Lost Things & Bad Decisions

Prologue - The Door That Wasn't There

Merry Thistlewick was seven years old when she found the door.

It was a very small door.

Merry had walked this path home hundreds of times before, and she was certain it hadn't been there yesterday.

Or the day before.

Or ever.

It was set into the trunk of an enormous old tree, no taller than Merry herself. Its frame was crooked, painted a strange, shimmering blue, and decorated with tiny silver stars.

Merry's long ears drooped forward as she crouched beside it.

There was a little silver handle.

She glanced over her shoulder.

The path home was empty.

Her mother had told her not to wander.

Merry knew that.

She also knew that ordinary doors didn't usually grow inside trees.

Which meant this was probably important.

Very carefully, she reached out.

The moment her tiny fingers touched the handle, the door clicked.

Merry's eyes widened.

"Oh."

She opened it.

Beyond the door was not the inside of a tree.

There was a forest beneath a violet sky.

Glowing flowers covered the ground. Silver leaves floated upward instead of falling. Tiny lights danced between enormous mushrooms, and somewhere far away, something was singing a tune Merry had never heard before.

It was beautiful.

It was impossible.

And it was the most interesting thing Merry had ever seen.

She stepped through.

The door swung shut behind her.

---

Her parents searched for her.

They searched the forest.

They searched the roads.

They searched every creek, field and little hiding place Merry had ever discovered.

They called her name until they were exhausted.

But there was no trace of their daughter.

No footprints.

No belongings.

No explanation.

And no blue door.

Only an ordinary tree.

Days became weeks.

Weeks became months.

Only a few months passed on the Material Plane.

Merry's parents never decided that she was gone.

They couldn't.

They simply kept hoping.

But something else was happening.

Something they couldn't see.

They began to forget.

At first, it was little things.

Her mother couldn't remember which bedtime story Merry liked best.

Her father forgot the exact sound of her laugh.