by Ruby Forrest
She shook her head, straightened her shoulders and felt better immediately. She was going to get through it and it was going to be fine. She heard a chiming over the alarm, a call for her flight and she nodded. Soon enough, she'd be on the plane and on her way to her father. It was the only thought that kept her going, kept her moving forward, kept her body and mind in motion and she was not about to give it up.
She headed towards the boarding area, getting all of her things in order, making her way towards the entrance. It did not take much to get her through- all of her things were in order. She had all her visas since she was younger- her father had made sure of that for her. She was grateful now. A regular flyer, she was used to this and she was comfortable dealing with all of the drama. Plus, no one batted an eye at her travelling, which she was grateful for. She had tried to keep her father's disappearance hushed up, mainly for the publicity of it. If the public knew, there was a chance that the stocks could drop and Isabella- Fae was doing all she could to keep the company afloat, to keep it staying stable and good, and not plummeting under.
The company was important to her father and so it was important to her. For the second time since she woke up, Isabella- Fae could not help but think of her father and how he had lived his life so far, building everything up like he had. Isabella- Fae thought back to her father again, a thought that she seemed to return to all the time, like a constant thing, a constant hum in the back of her head, in her thoughts, one that she just could not seem to quit, or push away. She could not stop thinking about his life and everything that she owed him, everything that he had done for her. It was important to her to honor him, after everything that he had done.
Isabella- Fae shook her head and sighed, making her way up, moving into the plane itself and getting into her seat. It was first class, thanks to the fact that she flew as often as she did and, right now, Isabella- Fae was not going to argue. She was exhausted, even after the coffee and time to rest and to sleep and to get some privacy and good food, was too much to pass up, too much to turn her nose up at. She was lucky and she was grateful and she was definitely in the space to need this today, well and truly.
Isabella- Fae sighed and thought about her destination as she stared out of the window. She was travelling to Africa, to a little country that had faded into obscurity that her father had gone to on some type of trip. Her father loved exploring and searching for artifacts and it seemed like that was what he was doing on this trip. If there was more to it- if he was on a business trip, it had not come up in the records. That was not to say, however, that he hadn't been doing just that. It was often hard to tell with her father, and Isabella- Fae had begun to understand that as she had grown older.
She smiled to herself, feeling fondness twist in her guts as she thought about her father, the man who she cared so deeply for, who she loved and honored and had grown up feeling was invincible. She remembered thinking that nothing could ever happen to her father, because he worked so hard and he was so kind and he seemed to be able to overcome everything. That was a belief that, in a way, she had kept hold of into adulthood, without even realizing it. It was only now, standing and wondering if her father would ever be okay, would ever be back here, that the doubt started to creep in, and she realized that she had been clinging to this false belief.
Yes, he was in danger. She needed to be aware that he could be hurt. She wouldn’t allow herself to think that he might be in a worse state than that. She could not handle the idea and she did not exactly want to, did not exactly want to think of the damage. She sighed and leaned back instead, trying to take her mind off things. She looked through her bag, rummaging around and trying to find something to read, to focus on, and to consider, other than the panic that flooded through her and gripped her skin. Isabella- Fae knew that she could not let herself dwell. Darcy was waiting for her on the other end, a contact of her father’s and she would find out more then. For now, she just had to get through this flight and get out the other side looking sane and in control for her meeting with him. She needed to rest, and reading seemed to be a good way to get her mind to settle, at least in part.
She smiled to herself, an idle sort of smile, as she pulled a book out of her bag and flicked through the pages. Her father had given her this. Apparently, it had been her mothers. It went with her everywhere, whenever she took a bag with her, it came along for the ride. She must have read every story at least a hundred times, but she did not care. Yes, she knew the stories well. Yes, she knew them well and she was moving through them yet again, but it did not matter. What mattered was the way they made her felt. Even the saddest and most frightening story made her feel safe, made her feel comfortable and close to her parents. Even the worst story seemed to hold a great lesson and that was something that Isabella- Fae clung to, unwilling to let go, unwilling to pass up that feeling.
The offspring of the Czar Played with a skipping ball In the May morning, in the Czar's garden, tossing it forward and backward. It fell among the flowerbeds Or fled toward the north entryway. A sunlight moon hung up In the Western sky, bare white. Like Papa's face, said Sister, Hurling the white ball forward.
While I ate a prepared potato Six thousand miles separated, In Brooklyn, in 1916, Aged two, silly. At the point when Franklin D. Roosevelt Was an Arrow Collar advertisement. O Nicholas! Too bad! Tsk-tsk! My granddad hacked in your armed force, Hid in a wine-stinking barrel, For three days in Bucharest Then left for America To end up a lord himself.
I am my's dad, You are your kids' blame. In history's pity and dread The tyke is Aeneas once more; Troy is in the nursery, the shaking horse is ablaze. Tyke work! The youngster must convey His fathers on his back. Yet, seeing that such a great amount of is past And that history has no ruth For the person, Who drinks tea, who comes down with bug, Let outrage be general: I detest a conceptual thing.
Sibling and sister skipped The bouncing, unbroken ball, The shattering sun tumbled down Like swords upon their play, Moving eastbound among the stars Toward February and October. In any case, the Maywind brushed their cheeks Like a mother watching rest, And if for a minute they battle About the ricocheting ball And sister squeezes sibling And sibling kicks her shins, Well! The core of man is known: It is a desert flora sprout.
I am my's dad, You are your kids' blame. In history's pity and dread The tyke is Aeneas once more; Troy is in the nursery, the shaking horse is ablaze. Tyke work! The youngster must convey His fathers on his back. Yet, seeing that such a great amount of is past And that history has no ruth For the person, Who drinks tea, who comes down with bug, Let outrage be general: I detest a conceptual thing.
The ground on which the ball skips Is another bobbing ball. The wheeling, spinning world Makes no will happy. Turning in its spotlight dimness, It is too enormous for their hands. A savage, purposeless Thing, Arbitrary and unspent, Made for no play, for no youngsters, But pursuing just itself. The pure are surpassed, they are not guiltless.
They are their dad's fathers, The past is unavoidable. Presently, in another October Of this sad star, I see my second year, I eat my prepared potato. It is my buttered world, But, jabbed by my unlearned hand, It tumbles starting from the highchair And I start to yell. What's more, I see the ball move under The iron door which is bolted. Sister is shouting, sibling is yelling, The ball has sidestepped their will.
Indeed, even a bobbing ball Is wild, And is under the garden divider. I am surpassed by fear Thinking of my dad's fathers, And of my own will.
She clung to it now, as she opened up the book, flicking to the page of one of her favorite stories, while the airplane readied itself for takeoff, airhostesses running up and down and sorting it all out. She was ready, ready for whatever came, when the plane took off. Instead of focusing on them, she focused on the words in front of her.
Isabella- Fae looked up as she felt the hum of the engine beneath her, the dull roar that moved through her body like a hum, trembling and leaving her a little breathless. She loved take of
f, no matter how she looked at it. It felt good. It was exhilarating, it was something that she enjoyed, something that she liked.
It was the center of winter, when the wide drops of snow were falling near, that the ruler of a nation numerous thousand miles off sat working at her window. The casing of the window was made of fine dark coal black, and as she sat watching out upon the snow, she pricked her finger, and three drops of blood fell upon it. At that point she looked keenly upon the red drops that sprinkled the white snow, and stated, 'Would that my little girl might be as white as that snow, as red as that blood, and as dark as this midnight windowframe!' And so the young lady truly grew up; her skin was as white as snow, her cheeks as blushing as the blood, and her hair as dark as black; and she was called Snowdrop.
In any case, this ruler passed on; and the lord soon wedded another spouse, who progressed toward becoming ruler, and was exceptionally excellent, yet so conceited that she couldn't stand to feel that anybody could be handsomer than she was. She had a pixie mirror, to which she used to go, and after that she would look at herself in it, and say: 'Let me know, glass, disclose to me genuine!
Of the considerable number of women in the land, Who is most attractive, let me know, who?' And the glass had dependably replied: 'Thou, ruler, workmanship the most attractive in all the land.' But Snowdrop developed increasingly lovely; and when she was seven years of age she was as brilliant as the day, and more attractive than the ruler herself. At that point the glass one day addressed the ruler, when she went to look in it obviously: 'Thou, ruler, craftsmanship reasonable, and beauteous to see, But Snowdrop is lovelier far than thee!' When she heard this she turned pale with fierceness and envy, and called to one of her hirelings, and stated, 'Take Snowdrop away into the wide wood, that I may never observe her any more.' Then the worker drove her away; however his heart softened when Snowdrop beseeched him to save her life, and he stated, 'I won't hurt you, thou pretty tyke.' So he exited her independent from anyone else; and however he thought it in all probability that the wild brutes would tear her in pieces, he felt as though an incredible weight were removed his heart when he had decided not to execute her but rather to abandon her to her destiny, with the shot of somebody finding and sparing her.
At that point poor Snowdrop meandered along through the wood in extraordinary dread; and the wild brutes thundered about her, yet none did her any damage. At night she went to a bungalow among the slopes, and went in to rest, for her little feet would convey her no further. Everything was spruce and slick in the cabin: on the table was spread a white material, and there were seven little plates, seven little pieces, and seven little glasses with wine in them; and seven blades and forks laid all together; and by the divider stood seven little beds.
She loved flying, loved everything about it. She loved being high about the clouds, feeling the dizzying heights that swept her up in their arms, the way that the clouds rushed beneath, and around, the way that all of the problems of the earth seemed to disappear, even if just for a moment or two. It was bliss. It was everything that she needed to feel like she could breathe, if just for a moment, she turned back to her book.
As she was exceptionally eager, she picked a little bit of each roll and drank an almost no wine out of each glass; and after that she figured she would rests and rest. So she attempted all the little beds; however one was too long, and another was too short, till finally the seventh suited her: and there she laid herself down and rested. Before long in came the bosses of the cabin. Presently they were seven little midgets that lived among the mountains, and burrowed and looked for gold.
They illuminated their seven lights, and saw without a moment's delay that all was wrong. The principal stated, 'Who has been perched on my stool?' The second, 'Who has been eating off my plate?' The third, 'Who has been picking my bread?' The fourth, 'Who has been intruding with my spoon?' The fifth, 'Who has been taking care of my fork?' The 6th, 'Who has been cutting with my blade?' The seventh, 'Who has been drinking my wine?' Then the primary looked round and stated, 'Who has been lying on my bed?' And the rest came racing to him, and everybody shouted out that some individual had been upon his bed. However, the seventh saw Snowdrop, and called all his brethren to come and see her; and they shouted out with ponder and amazement and conveyed their lights to take a gander at her, and stated, 'Great sky! What a stunning kid she is!'
And they were extremely happy to see her, and took mind not to wake her; and the seventh diminutive person dozed an hour with every one of alternate smaller people thusly, till the night was no more. Toward the beginning of the day Snowdrop revealed to them all her story; and they felt sorry for her, and said in the event that she would keep everything all together, and cook and wash and weave and turn for them, she may stay where she was, and they would take great care of her. At that point they went out throughout the day to their work, looking for gold and silver in the mountains: however Snowdrop was left at home; and they cautioned her, and stated, 'The ruler will soon discover where you are, so fare thee well and let nobody in.'
But the ruler, now that she thought Snowdrop was dead, trusted that she should be the handsomest woman in the land; and she went to her glass and stated: ‘Let me know, glass, disclose to me genuine! Of the considerable number of women in the land, Who is most attractive, let me know, who?' And the glass replied: 'Thou, ruler, craftsmanship the most attractive in this land: But finished the slopes, in the greenwood shade, Where the seven smaller people their abode have made, There Snowdrop is concealing her head; and she Is lovelier far, O ruler! than thee.' Then the ruler was particularly scared; for she realized that the glass dependably talked reality, and was certain that the worker had deceived her.
Isabella- Fae sighed at the story, feeling a twist in her chest. This was one of the harder ones, one of the stories that brought tears to her eyes, that made her heart ache and her body tremble. Still, it held true no matter the story- but it did not matter. What mattered was the way they made her feel. Even the saddest and most frightening story made her feel safe, made her feel comfortable and close to her parents. Even the worst story seemed to hold a great lesson and that was something that Isabella- Fae clung to, unwilling to let go, unwilling to pass up that feeling. No matter the story, she felt safe and she felt home and Isabella- Fae loved that.
What's more, she couldn't stand to believe that anybody lived who was more delightful than she was; so she dressed herself up as an old pedlar, and went her way finished the slopes, to where the smaller people stayed. At that point she thumped at the entryway, and cried, 'Fine products to offer!' Snowdrop watched out at the window, and stated, 'Great day, great lady! what have you to offer?' 'Great products, fine products,' said she; 'bands and bobbins of all hues.' 'I will give the old woman access; she is by all accounts a decent kind of body,' thought Snowdrop, as she kept running down and unbolted the entryway.
'Favor me!' said the old lady, 'how gravely your stays are bound! Give me a chance to bind them up with one of my pleasant new bands.' Snowdrop did not dream of any wickedness; so she remained before the old lady; yet she set to work so deftly, and pulled the trim so tight, that Snowdrop's breath was ceased, and she tumbled down as though she were dead. 'There's a conclusion to all thy magnificence,' said the resentful ruler, and left home. At night the seven midgets returned home; and I require not state how lamented they were to see their devoted Snowdrop extended upon the ground, as though she was very dead.
Nonetheless, they lifted her up, and when they found what afflicted her, they cut the trim; and in a brief period she started to inhale, and soon sprung up once more. At that point they stated, 'The old lady was simply the ruler; take mind some other time, and let nobody in when we are away.' When the ruler returned home, she went straight to her glass, and addressed it as previously; yet to her awesome sadness despite everything it stated: 'Thou, ruler, workmanship the most attractive in this land: But finished the slopes, in the greenwood shade, Where the seven smaller people their ho
me have made, There Snowdrop is concealing her head; and she Is lovelier far, O ruler! than thee.' Then the blood ran frosty in her heart with hate and malevolence, to see that Snowdrop still lived; and she dressed herself up once more, however in very another dress from the one she wore previously, and took with her a harmed brush.
Isabella- Fae shuddered as she set the book down and looked out of the window again. The thought struck her for a second time- She loved flying, loved everything about it. She loved being high about the clouds, feeling the dizzying heights that swept her up in their arms, the way that the clouds rushed beneath, and around, the way that all of the problems of the earth seemed to disappear, even if just for a moment or two. It was bliss. It was everything that she needed to feel like she could breathe, if just for a moment. She stared out of the window, smiling at feeling so high above it all, so high above all of her worries and stresses. She felt good, felt the fresh air, the feeling of being able to breathe, even in a locked up plane. Feeling more settled, like she actually had a moment to rest, Isabella- Fae shivered and settled back in her seat. With a faint smile on her face, she turned back to her book.
When she achieved the smaller people's house, she thumped at the entryway, and cried, 'Fine products to offer!' But Snowdrop stated, 'I set out not let anybody in.' Then the ruler stated, 'Just take a gander at my lovely brushes!' and gave her the harmed one. Also, it looked so beautiful, that she took it up and place it into her hair to attempt it; yet the minute it touched her head, the toxin was powerful to the point that she tumbled down silly. 'There you may lie,' said the ruler, and went her direction. However, by good fortunes the diminutive people came in early that night; and when they saw Snowdrop lying on the ground, they thought what had happened, and soon discovered the harmed brush. Furthermore, when they took it away she got well, and disclosed to them all that had passed; and they cautioned her afresh not to open the way to anybody. Interim the ruler went home to her glass, and shook with seethe when she read the extremely same answer as previously; and she stated, 'Snowdrop might bite the dust, in the event that it cost me my life.' So she passed independent from anyone else into her chamber, and prepared a harmed apple: the outside looked exceptionally blushing and enticing, however whoever tasted it was certain to bite the dust. At that point she dressed herself up as a worker's better half, and flew out finished the slopes to the smaller people's house, and thumped at the entryway; however Snowdrop put her take off of the window and stated, 'I set out not let anybody in, for the diminutive people have let me know not.' 'Do however you see fit,' the old lady, 'yet at any rate take this pretty apple; I will give it you.' 'No,' said Snowdrop, 'I set out not take it.' 'You senseless young lady!' addressed the other, 'what are you apprehensive of? Do you think it is harmed? Come! Do you eat one section, and I will eat the other.' Now the apple was so made up that one side was great, however the opposite side was harmed.