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The first time, Charlotte O’ Hagen could accept that it was merely an accident.
The young girl, the little knocker upper, was one of Cross Street’s many, many arcanists. She was an arcanist who could control the winds, which was useful for the smoggy London air.
…Though she could not say it was useful when it broke her window. “Sorry! I’m sorry!” The girl cried, going to crouch down to pick up what she could.
“Don’t.” Charlotte grumbled, snapping her fingers, her arcane energy swirling around the room, making the glass float up in the air and into the trash.
The girl watched it all in awe, her eyes wide and glittering in excitement “Woah…could you teach me how to do that?!”
Charlotte clicked her tongue, her patience already growing thin and the familiar ache of her joint creeping up on her.
She didn’t have the energy to yell at the accidental little intruder, who seemed to be looking around the room in curiosity and childlike wonder.
She decides she doesn’t have to yell. “Get out.”
The little girl seemed to get the message. Still, her cheer and excitement didn’t seem to waver. “Oh, alright then…bye bye, Miss Fog Lady!”
A gust of wind blew through the room, nearly blowing her hat off her head.
The little intruder was gone with the wind.
(Later in the night, lying in her bed with her prosthetic removed and nothing to entertain her but her thoughts, she realized the little intruder called her the Fog Lady, not the Fog Hag.)
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The second time, Charlotte knew it wasn’t an accident- the little girl had sought her out on purpose.
She was confused by the knock on her door. Any sane person knows to stay away from the wicked witch of Cross Street.
More importantly, who distracted her garden critters and how?
She opened the door, poking her head out ever so slightly to see who managed to break through her defenses.
She was met by tiny hands holding up a jar of…snails?
The jar of snails moved aside, revealing the innocent face of a small child. The same little intruder who broke her window.
She glanced over to her critters.
They were eating snails.
How many snails did this odd little child catch?! Where did she even get them all?!
The little girl blinked up at her innocently, the snail jar held up “Good Afternoon! I-”
The door was slammed shut before she could continue.
From outside her window, she heard the innocent confusion of “Huh…maybe she don’t eat snails like Freddy said.”
<><><><><>
The third time was a thunderstorm, and Charlotte struggled to move her joints to practice her Floor Ritual as she always did.
It made her feel weak.
Pathetic.
A dead black swan, a disgrace to her god, a cripple-
There was a knock at her door.
What? Who in their right mind would be out in this weather?
She could barely walk. She wasn’t going to get up to open the door-
The knocking got even more urgent. “Miss Fog Lady!” …Of course.
Why hasn’t this girl given up yet?
She pressed her lips together, the intrusive thought creeping in and sticking to the forefront of her mind. She may not have anywhere to go.
It made sense. Her clothes were tattered and sewn together, she still tried to talk to her despite the warnings.
Letting out a defeated sigh, she hobbled over to the door, trying her best to ignore the stiffness and ache in her leg.
She glanced over at her nearly empty jar of snail essence. She would need to go to the apothecary soon.
Finally, she opened the door, her tone harsh but not too cruel. “Come in. Sit near the fireplace.”
The small girl perked up in excitement. Her clothes were soaked, dripping onto the floor. She rushed in, sitting down to dry near the fire.
Charlotte pressed her lips together, flicking her wrist to clean the water. She’d do it herself, but her damned leg…
She managed to stumble her way back onto her chair, keeping an eye on the small girl, who seemed focused on getting warm and dried up.
It was silent, but it was an oddly serene silence. Not one Charlotte was used to with a child.
After a long moment, the girl turned to look at Charlotte “Is your real name really the Fog Lady?”
Ah. So she wanted to talk now.
Charlotte chose to ignore her.
The little girl pouted a little, but perked up again, deciding to continue the conversation on her own “That’s okay, I lost my real name once. Most people call me Flutterpage!”
Charlotte stood up, trying her best not to hobble into the kitchen to make a kettle of tea.
The girl- Flutterpage- carried on “I should call ya somethin’, shouldn’t I? You have lotsa willow trees outside…I’m gonna call you Miss Willow!”
Charlotte put two cups of tea on the table, a silent offering to the young girl.
It was only to warm her up to make her leave faster. Nothing more.
The girl’s eyes widened a little, but she seemed to figure where to cut her battles.
Flutterpage accepted the tea, taking a little sip and trying not to spit it out. It was so bitter…
A small bowl of sugar appeared in front of the little girl, and she immediately poured the whole thing in. Charlotte wrinkled her nose at the sight. Still, no words were spoken.
Flutterpage took a sip, humming happily with the sweetness “Sooo…can I call you Miss Willow?”
Finally, Charlotte sighed. “If it gets you to leave, then very well.”
Flutterpage lit up like one of the many street lights- perhaps even brighter.
Charlotte didn’t try to reflect on why she smiled behind the rim of her cup.