She knew if she did, she would fight every word her mother spoke.

"This is the final deal," Mrs. Thompson said coldly. "One more letter and I shall send you to the finishing school in Bradford."

The blonde head jerked up as wide green eyes stared in horror at her mother. Mrs. Thompson nearly lost her nerve, but knew she had to be firm.

"It is time that you learned what it means to grow up, Francis Patricia Thompson."

With that, she left. Francis stared at the floor, feeling afraid and angry. At that moment, she hated her mother more than any child could. It brought back her tears and she cried into her pillow for a long while.

When the tears were gone and her eyes felt raw and hot, Francis left the nursery to join her family downstairs. She took the stairs slow as if a dead man walking. There was music in the family room. Francis barely heard her mother and sister speaking over it. She edged towards it, slowly hearing more and more clearly.

"-But even with the school, she'l never marry," said Kristine with an arrogant smile. Mrs. Thompson frowned at her.

"She will marry," she replied. "Someday, when she has become a lady, Francis will marry a wonderful man and have children of her own. Then, perhaps, she will understand why I am doing this."

Kristine laughed but Francis didn't hear her.

Was that all her mother thought for her? Francis rested herself up against the wallpapered barrier. All her mother wanted was for her to marry and have children? That was all well and good for Jane and Kristine but Francis didn't want to marry! She didn't want children! No, Francis didn't want to grow up at all!

"A lady?" she asked herself. Scowling, she hissed, "Never."

She would have to leave. Escape someplace where no one would find her and turn her into a lady. No books, no stitching, no mothers and their selfish dreams. She had to find the Neverland.

Francis dashed back up to the nursery and grabbed her overnight bag. It had to be tonight. She could stand it no longer. She packed and stowed the bag under her bed with a change of Colin's clothes. Her own were only reminders of the lady her mother wanted her to be. Colin was bigger than her, but it would do for now.

When night fell, Colin filed inside, taking a glance at his younger sister. Francis was curled up in her bed, apparently asleep. Colin slowly approached the small bed.

"Frankie?" he called quietly, reaching for her shoulder. The girl didn't move. Frowning with worry, he went to his own bed. Francis was not asleep, so she heard the concern in her brother's voice and felt a little guilty at the thought of leaving him behind. Perhaps he would come with her? Surely Colin would know better how to find the Neverland that their mother always told them about. He was so very smart. He would help her.

Mrs. Thompson came to tell the night's story, but with Francis "asleep", Colin merely asked for his goodnight kiss. Mrs. Thompson granted the request and, after doing the same to her younger child, left them for the night.

Later, as the first hour of morning was sounded by the city clock, Francis crept from her bed. She dressed in silence, being as careful as she possibly could. Her bag sat on the bed, where she looked through it just one more time to make sure all was there.

The shifting of a body alerted her. Francis jerked her head up and found herself being stared down by a pair of clever blue eyes.

"Colin," she breathed. The boy sat up and got his glasses, though the minute nightlight offered him little help with sight.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I'm off to find Neverland," she replied. Colin was quiet a moment.

"You would leave me here?" he then questioned quietly.

"Of course not, Silly," Francis said vehemently. "I was going to wake you and ask."

He nodded and got up. Changing out of his nightshirt, he caught a look at his sister's own attire.

"Aren't those mine?" he asked. Francis blushed.

"Well, I can't go killing pirates in a dress!"

He smiled and decided she was right. Checking over her bag, he added a few things and off they went into the night, leaving their old lives behind them.

----

Leaving their old lives behind was harder than either child had thought. They walked through the city for a long, long time, pausing only sometimes for food and rest breaks. Colin decided that they would have to ration their few supplies, in case the trip to Neverland was too long. With her mostly empty belly, Francis wondered if eating now and starving later was so bad.

By dawn, they found themselves in a grand and lush garden. Colin decided they would rest there and so they did. While he took out his sketch book and began to draw the different flowers, Francis skipped along the walk ways, singing a tune only she knew and forgot moments after singing any part of it. Both felt happier in the garden and knew there was magic there. Gardens are a prime place to find magic, after all.

Francis sat herself under a huge tree in the roots. The roots themselves were large and tangled up like a chair where she sat. A throne for the lovely and mighty Faerie Queen, Francis liked to imagine. She felt safe there, protected from everything in the Grown Up World, and stayed until dusk.

"The Faeries are in Neverland," Francis said quietly to herself. "If I am to see them, I must get there."

With that, she hopped up out of the throne and started back to her brother.

"Wait!"

It was an odd sounding voice, more a bell than a word, with a sweetness that was inhuman. Francis slowly turned away, her eyes going wide. There, hovering just above the tree throne, was a glowing ball of light. When she looked closer, she could see slight outlines of a little being within it. Francis pinched her shoulder, just to make sure she wasn't dreaming.

"You are trying to find Neverland?" asked the Faerie.

"I am," Francis answered with a nod. The Faerie flit about elatedly before flying around Francis in a circle and giving excited little bell sounds. The girl laughed and danced with her, feeling more delighted than she had since leaving home.

"You cannot find Neverland by foot!" the Faerie explained in cheerful rings. "You must fly!"

"Oh, I do remember now,"Francis said. "I don't suppose you could teach me?"

"I could if I wanted," replied the Faerie smugly. The girl smiled at her.

"Will you? I'd like very much to learn."

The Faerie flit this way and that as she decided, but it was rather quick. With a shouted agreement, she began to zip around Francis, dust from her wings showering over the girl. Francis laughed at the tickling feeling.

"Now, think happy things! They will lift you up," the Faerie instructed. Francis closed her eyes. Many images flit though her mind, but then she settled on just one. Colin hugging her at Christmas when she was six because she had gotten him the perfect gift. She didn't open her eyes but a strange weightlessness began to fill her body. The Faerie gave excited dings and Francis finally opened her eyes to quiet the little thing, but found herself unable to speak. There, sitting far below, was the tree throne.

"It's so little!" Francis marveled. She looked down at her feet and found them settled on nothing. The Faerie flit about her happily.

"Now we may go to Neverland!" she cheered.

"Wait!" Francis cried. "Colin!"

"The sullen one?" the Faerie asked almost hopefully.

"Oh, he's not sullen, you silly Faerie!"

Francis tested her flight, shifting her body this way and that to see what it would do. When she found she could do perfect loop-de-loops, she changed course and began to search for her missing brother. Fae and Girl found Boy sleeping beside a patch of lilies.

"Colin!" Francis called as her hand shook his shoulder. "Colin, wake up! We're going to Neverland!"

Colin got up and put on his glasses. He looked at the Faerie and quickly got to his feet to bow to her. She rung with joy.

"I'm Colin," he said to her. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

There were bell chimes, but Colin could not understand them. He looked with surprise as Francis gave a laugh.

"That's a rather odd name," she said to the Faerie.

"You can understand her?" Colin asked. Francis looked confused.

"Of course. It's very clear. Can't you?"

"No, I can't."

The Faerie sounded again and Francis frowned.

"She says you're almost too old to understand Faeries and to call her Liliding."

"We must get to Neverland quickly then," replied Colin seriously. "I can't be let to grow up any more than I already have."

Liliding whistled and circled Colin with ringing bells as she dusted him over.

"She said that we can only get to Neverland by flying," Francis explained. "For that, you need happy thoughts and pixie dust."

Colin nodded, having paid strict attention. He closed his eyes and thought hard. Francis watched with glee as he slowly rose from the ground.

"We can fly!" she shouted and rose to join her brother. Colin looked about with a smile.

"I do like flying," he decided. Testing himself as Francis had done before, he learned how to move and together, the two flew with acrobatic grace around the garden. Colin swooped down to gather their pack before joining his sister and Liliding in the sky.

Now, the little faerie was an oddity of her species and knew it. With the coming night, she knew the others would come out to play and would definitely run the children off. Liliding disliked the faeries of the garden and had been waiting for a child such as Francis to come across the gardens at night. Her duty had thus been served and she could now return home.