The Trade Chest

The old witch told her exactly what it was. There was no secret about it. But, somehow, she didn’t listen until it told her itself. 

She understood the rules but hoped she could apply them when she wanted to, as she wanted to. Break them, ; bend them. 

The rules though, were more consistent with their application. Rules were made to be fair, not broken.


Not every agreement is in writing, punctuated with a handshake, or sealed with a signature.
What if you opened a wardrobe and, bit-by-bit, Narnia came to you? Would it be just as wonderful or would to mystery turn something sweet into something scary? Would you keep opening the wardrobe to see what came next?

When choice is taken out of the equation, the magic becomes even more real, and the result is the contract of fair trade— whether or not you meant to enter it.

We put gnomes in the garden. We joke about who or what stole our missing socks from the dryer.

Some objects have their own history, a past filled with stories. But what if those objects also have their own ideas and the power to make them a reality?

What laws govern the household magic of the fairies in our flowers, the gnomes in our gardens, and the gremlins in our dryers stealing our socks? Does this magic have a balance? Fair never meant getting exactly what you wanted.

Legends, fables, folklore, and mythology make us wonder, what is family? What is fair? How do we choose who we love? When is it better to let go? 

We believed it was possible for magic to exist. We agreed to let it be part of our world. We agreed to give it power. A dead is a deal. Fair is fair.

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