Looking up from the book in her lap, Erin made a disgusted noise.
“That wasn’t very polite,” her mother pointed out.
“So?” Erin slammed the book closed, “this is nothing but rubbish.”
Her mother closed her eyes for a moment, maybe counting to ten which she claimed helped… sometimes.
“It’s a book. It isn’t rubbish.”
“Really?” Erin was quivering with suppressed rage. Her jaw clinched so tight her mother thought her teeth might break.
“Really?” She asked again. She took the book in both hands and slammed it into the floor with an ear splitting scream. “Then where is that stupid Godmother?”
Her mother took another deep breath, “She isn’t real, dear. They are just stories, nothing more.”
Erin got up and went to the window. Dusk had settled across the yard and she could see the street lights beginning to flicker on up and down the street. She was rigid for a moment and her mother wondered if there was to be another outburst.
There was a mumble, too low for her to hear, “What did you say dear?”
Erin turned back to look at the woman sitting across the room, all prim and proper, as much a fairy tale princess as she was ever likely to see.
“I know,” she replied, “I just wish someone could make me a real girl.”