Every day before breakfast, Mariela crept out to see the fairy’s maze. She took her mother’s old mirror from the top of its mahogany dresser, blowing off the scraps of crumbling wallpaper, and swiped a scone from the cook’s first batch of the day.
The moment it came off the tree, Nadim sank hungry fingers through the pomegranate’s skin to reach the pips. His nails hit solid rubies.
When I found out there was such a thing as Ratcatcher's Day, I had to make it a writing occasion.