Devoted

There once was a little girl troll with fluffy pink hair and a fluffy pink tutu to wear. Permanently etched upon her face was a goofy grin that stretched from ear to ear. Her name was Anna, and she stood no more than six inches high, her parents, ten inches. And every day, when their artistica returned home from school, Anna’s parents would remind her to stand still on her shelf in the artistica’s bedroom, and to be quiet. It wasn’t difficult for Anna to be quiet, or to stand still – except when the artistica was concentrating on her homework, or working out another one of her magic spells or charms that she hoped would bring her colorful toy trolls to life.

Whenever their artistica was lying on her bed, on her stomach, and concentrating on her homework, Anna was twirling silently upon her shelf. Her parents didn’t move, they didn’t even blink if, and when, Anna’s foot came dangerously close to slipping off the edge of the shelf. The other trolls, standing on the shelves above and below Anna’s, would lean forward to watch for Anna’s foot and tutu, and would gasp in a delicious silence if, and when, Anna’s antics brought her too close to revealing their forced devoted presence. If the artistica was standing and attempting to do magic at her dresser with her back toward the wall where Anna and the other trolls stood while she was in the room, Anna would close her eyes tight, cover her mouth and giggle just loud enough for all the other trolls on her shelving unit to hear. But all of this was before Kiki, the witch dominant of all the house trolls, had caught Anna’s impulsive attempts to sever the invisible, yet protective, barrier between the humans and the magical beings who protect them from themselves.

When Kiki popped into the house, into the artistica’s bedroom, saw and heard Anna’s inability to follow procedures that had existed since long before she’d been thought of and created, she threw a curse over the entire room that caused everyone, not only Anna, to lose interest in having fun. Anna immediately opened her eyes, stopped giggling, and dropped her hands to her sides. All the other trolls in the room stood up straight, lost all expression, and stared straight ahead – their single item of clothing left unaffected in order to convey some sense of their individual personalities.

Even the artistica lost all interest in having fun. Immediately. The artistica set all her magic possessions down on her dresser and sighed deeply. She’d been practicing for five years, ever since she’d first found the tiny six inch troll at a garage sale, but still hadn’t been able to produce anything that even slightly resembled magic. Her mother had told her the tales from her own childhood, about how the troll dolls protected their owners with magic – if, and only if, the owners themselves were carriers of magic, which meant containing a piece of magic within their hearts. Her mother had also told her that she was lucky enough to be a carrier of magic and would be able to communicate with the trolls and their witch dominant – if, and only if, her magic could bring them to life. The artistica turned around and scowled at the trolls she’d been collecting since the age of eight. Her mother had lied to her. There was no such thing as magic, no protection to be had from these trolls, and no witch dominant. She understood now. Her mother had simply repeated an old fairy tale, and as a soon-to-be high school freshman, she was far too old to believe in such crazy, far-fetched, fairy tales.

The artistica gathered up her magic possessions, the twenty-five or six trolls that were standing upon the shelves on her walls, and dropped them into a small trash bag. Her mother was having a garage sale in a few days. She could put this bag of trash out there for a dollar, maybe two if she shared the fairy tale, and be done with it. Grow up some. Finally. After all, she’d be a high school freshman in a few more weeks and who wants to be restricted by outdated beliefs of magic when they go to high school?