House Glasses - chapters 1-3 by Sierra Torrin

Chapter 1: new house
The house was bored. He had no idea how long he had stood all alone in the wooded lot, vacant. The cloth rabbit doll was stuck in the cedar chest on the second floor, so it was no use talking with him. The rabbit’s voice was so muffled, it was hard to understand. When the house felt the rumblings of the moving van’s tires crunching the gravel of the driveway, he perked up. Maybe someone will pay attention to me!
“We’re home, Heather,” the house heard a woman say.
“Hi, House!” Heather giggled.
The little girl’s screams of joy and her loud greetings were muffled to the house, as they echoed through the Tudor architecture, up the second floor’s narrow staircase, and straight into her new room.
It was in the corner at the end of the stairs. The angled ceiling mirrored the roofline, and two gabled windows overlooked the wild backyard garden. The room was bare, except for a long flat cedar chest that sat on the scuffed wood floor. Its simple iron latch was unlocked. Heather opened the lid and stared into the open chest at the linen rabbit doll lying at the bottom. “Hi, bunny. What are you doing in there?”
The house knew that the rabbit wanted to answer, but he knew he could not. Not in this world.
“You need a name.” Heather grinned.
The rabbit doll wanted to smile back. He felt this girl could be a good friend. The house thought so, too.
“Mommy!” The girl screamed though her open doorway, the house hearing her shrill voice clearly. “The house left me a rabbit - Oliver Mayflower Appleworth!”
I like that name, the house thought.
I like it, too, the rabbit replied, happy to have a name again.
The girl grabbed the stuffed rabbit out of the chest and ran downstairs. The house was finally able to hear clearly.
“Heather’s imagination is flying away again,” a man said, presumably the girl’s father.
“Humor her,” a woman said, who seemed to be “mommy.”
“See?” Heather ran into the living room seconds later, her pink and white Cinderella sneakers clumping along the wood floor and pigtails wagging behind her like a pack of happy puppies.
Themovers hadn’t started unloading furniture yet, so Heather’s footsteps thunderously echoed on the wood floors throughout the house. The only other sign of a previous owner were the heavy forest green curtains that framed the window seat in the living room. Heather, holding the raggedy rabbit doll in one hand outstretched, ran straight for the two adults standing in the thin light of the window.
The house looked around through Oliver through the blue stitches for eyes sewn above the rabbit’s triangle stitched pink nose. Mommy towered over them, her thin frame lost in a pair of jeans, sandals, and an oversized red sweatshirt with a faded university’s seal sewn on. Her dark brown hair curled softly over her shoulders, and a weak smile could be seen through the strands as Mommy eyed the rabbit doll. I do not have lice, Oliver Appleworth thought with a huff, unable to form an expression. The house assured him that he did not have lice.
Daddy had pulled on a pair of shorts he had worn yesterday and a wrinkled black t-shirt. His brown hair was pulled back into a quick short ponytail. His face showed little experience, but his blue eyes promised patience as Daddy knelt in front of his daughter. He said, “That’s nice, Heather. Who is Oliver Mayflower Appleworth?”
Obviously, he doesn’t know yet. I can’t introduce myself properly. Heather did it for him. “Mommy, Daddy, this is Oliver Mayflower Appleworth,” she said seriously.
She presented the rabbit doll with arms outstretched to her parents so Oliver could see properly. “And Mr. Appleworth, this is my new mommy and daddy, Jessy and Peyton –“ Heather hesitated – “TEN-ter-din.”
“Ten-TER-den, sweetie.” Jessy Tenterden smiled genuinely this time. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it. It’s the same name that’s written on the wooden sign in front of the house: Tenterden House, named for your great-great grandparents. I’m so excited that you get to live here. So, if he’s a boy, why is Oliver in a dress?”
Heather looked at the rabbit with a serious expression. The house, through Oliver, looked back at the little girl. Her brown hair had been put up into two long pigtails held in place by rubber bands with two glittery pink balls, and her milk chocolate brown eyes looked serious. A pink shirt hung loosely over the waistband of her blue jeans. Heather giggled. “Someone put him in a dress. They didn’t know he’s a boy.”
Jessy and Peyton exchanged a glance that Heather didn’t notice. “It’s so good to meet you, Mr. Appleworth,” Jessy said. “Why don’t you two go back to your room? The movers are just coming up the driveway, and you’ll need to tell them where to put your furniture.”
“Yes, Mommy. Come on, Mr. Appleworth. You gotta help, too.”
The rabbit’s long ears picked up fragments of conversation as Heather pounded back up the stairs. “The social worker never mentioned delusions,” Oliver overheard Peyton say as soon as Heather was out of earshot. “…Where did ‘Mayflower’ come from?”
The house’s magic allowed the house to see Jessy shaking her head and pointing out the window to the long green and orange moving van in the driveway. “Heather …too many foster homes. I’m glad she… settled down. I think Heather should name this old place …Oliver Tenterden, your great-grandfather? She’s finally calling us Mommy and Daddy.”
Peyton chuckled. “Yes... I shouldn’t worry so much. Heather will adjust.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Jessy said.
I can protect her, Oliver decided, warming up to Heather instantly.

Heather sat on the chest, moving her feet to a beat only she could hear. She hummed to the rabbit doll, dancing it on her knees. The rabbit wobbled back and forth, and Oliver and the house’s vision danced along with Heather’s head. Heavy footsteps interrupted the rhythm. Two large men carrying a dresser in between them entered the room. “This is yours, little lady?” The man in the overalls and white t-shirt asked with a smile, emphasizing the laugh lines by his eyes.
“Yes, sir,” Heather said, “I want it right there.”
She pointed to the end of the room by the door with the Oliver, and the man nodded his approval. Another man was right behind them and entered as soon as the dresser was in place. This man’s skin matched the dark wood stain of the oval mirror’s frame and stand that he was carrying. Heather pointed Oliver at the reflection. “Aren’t you pretty?” She giggled at her own joke and danced the rabbit doll back and forth, and the reflection danced in unison, partners separated by thin glass.
“Yes, she is,” the man holding the mirror said as he placed it in the nearby corner.
Oliver stared at the reflection. How long has it been? He wondered, surprised at his wear. The oatmeal brown linen rabbit paws peaking out from the dress were spotted with dust. The once blue stitched eyes were tinged with brown. The long blue gingham dress was no longer fresh and bright, but dingy and spotted like his linen flesh. The blue, cream, and rose-colored ribbons so lovingly tied around his long floppy ears zigzagged, unraveling from the bottoms. No wonder Jessy looked at me like I had lice, Oliver thought.
“What’s her name?” the dark man asked, smiling.
“Oliver Mayflower Appleworth.” Heather smiled and shyly cocked her head to the side, close to burying her cheek into her shoulder and talking down to the finely shaped wood of the chest. She looked too shy to tell him that Oliver was a boy, the house thought.
“Pretty name.” He said and winked before leaving the room for more furniture.
Soon, Heather was alone again, so she hopped off the chest and opened the gingham-upholstered lid. Cedar scent again wafted into Heather’s nostrils and overwhelmed Oliver as the rabbit doll’s head was stuffed into the opened box. “Heather!” Jessy’s voice carried up the stairs and reached the eight-year-old’s room. “Heather!”
She giggled, looked around, and jumped into the chest. Oliver was surprised by the impromptu game of hide-and-seek, but found himself sharing her excitement. Heather shushed herself and the rabbit as the lid closed down over them with a soft thud.
Oliver heard Jessy’s voice getting closer, though his hearing was muffled again. Now, Jessy’s tone seemed exasperated. Heather hasn’t done anything, Oliver thought indignantly, she’s innocent. Anger welled within him as he felt Heather tremble around him. Oliver felt the comforting warmth of Heather’s arms pressing him to her chest.
“Don’t send me away like the other grown ups,” Heather whimpered, and Oliver felt warm tears on Mayflower’s face.
The house, through the rabbit, remembered Heather’s new parent’s words. They’re overprotective, he decided, and compassion overwhelmed him. His heart broke at the tone of her voice and wetness from her eyes. A familiar incantation sprang to Oliver’s lips, and the rabbit held on tight to Heather.

Chapter 2: new world
Heather stood slowly, confused that she was no longer in the cedar chest. Blades of grass waved back and forth over her Cinderella shoes. Sunlight filtered through low-hanging clouds, coloring the prairie gold. Heather blinked. Was the sun coming up or down? Where am I?
The rabbit doll stood next to Heather. Oliver’s ribbons flapped gently in the breeze. He smiled. “Ah, to smile again,” he said. “Oliver Mayflower Appleworth. I like it.”
Heather’s eyes grew wide. “Did you talk?” She stood up and whirled around all in one fluid movement.
Oliver nodded in appreciation. “Of course. How long has it been since I did? Being stuffed in a cedar chest has messed up my sense of time.”
“Where is this?” Heather’s thrill voice spoke over the grass, an endless flat plane extending to the setting sun, which was obvious now, as the sky darkened, and stars twinkled on the edges of the purpling sky.
“Verdimuir,” Oliver said, pride inserting itself into his voice. “The spirits of all the Created live here.”
“What? What’s a Created?”
“Yes,” Oliver said. “All toys created by humans have a spirit. That spirit comes here sometimes.”
“Huh?”
Oliver shook his rabbit head, blinking his blue thread eyes. “Do your stuffed animals usually talk back to you?”
Heather didn’t answer his question. “What’s that?”
The eight-year-old pointed toward a scuffle of dust coming toward them over a low hill. Within seconds, a short centaur stopped in front of the pair. Wide stitching wound its way around plush brown legs and black hoofs and around a pair of peach-colored four-fingered hands. Long thick black yarn hair drifted down its back from a flat plush face. The centaur had no knees, and Heather stared, trying to figure out how this creature could move.
“I thought I felt the magic of a Created coming back! How did you do it? Wait - who’s that?” The centaur eyed Heather before continuing without waiting for an answer, directing his speech toward Oliver. “What are you doing back here, Oliver? Didn’t you know that Crowleigh took over?” The baritone voice that emanated from the centaur belied his petite size, even as his voice lowered to nearly a whisper by the last sentence.
“Are you a boy or a girl?” Heather asked the centaur, squinting into the setting sun.
“This is Heather Tenterden. She found me in the cedar chest in Her Room.” Oliver looked at the centaur as if that meant something. “Oh, sorry. Heather, this is Honey the Centaur, named by Susan of Apartment 57. Now, what’s all this about Crowleigh? I thought Chloe the Penguin of Top Shelf imprisoned her?”
“Honey? Isn’t that a girl’s name?” Heather asked.
Honey eyed Heather. “A girl named me. It has been awhile since you’ve been here, Oliver. Eight years, at least.” The centaur chuckled. “And when did someone put you in a dress?”
Oliver scowled, and Heather laughed.
Honey didn’t wait for an answer. “So, while you were away, Crowleigh overpowered the magics on the tower that we had trapped her in with Chloe’s help and escaped after less than a year. We never figured out how she did it. Haven’t you wondered what happened to Gates Landing? Or why the Planes of Doors are so empty?” The centaur paused a moment while Oliver looked around.
The rabbit doll looked from Heather back to Honey. Oliver’s silence scared her. Heather decided this pretty place was suddenly very scary.
“Nowhere to be found, is it, rabbit? Crowleigh took over Gates Landing. Crowleigh captured the Created that suited her – the weird ones, she calls them – and made a circus. She moves it wherever she pleases, using the Created as entertainment for the Dolls, her own Circus of Fantasy. The Dolls helped her. That’s what I think. Those Dolls are just as evil as Crowleigh.”
“Wha- what’s going on, Oliver?” Heather could no longer contain her nervousness, and Oliver heard his fear voiced in her tone.
“We shouldn’t be talking too loud. Crowleigh can hear every conversation in the Planes if she wants to. She has spies.”
Honey looked up at the birds flying above them, black lines against the sunset. Honey knelt down in the long grass, his legs bending in half where joints should be, as if the blades could shelter him.
“I wanna go home.” Heather’s eyes filled with tears, and she thought of her new mom and dad, Jesse and Peyton. Do they want me back? She wondered. Those others didn’t.
“You can’t,” Honey said flatly, interrupting her thoughts, and causing Heather to jump. “Crowleigh won’t let anyone go. I’ve been trying to get back home, too, but I can’t. We’re stuck. I’m not sure how you were able to get here in the first place. I haven’t seen someone new in years.”
Oliver closed his eyes and tried to contact the house, tried to hear the house’s odd creaking voice in his head, but only heard silence. “We can’t get back.”
Oliver watched Heather scrunch up her face and force her arms stiff, fists clenched at her sides. “We can go somewhere else,” she said matter-of-factly.
Her proclamation was met with silence. Into the silence came a sound that reminded Heather of wings flapping.
“Maybe, if we’re lucky, Karaklay will find us before Crowleigh.” Heather watched the twinkle leave Honey’s eyes as he spoke, eyes on the sky. “Gates Landing – I mean, the Circus of Fantasy – is coming. Hide.”
The tone was even, but it inspired panic in Heather and Oliver. The centaur and rabbit fell to the ground, looking lifeless, leaving Heather standing in the middle of the tall grass. Her arms were pulled up to her chest, fingers fidgeting around her chin. She toyed with the idea of falling flat, too, as she watched round and square, striped and solid-colored tents of every color, open cages, and a few boxcars attached end to end like a hovering train float toward her. Near the far ends, the objects settled on the ground, organizing themselves. Around everything, birds circled. Heather wondered if they were keeping the circus afloat.
In the center, a huge black castle glided above the bright colorful circus that seemed to suck out all the happiness and light from the excitement of the circus. Turrets and buttresses jutted into the clouds from all over the black stone castle. Heather couldn’t see a door, like the huge arched ones in the “Snow White” and “Cinderella” movies. And it was held up by a rough rock, as if the castle had taken a piece of mountainside cliff with it. Shuddering at the sight of the scary castle, Heather fell to the ground beside Oliver, eyes tightly shut against the frightening vision. She grabbed the rabbit doll and hugged his cloth body close.
Heather heard the noises of the circus draw near, assorted sounds of animals and a weird smell of dirty cloth and plush. The image of the castle seared in her brain like a nightmare, and Heather could only picture that castle landing on top of her, this Crowleigh swooping down upon her like a wicked stepmother.
As suddenly as it began, the noises stopped. Heather squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to be invisible. You can’t see me, you can’t see me, she repeated to herself. Something wide and hard, but subtly sharp, toed her side.
“What’s this?” A woman’s bird-like voice. “You don’t look like a Created, little one.”
Heather cringed. Crowleigh? “I’m a girl,” she stammered.
“You shouldn’t be out here in the dark. Honey, Oliver, you two should know better.” The voice was friendly, but reprimanding.
When Heather heard the centaur and rabbit’s names, she looked up. An eagle’s white feathery head and yellow hooked beak stood above Heather dressed in a long black robe that gathered above her white-feathered breast with an intricate silver knot dotted with tiny gems. White feathery wings where arms should be were crossed over a woman’s body. Curved white claws attached to knobby yellow flesh stuck out from under the black cloth.
Despite the birdsong voice, Heather felt panic rise within her at the strange figure and tried to back away, clutching Oliver around the waist. Heather longed to ask Oliver if this was Crowleigh, if this evil eagle came from the black castle. She tripped over her feet trying to stand, then hobbled backwards, somehow unable to tear her eyes away from the eagle-woman. “Hey!” Heather startled when she backed into the plush body of the centaur.
“There’s no time to explain now. The sun is setting.” The eagle-woman’s voice had just enough impatience to make Heather look at her warily, to think about her words, and the woman stretched out a wing to Heather.
“Don’t be silly,” Honey said, a touch of nervousness in his voice as he looked to the setting sun. He pushed Heather back toward the eagle-woman with both hands, and she landed against the eagle-woman with a soft thud.
“Who are you?” Heather managed to squeak out.
“I’ll explain when I get you inside my tent. It’s not safe out here anymore, child.”
Heather tried to back away again, but the eagle-woman had a firm hold of her. Heather tried to struggle, but it was hard, clutching Oliver and resisting the strength of the strange bird woman at the same time. She has hands, Heather thought, but the thought was interrupted.
“Come, child,” the eagle-woman said with a touch of apprehension. “I’ll take you inside where it’s safe.”
The sun was a fingernail on the horizon when Heather decided the eagle-woman wasn’t going to hurt her. Why would Crowleigh protect me? Heather thought. Maybe this isn’t Crowleigh, since Oliver and Honey aren’t scared. Heather focused on where the bird woman was directing her.
A narrow round striped tent stood a few feet behind them on the edge of the strange circus city, and the woman moved aside the long triangular flap and walked inside. Honey poked his head in, followed by Heather, Oliver, and the bird woman through the flap and into the dark shadows within. The eagle-woman said a word of magic that sounded vaguely like “light bulb” to Heather, and the tent’s interior was suddenly alight. Fat honey colored beeswax candles placed inside wide copper bowls around the perimeter illuminated the interior with a soft orange glow. The tent was a perfect circle and much bigger than the narrow tent it seemed to be from the outside.
The eagle woman let go of Heather and gestured to the wide colorful pillows made from a variety of fabrics – jewel-toned silks to long furs to soft cottons – that filled the center of the tent like an overstuffed bed. Gingerly, Heather sidled over to the pillows and sat, never taking her eyes off the strange upright eagle. The eagle-woman sat nearby. “My name is Karaklay. And what would you be called, child?”
Heather breathed a sigh of relief. Good. She’s not Crowleigh. “Heather. TenTERden.” She shivered as a cold gust of wind shuttered the flap of the tent open and chilled her bare arms.
Karaklay waved her right wing in an odd pattern, muttered something, and the flap buttoned itself closed. “You don’t want to know what lurks in the darkness on the Planes of Doors, Heather,” she murmured.
“Why is it called the Planes of Doors?” Heather asked, looking around. She noticed faint lines drawn in even patterns that looped their way around the tent, but her attention shifted back to Karaklay when the eagle-woman spoke.
Karaklay chuckled. “Because it’s where all the Created go first when they come from Rooms and Under Beds. The doors from those planes of existence open and enter on the grasslands.”
Heather blinked and glanced from Karaklay to Honey for answers.
Honey shook his head. “It’s like walking into a house,” he said, walking up to Heather and lying beside her. “You open the front door of a house into a big room, right?”
Heather nodded.
“Outside is your world. Inside is Verdimuir. Then, there are lots of doors to other rooms.”
Heather nodded again.
“Those other rooms are other worlds. Created can come from there, or we can go to those worlds by opening the door or having a special key. That’s how you got here. Oliver was your key.” Honey paused.
Heather tilted her head to one side, and then nodded. “Okay. How do I get home?”
“You can’t, child,” Karaklay looked sad. “Crowleigh won’t allow it. Anyway, you’re safe now,” Karaklay said.
“If only from the night spirits,” Honey said, eyeing the door flap.
Karaklay glared at the centaur, and his sentence trailed off, and Heather’s questioning glance died before she said a word.
“Oliver, you can awaken now.” Karaklay sounded amused.
Oliver’s rabbit head looked up at Heather. “I’ll stay right here, thank you. And I am quite awake.”
“I didn’t know you were conscious. You talked more on your previous stays here.” The eagle-woman laughed. It sounded like springtime birdsong.
Heather smiled. “Why would Oliver be asleep?”
“When stuffed animals, as you humans call them, are scared or surprised, sometimes they can pretend to be asleep.”
“Were you scared, Oliver Mayflower?” Heather asked, staring seriously at the rabbit doll.
If Created could blush, Oliver did. “I wasn’t scared, Heather. I was resting.”
Karaklay saved Oliver from further embarrassment. “Now, would our young friend like some dinner?”
Heather realized suddenly that she was very hungry. “Yes, please, Karclay, ma’am.”
“KARAK-lay, dear,” she said smiling, and her name sounded like a birdcall. “I have some warm stew made. Would you like some?”
Heather nodded fervently, grinning. The eagle-woman opened a door that Heather thought was solid tent canvas a minute ago into a deep wooden cupboard and pulled out two round loaves of bread that had been hollowed out. The contents were steaming as if just taken from an oven. Karaklay handed one to Heather and sat down beside her with the other. “Breaking out the good stuff, Karaklay?” Honey grinned.
Karaklay laughed. “I had some extra beef. The magic attached to this cabinet keeps it fresh and warm.”
Heather took a spoonful of the steaming broth filled with brown meat and colorful specks and shoveled it into her mouth. “Mmm,” she said, her tongue wrapping around the textures and flavors.

Chapter 3: cursed
And that’s when Heather realized Karaklay wasn’t a stuffed animal. The eagle-woman was eating, whereas Honey and Oliver weren’t interested, being filled with stuffing and not possessing a tummy. Heather saw that Karaklay’s face wasn’t stitched, and her eagle feet showed signs of wear. Callouses lined the underside. The feathers that stuck out from underneath her black robe were spotted with dirt, and in some places, Heather could see where they attached to Karaklay’s skin. “You’re not a Created or whatever,” Heather said, staring the pictures on the inside of the tent. “What are you? Are you a witch?”
Oliver and Honey’s eyes froze on Karaklay. Heather was oblivious, paying more attention to her stew. “Quiet, Heather,” Karaklay chirped, sounding more like a bird than a woman. Her beady black eyes bored into Heather, and she cringed. “I am a were-eagle, part woman, part eagle. And that is all you should hear for now. Crowleigh listens.” Karaklay looked around as if someone stood in the shadows, overhearing their every word. “You’ll need to blend in, Heather. Verdimuir is not safe these days. I’ll find you a job here so you won’t be found. Play along, and don’t get into trouble. Do you understand?”
Heather picked at her food and nodded, even though she had no idea what blending in meant. She fought the lump that seemed to constrict her throat and swallowed her tears. Heather finished most of her stew and picked at the bread. Her two brown pigtails fell into her face and brushed her cheeks. “I wanna go home,” Heather mumbled over hiccups, knowing they couldn’t help her.
Oliver looked up with such compassion on his stitched mouth and stitched eyes that Heather lost all control over the knot in her stomach. She grasped Oliver’s back to her face, covering her reddening cheeks, nose, eyes, and flowing tears. Heather fell on her side, curled up on the pillows and hugging Oliver tightly. “Come on, Karaklay,” Oliver said, looking at Karaklay sideways as tears were soaked up by his dress. “She’s only seven years old.”
“Eight.” Heather mumbled into Oliver’s back.
“Whatever,” Karaklay said. “She needs to understand.”
Heather didn’t look up to see what expression the were-eagle wore.
“Yes, she does.” Oliver sighed.
“Crowleigh has spies everywhere. You can’t even trust the birds anymore. I just hope Heather’s scent hasn’t reached her yet.”
“She knows nothing of Crowleigh, before she was captured or after she took over,” Oliver said, “And I don’t know anything of her current reign. Crowleigh barely had time to do much of anything before Chloe and the rest of us captured her. This time seems much different.”
“Heather will have to learn,” Karaklay said shortly.
“I have to get back to the other centaurs,” Heather heard Honey say. “Before the other Created in my tent notice I’m gone. I’ll see you all around the circus, I’m sure. Good night, Heather.”
Heather mumbled in return and listened for the flap to close before burying her head in one of the pillows. She didn’t understand, and she found she didn’t want to. Heather just wanted to go home. All the talk about fitting in and keeping quiet and keeping out of this Crowleigh’s sight – and smell? – scared her. Heather closed her heavy eyelids against the strangeness and tried to sleep.

The next morning, Heather watched from the thick pile of pillows as Karaklay dug through a heavy chest of drawers Heather knew wasn’t there last night. The were-eagle held up small rainbow- and glittery-colored jumpsuits and long dresses with wide full skirts with patterns from harlequin to long stripes to dizzying spirals. Karaklay shook them out as if ridding the garments of dust, catching the light of the candles and the filtered light of the sun through the canvas tent. Tall boots stood beside her in a pile, in more colors than the suits Karaklay held up in front of her. “Those are pretty,” Heather commented, staring at the brilliant colors, her confusion of the previous night forgotten.
“I’m glad you like them because you’ll be wearing one of them.”
Heather pulled out a long Renaissance Princess dress covered in silken stripes of alternating shiny and dull bright blues, lace underskirts peeking out from under the hem. “This one, please!”
Karaklay helped Heather into the garment after Heather stripped to her underwear. Heather slipped her arms into the long pointed sleeves that fit snugly around her, and Karaklay somehow zipped and buttoned the little girl in back up to the base of her hair. Hands? Heather wondered again, thinking she felt fingers against her back. But that’s not right. Karaklay has wings. The were-eagle walked around to face Heather and pulled the bodice tight around her ribs. “Here. Put these on,” she said after she finished the bow at the nape of Heather’s neck.
Karaklay handed Heather one of the pairs of boots from the pile by the dresser. The ivory leather was stamped with an ostrich skin pattern and was laced with ivory ribbon to her knees. Heather wobbled a bit in the wooden heels before she found her footing, and she caught her reflection in an oval mirror beside the dresser. Heather watched herself shake her head, no longer surprised that another piece of furniture had appeared. “Wow,” Heather breathed. “It’s pretty.”
“You look lovely,” Oliver said, grinning from the pillows.
“Wonderful. I’m glad you two approve. Now, for your head and hands.”
“What about them? Heather asked, still admiring herself.
“I need to make you look like a Created.”
The bird woman stood in front of Heather, closed her eyes, and began to chant. Heather watched in the mirror’s reflection with a mix of horror and fascination as her face morphed into a furry hippopotamus! She blinked, and the beady brown glass eyes of the Created hippo in the mirror blinked. Heather opened her mouth and saw wide teeth and long incisors curving from the top and bottom of her mouth, round cheeks the color of her brown hair wrinkling to smile back at her. Heather looked down at her hands – “My hands are still... but in the mirror, they’re... what did you do?”
“Just a spell I picked up. To everyone else, you look like another Created. To you, though, you still have your hands, your face, everything.” Karaklay watched Heather touch her cheek and feel flesh and not plush fur. “It should fool most everyone into thinking you are a Created clown for the Circus of Fantasy. Lavender the Gorilla from Her Room Upstairs is in charge of the newer clowns. You will meet her soon in the large purple tent straight east. Remember to introduce yourself, don’t stare, and curtsey. You’re a Created princess. It’s all you know how to do. Here. Have some breakfast.”
Heather nodded obediently.
Karaklay handed Heather a wicker plate with a thick slice of soft bread smeared with butter and topped with a wedge of orange cheese. A slice of pineapple lay on a torn piece of wax paper next to the bread. She placed a leather bag with a loose flap at her feet. “Eat quickly,” Karaklay said, as Heather began to stuff the food in her mouth. “Here. This bag has some granola in it. Only eat it when no one is looking, understand?”
Heather nodded and slipped the strap of the narrow purse over her shoulder.
“By the sun, you’re going to be late. Good luck.”
Oliver waved from the entrance.

Oliver! The house shouted. Oliver! He saw through a familiar blur that the rabbit was in the chest, but the stuffed animal wasn’t responding to his calls. That rabbit always answers, even if he’s gallivanting in Verdimuir. What in the name of all the Created is going on?
The house moved its consciousness from Heather’s room to her new parents in the living room. The conversation was disconnected, but he strained to hear. Peyton was on the phone. “Yes. Delusions. Rabbit talking… Said hi to house. Don’t know… wife went upstairs. Five foster homes in her short eight years. Poor kid. I’d hide, too.”
Peyton’s conversation was cut short by a scream. The house shot his consciousness upstairs faster than he had thought he could. Jessy’s face was as white as the walls, and she was staring into the cedar chest.