Ginger the Fairy

“I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Brausch asked the air, pushing down hard on her outstretched leg. The resistance was unexpected and completely unacceptable to her.

“No,” the tiny voice called out. “You will most certainly NOT beg my pardon.” Mrs. Brausch’s foot was forced back, toppling the old lady back onto the ground in a frumpy old heap. A miniature little girl floated in the air above Mrs. Brausch’s face, glowing with an inner purplish sort of light, hovering with the aid of tiny, silvery dragonfly-like wings.

“My word!” Mrs. Brausch exclaimed.

“My name is Ginger,” the tiny fairy replied, “and it is my responsibility to keep you alive.”

“What?” a confused Mrs. Brausch said.

“Back when you were but 7 years old, you asked the spirits for a fairy to help protect you, did you not?” Ginger asked.

Mrs. Brausch quickly searched her feeble memory. “Well, yes, I suppose I did. But that was just a childhood game. I can’t—”

“Madam,” Ginger hovered close to Mrs. Brausch’s face. “We fairies do not play games.”

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