The rascal popped out of the cupboard, a spritely manuever of her body past the packs of teas, so rich that her head spun as she rose and closed the cabinet door behind her, smiling brilliantly and chewing on a piece of licorice. The town was kidding itself to think she wouldn't pick up on its secret paths!
She wanders out into the quiet of the store, the closed sign turned to the glass, shadows mingling with the moonlight, folded tea towels on the edge of the bar, and again the sweetest aroma a child can imagine, and her smile only grows, as she takes one step, heel to toe, heel to toe, arms outstretched, as she noisily chews on her strap of candy, hanging from her mouth.
It was her favourite place to be, where she shouldn't be, and that could be anywhere, anytime, and she lived being there at the time she wasn't meant to be. Her mischivious mind ticked over as slyly, gray blue eyes haunt the perimeters of the silent store, and though not a sound or a peep is made by her, she creeps, bending some and passing beneath the torch light, to climb onto a stool and from the stool onto the counter, where she grins toothily and reaches underneath to peg herself an eclair, a line of whipped cream down the middle, beneath that, rich chocolate-caramel paste. Swinging her feet she happily bites into her treat, and looks about the store, enjoying herself immesensely. On her head was hat she had found, on the hat a pinned button in a heart shape she'd discovered in the inn, and in her pocket a gift bestowed her from a man the size of a tree. She was a collection of things that weren't hers but were ownerless, so she believed they waited for her, no one else would seize them, and she loved her hat, even if it sat too low, too big, its brim hooding her eyebrows and making it difficult to look up, which she was always doing, at adults and the sky, mostly the sky though, as best she could. She was a ragamuffin, an urchin, a ragtag youngin' who was content to have the world her own playground, a giant maze she savoured the journey of puzzling out, this came in the form of conversations with adults, with flowers and stones and seasaws, because to her, everything had a life.
It smelt and felt different in this town to Gotham, which is why she navigated the underground channels after walking through a portal to get here; it was a fire escape from a city that she didn't belong to anymore, and she would be a runaway for as long as she wanted to be, no one knew her whereabouts when she left the room of a mansion, leaving only the maid in a huff, where she stayed in squats or cubbyholes hastily constructed in abandoned places. She liked it here. It was a place she could get used to.
Dropping off the side of the counter in a stretch of arms and legs, she exuberantly paces, arms thrown back and forth in a determined fashion, as she walks to the door and reaches up, with the very tip of a few fingers, to flick the sign around to 'Open'. Satisfied, she grins, and seeing the sunrise out of the window, made her next escape route, out through the bookcase, which revolved, dontchaknow.
She wanders out into the quiet of the store, the closed sign turned to the glass, shadows mingling with the moonlight, folded tea towels on the edge of the bar, and again the sweetest aroma a child can imagine, and her smile only grows, as she takes one step, heel to toe, heel to toe, arms outstretched, as she noisily chews on her strap of candy, hanging from her mouth.
It was her favourite place to be, where she shouldn't be, and that could be anywhere, anytime, and she lived being there at the time she wasn't meant to be. Her mischivious mind ticked over as slyly, gray blue eyes haunt the perimeters of the silent store, and though not a sound or a peep is made by her, she creeps, bending some and passing beneath the torch light, to climb onto a stool and from the stool onto the counter, where she grins toothily and reaches underneath to peg herself an eclair, a line of whipped cream down the middle, beneath that, rich chocolate-caramel paste. Swinging her feet she happily bites into her treat, and looks about the store, enjoying herself immesensely. On her head was hat she had found, on the hat a pinned button in a heart shape she'd discovered in the inn, and in her pocket a gift bestowed her from a man the size of a tree. She was a collection of things that weren't hers but were ownerless, so she believed they waited for her, no one else would seize them, and she loved her hat, even if it sat too low, too big, its brim hooding her eyebrows and making it difficult to look up, which she was always doing, at adults and the sky, mostly the sky though, as best she could. She was a ragamuffin, an urchin, a ragtag youngin' who was content to have the world her own playground, a giant maze she savoured the journey of puzzling out, this came in the form of conversations with adults, with flowers and stones and seasaws, because to her, everything had a life.
It smelt and felt different in this town to Gotham, which is why she navigated the underground channels after walking through a portal to get here; it was a fire escape from a city that she didn't belong to anymore, and she would be a runaway for as long as she wanted to be, no one knew her whereabouts when she left the room of a mansion, leaving only the maid in a huff, where she stayed in squats or cubbyholes hastily constructed in abandoned places. She liked it here. It was a place she could get used to.
Dropping off the side of the counter in a stretch of arms and legs, she exuberantly paces, arms thrown back and forth in a determined fashion, as she walks to the door and reaches up, with the very tip of a few fingers, to flick the sign around to 'Open'. Satisfied, she grins, and seeing the sunrise out of the window, made her next escape route, out through the bookcase, which revolved, dontchaknow.