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Heather had a comfortable, lavish cage for the time being.

She laughed to herself about how she would need to readjust to the rush mat in her threadbare room.

But she’d happily barter it all- to return to her scant sleeping quarters beyond the kitchens.

She ran her hand down the silky strand of her wish ribbon.

Perhaps she could wish herself back the way she was?

She dismissed the thought as quickly as it came to her.

Finding a route to the faerie tree in this state was impossible.

Looking left from her private balcony, she could glimpse the large exterior palace window of the library.

The one with the crack. It was raining. Still.

How were Jessa and Mae doing with the propagations?

Jessa was going throughout her routine- but Heather wasn’t in the room with her at night to help ward off Uster.

Her stomach churned like the weather outside.

She paced the rooms of the keep, to discover her new home, but also because she was a ball of anxiety.

She explored the castle slowly, her aching body remaining bogged down by the pain of her transformation.

The first floor held the great hall and a solar, but no kitchen.

A library and a study made up the second story.

Her quarters were on the third, along with two others across the landing of the stairs.

The top level was a nursery, complete with a playroom and a room for lessons.

Her footsteps echoed in the silent, vast halls- emphasizing her loneliness with each step.

She had more comforts here than she did in her daily life- but she was ill at ease- not knowing what to occupy herself with. Her future suddenly untethered.

Satisfied with her understanding of most of the castle layout, she shuffled back to the room she claimed and retreated into bed, pulling the quilt over her head.

Days passed Heather by in a haze. She was limited to communicating through gestures, for the ‘bigs’ refused to stoop down to her level. She hadn’t seen Jessa since the night she was shrunk.

All the rooms of the little castle were magnificent and must have taken many chimes to piece together meticulously.

The tower's base housed the solar room, primarily constructed of stone.

Heather adored the oversized tapestry carpet featuring wildwood lands and a mystical white unicorn.

Two ice blue brocade upholstered settees sat in the center of the room facing one another.

An actual miniature oil painting of court ladies dancing anchored the space between the seats.

The dolls who once occupied this playhouse enjoyed better comforts than she was accustomed.

But she was still just a mouse in a cage.

She was sitting comfortably in the solar room when a young voice cried, “Dolly! Dolly, where are you?” A shadow fell on her home, Heather watched as the princess’s freckled face went from room to room in the hunt for her.

She slumped further into the cushions, hunching over to avoid being easily spotted.

Apparently, the king had approved the princess’ request to ‘care for’ her.

Heather was not enthused. She silently groaned, rose from her seat and walked closer to the edge of the room open to the elements.

She had the urge to run and hide. But reconsidered, fearing she would go hungry.

She reluctantly waved her hands over her head to catch the heir’s attention.

“Ah, there you are! Mum sewed you some garments so we could amuse ourselves dressing up!”

Heather squeaked from surprise when the royal dropped a handful of gowns right on top of her. She stumbled and fell on her bottom. The small child clapped and laughed with glee.

“Put on the ivory dress!” the tiny tyrant demanded. “There’s a tiara in the armoire!”

Heather plucked up the cream gown and scrambled up the stairs to hide behind the changing screen, which she had decidedly placed between the bed and writing desk.

“I brought more dollies!” A thump accompanied the declaration on a lower floor.

Emerging clad in the cream and sage dress, Heather had to praise the queen’s taste in clothing. The garment was more fine than any she had ever owned. The kirtle was a sage brocade, and the outer gown was a smooth silk. Heather caressed the exceptional weave of the skirt.

She found the tiara in the back of the armoire. It shone like actual diamonds. What did they make it from? Was this a refurbished portion of the princess’ bracelet or necklace?

The princess squealed, “It’s perfect! It looks remarkably like my old dress. Do come down to the great hall and greet the others!” Heather made quick work of placing the tiara upon her head. Her ears ached from the princess’ resounding voice. She winced in pain every time the girl spoke.

In the miniature great hall lay four bodies.

The lifeless dolls were incredibly lifelike.

She didn't have to guess who they were supposed to represent.

Purple and gold were the color of royalty.

Laws forbade anyone else from wearing the shades.

And a set of the dolls donned a deep plum.

That, and they were near perfect imitations of the king, queen and the two tiny terrors.

They were superiorly creepy. Heather loathed them on the spot.

The princess placed the wooden figures in seats around the expansive dining table.

The king’s doll struck a lanky figure with graying locks.

Someone outfitted him in a long purple and gold jerkin overcoat and black hose.

The queen’s outfit matched his, with a deep aubergine gown and a fitted bodice with delicate golden embroidery.

The gold of her curls glinted as bright as their crowns atop their heads.

The miniature princess had a pale-yellow frock and an extensive dark braid down her back. The prince’s clothing resembled the kings, but his jerkin was dark blue.

“They’re ready for their sup! Join them at the table!

” The princess liked to get as close as she could to Heather, with her face practically in the room.

Heather struggled to take a seat at the long table.

The princess’ breath created a small windstorm in the chamber.

Finally, Heather sat, and the king’s daughter placed thimbles of proper food at the table.

“Eat, eat!” Insisted the heir. Heather supposed that this was meant to be her dinner. She sighed and rested her chin on her hand. She was not made for this tiny life. She tidied her ribbon, almost knocking the tiara off her head.

The princess gave her a few moments to devour some of her meal hastily, then demanded dancing. Heather twirled around the dining hall until she was dizzy and out of breath.

“Don’t stop!” cried the young girl. But Heather halted her spinning, she must’ve been ‘dancing’ for a solid ten minutes. Out of breath, Heather sank into a chair.

Shockingly, the princess reached in the room and snatched up Heather in her fist. She was being whisked out of the castle and face to eye with the princess, who shrieked, “This doesn’t go with the tiara!

” The girl tugged roughly on Heather’s wish ribbon.

Heather twisted and squirmed, preventing the princess from tearing the ribbon from her head.

She feared being dropped but she could not lose her mother’s ribbon!

“I’ll take it out! Let me!” Heather pleaded.

The princess’s fingers dug into Heather’s side painfully as she placed her back into the house.

Heather reluctantly removed the ribbon from her hair and quickly hid it in her dress pocket.

She dare not leave the ribbon in the princess’ sight, dreading the girl might grab for it.

Heather didn’t think she could be any more uncomfortable…

but she was incorrect. With wheezy, pained breaths, her ribs ached where she had been gripped.

She had only just recovered from shrinking and now she was newly injured.

The princess held up the king doll in front of her, “Kiss him,” she demanded.

Heather edged back from the doll, contemplating fleeing.

But how far would she get? She could snatch her up again in a heartbeat.

She refused to give her first kiss to an inanimate object, especially a replica of the king!

He had claimed enough of her life. She shook her head and crossed her arms in defiance, prepared to meet whatever punishment came her way for defying royalty.

When the girl’s nanny interrupted, “Come along, it’s bedtime. Bid the dolly good night.”

If she could, Heather would’ve lit a candle in thanks for whichever saint had intervened.

Heathers’ ears continued to ring from the princesses’ wailing objections moments later.

Heather collapsed into the chair beside the doll king.

She momentarily closed her eyes and when she reopened them, she gave a small growl in frustration.

She leaned over and slapped His Majesty, tore the crown off his head and threw it out into the hall.

This was his fault. It was the curse meant for him.

If he wasn’t the ass that he was, no one would have acted to poison him.

He assured her that the physician would find a reversal antidote and all would be well.

But days had gone by with no updates. She couldn’t bear much more.

She wanted to return to her normal self.

Could she discover a remedy on her own? She had nowhere else to go, she reasoned.

And if she was in considerable danger in a perfectly suited castle- how disastrous would the outside world be?

Besides, it was impossible to abandon Jessa, they were like sisters. Jessa was no stranger to rejection, and Heather had secretly vowed to never reopen that wound.

She couldn’t run to Jessa for aid, either. If Heather went missing, her friends were the first place the king would suspect.

Heather screamed out her frustration at the top of her lungs. Why not?

No one was listening.

Heather stood. She paced the chamber, finding herself planted before the window of the solar. She peered out into the life-sized library, eyes landing on what appeared to be a pale sand perimeter. It was the strangest thing.

She exited the room and then the castle, determined to make sense of it.

She crouched and scooped up a handful. It was more coarse than sand and pure white, almost translucent.

Sniffing, she observed its lack of any real odor.

She was at a loss when she daringly stuck her tongue out for a taste. But quickly spat it out! Salt! How odd.