The Little Girl Who Fixed a Rotting House

 There was once a house where things went to die. It was the kind of place that sucked the living soul out of a person. Or a thing. The staircases, halls, and rooms all went to rot beyond repair. Even a book could enter into the house with all the best of ambitions and the highest will to pass its words from mind to mind — but it would not fulfill its goal. Instead, the ink would fade from its pages and the binding would crumble into dust. It would be best not to think much about the person who would enter such a house.

    At least, this was how the story began.

    It was a little girl that changed the house. She had been a most careful watcher, and witnessed that what went in did not come out, save in a box. It did not take many boxes for her to understand; she had that kind of soul.

    It was that kind of soul that filled her with a desperate desire to change the house. Yet, she could not do it from the inside. Instead, she took handfuls of soil, and tossed it in through a window. Next came flower seeds. And lastly, cups of water. All thrown haphazardly and with great expectation.

    Then she settled down to wait.

    No bloom pushed out from the window.

    No sudden green popped out.

    But, one day, the door opened. The little girl peered inside. She could see books lining the walls, their bindings intact. Stairs wound up to a second level, sturdily settling themselves between the floor and ceiling. The halls moved from room to room. And when the little girl peaked in a little further, she saw an old woman with a wide smile across her face. 

    The old woman beckoned the girl to enter.

    The girl might not have done it. She might have been too afraid.

    But then she would have missed the entrance to fairy land. For how could such a house, fixed with soil and flowers, be anything but a gateway to realms of magic?

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