Deep in The Curious Garden, near the place where an old pond once lay with its beautiful stone banks, the earth has long since been reclaimed by wild growth. Ferns unfurl in every direction, tall grasses whisper secrets, and wild raspberry bushes weave through the ruins like memory.

And there, in the middle of it all, stands an old willow. Its long green branches hang all the way to the ground, like a veil.

A small bird slips through them, quick and quiet. She darts through the thick, syrupy air and lands on the edge of an ancient stone cup. The cup is carved with patterns, worn smooth by time and moss.

Inside, Clara the mermaid stirs. Her wild mane of curls spills lazily over her shoulder as she lets out a dreamy sigh.
"I saw a beautiful pink sunset in my dream today," she whispers. "Everything looked so delicate and lovely in the last light. Pink is so soft, so romantic. Why can't everything be pink? That would be nice, don't you think, Chirpwise?"

As she speaks, tiny lights begin to appear around her. They float slowly, as if underwater, filling the space with soft, trembling light.

One lost little light slipped through a gap in the willow branches, and the wind caught it, carrying it away. It drifted past the wild raspberry bushes, past the ferns, spinning at the mercy of the breeze.

And then it falls.

Right onto a beaver, who is huffing and puffing as he drags a bundle of dry juniper branches behind him.

The light spreads quickly, crawling over the beaver's entire body. Within a moment, he is completely pink.

The beaver pauses. Blinks. Looks around. But noticing nothing unusual, he simply continues on his way.

Tilda Publishing

Evening Reverie of Clara the Mermaid