Emily Casey

I dream that an owl is scratching at the wall over my head. It’s really annoying. I fight to wake up and when I open my eyes, I’m staring at the underside of a wooden table. I smell books… and feet. I’m surrounded by feet.


I crawl out from under the table. I’m in a cramped little room with stone walls. (No doubt—I’m in a castle of some sort.) Ninety percent of the floor space is taken up by the aforementioned table. The other ten percent is occupied by a few small women in small chairs. The women are wearing floor-length dresses just short enough that their bare toes poke out from under their skirts. I guess this fairy tale doesn’t mention much about footwear. Guess I’m not in Cinderella.

The women ignore me. They’re too busy scratching their quills against parchment. I lean over a shoulder and read the old-fashioned writing. It’s an invitation. To a celebration for the princess. Actually, it’s more like a birth announcement and it mentions a time and place. Maybe a baby shower?

Two little men shove stacks and stacks of finished letters into large Santa-esque sacks. Since I’m still being totally ignored, I use this time to think. A fairy tale with a party… Not a ball, but a birthday for a princess.

Sleeping Beauty, of course. I smack myself in the head with my palm, making a slapping sound loud enough to finally get some attention. A nearby woman turns to look at me in shock. “Who are you? What do you want?”

Another woman looks up from her work. “Did the queen send you?”

"Um… yeah.” I clear my throat and throw my shoulders back like I know what I doing. “Yes. Her majesty has changed her mind. Be sure to invite everyone. Do not leave out one single person.”

The first woman’s mouth parts in surprise. “Even the witch.”

I nod smugly. “Even the witch. Invite her. We don’t want to upset or offend anyone.”

The two women nod in agreement and return to their work. I fold my arms in satisfaction and congratulate myself on job well done. Crisis averted.

So why am I still here?