| August 3rd, 2006 |
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*steps forward with a sheepish smile* Ah, hello, everyone. I’m Jacob Grimm, and, er, I’m a collector of sorts. Of stories. And folklore. My brother Will and I, we—well, we’re kind of at a loss for work at the moment, but I suppose you’d call us travelers.
I understand the, er… residents of this particular community are from all different places and times, yes? As for myself, I was born in Kassel, Germany, and the current year is 1811. In any case, I’m glad to be here, and whoever and whenever you are I look forward to any discussions we’ll be having in the future.
Comment hereMood:  anxious |
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The sun was setting now, and the village of Marbaden was still consumed in a joyous party. From within the tavern the laughs got ever more raucous, while outside the musicians played on, the dancers danced, and the sky was turning a hazy pink.
“Mr. Grimm?”
Jacob looked down. A gold-tressed, wide-eyed little cherub, just old enough not to be called child anymore, blinked up at him. It was Lily, Angelika’s youngest sister. The girl curtsied with a timid bounce, holding out the edge of the white dress she wore—the same dress they’d all worn in the crypts.
“My sister said it would be alright for me to ask you to dance,” she said with a practiced tone. “Would you like to?”
Her precociousness was irresistible. Jacob held out his hand with a smile. “It would be my pleasure, lady,” he said, feeling like a hero.
The girls were all scattered in the crowd still, too exhilarated to go to bed, laughing and dancing and playing games as if nothing had changed. Caught up in the enthusiasm, he picked Lily straight up off the ground and spun with her as the music reeled, and her laughter was like a bell.
He wondered later, as she went to rejoin the others, to giggle and twirl and chase each other around the square, if they remembered any of the ordeal; were in any way changed by what had happened to them. The way these stories went, they would either emerge stronger and more resilient in order to face the world, or the memory would eventually fade away, leaving only the sense of a vanished dream.
He wasn’t sure which one to hope for.Mood:  wistful |
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