The old oak watched over them, its twisted branches creating a shelter for those it loved. Mother and daughter sat under the tree, both so much like each other with their raven black hair and porcelain skin. Where the daughter had freckles, the mother had scars, all across her face and arms. But the daughter never noticed.
Together they laughed and told stories, tales of a time when everyone was magic and the land was filled with wonder.
The sun began to set, and the daughter looked up at the tree. She had flowers in her hair, flowers she had picked while listening to the mother's stories. "Mama," the daughter asked, "where does that door go?"
The mother also looked at the tree, not letting the daughter see how confused she was, for she saw no door. "Why, it goes to the land of Faerie."
"The land in our stories?"
The mother scooped her daughter up in her arms, tickling her. The daughter squealed with laughter, and when the mother put her down again, she answered. "Yes, the land in our stories."
The daughter went up to the tree, and tried to open the door that only she could see. She frowned, and looked at her mother. "Why won't it open?"
The mother thought for a moment. "Because it's not time."
"Will it be time soon?"
"I hope so, my little lamb. I very much hope so."
Soon after, the mother and daughter stopped going to the tree, and the world grew a little darker, a little dirtier. The tree continued to stand watch, but it was lonely and wished the mother and the daughter would come back and tell the stories of that magical land.
The years passed.
The daughter was ready.
It was time to open the door.
This book is suited for young adults. This is a complete story, and is about 20,000 words long.