hwango

Well, children, here we are again. How do we keep finding ourselves in this situation? Karma? Fate? The universe's whimsically malicious sense of humor? Never mind. All of you sit down while I try to think of an appropriate tale.

Once, long ago, a pair of wicked, lazy, disrespectful children became lost in a dark and mysterious forest. They were brother and sister, and their names were -

What? No. Of course they weren't Hansel and Gretel. What kind of lesson would that story teach you? Never eat someone else's house? Don't trust cannibals? I admit those are good rules to live by, but I like to think my stories give more practical advice. You children don't associate with a lot of cannibals, do you? Alright then.

These children were named Reginald and Beatrice. Beatrice was Reginald's elder by a few years, but she was no more responsible or trustworthy than her brother. She should have made sure they stayed on a familiar path, or marked their trail, or perhaps brought a map. Instead, she had allowed them to become lost.

"We're lost!" wailed Reginald. "Now we shall be eaten by bears, or wolves, or carnivorous trees! This is all your fault!"

Now we've already established that Beatrice bore a great deal of the blame for their situation, but panicking and shouting accusations will almost never help you out of a crisis, and so Reginald was also clearly in the wrong. The two of them wasted several precious moments of daylight arguing and scuffling, and if they had been eaten by carnivorous trees during that time they would have had only themselves to blame. Eventually, however, they grew tired of fighting, and returned their attention to trying to find their way. After several minutes of aimless wandering, Beatrice spotted a wispy column of smoke rising into the sky. Heading towards it, the two children eventually stumbled across a small cottage.

No, it was not made of candy. How many times must I tell you that this isn't the story of Hansel and Gretel? This cottage was made of perfectly ordinary-seeming wood. Beatrice and Reginald barged right in the front door without knocking or even pausing to wipe the mud from their feet. They both shouted belated greetings to see if anyone was home. When no one answered, Reginald went looking for the kitchen to see if there was any food to steal, and Beatrice wandered through the tiny rooms keeping an eye out for anything valuable that would fit in her pockets. They were very wicked children indeed.

Beatrice soon found herself in a sort of workshop or laboratory filled with all manner of strange tools and funny little bottles and jars. Many of the jars sported neat little labels written in elegant, flowing script. They said things like "Oake Ash," or "Sulphur," or "Crocodile Teares," or "Cinnamon." One in particular caught Beatrice's eye. It claimed to contain Pixie Dust.

She unscrewed the lid and peered instead, finding the jar filled with a glittery, multicolored, metallic powder. With total disregard another person's property, or good laboratory practices, she jammed her fingers into the jar and grabbed some. She then hurled it into the air and clapped in delight at the shimmering, sparkling cloud that appeared. This clapping resulted in a somewhat smaller cloud, part of which she inhaled. This lead to a painful coughing fit which rather spoiled her sense of awe and wonder. Also, it turned her into a newt.

Reginald, meanwhile, had found the larder, and was stuffing himself with different kinds of jam and honey and bread with shameless abandon. A less wicked child would have at least told his sister about the food, and of course an even less wicked child wouldn't be stealing food in the first place. A more cautious child might have paid more attention to the labels on the jams, and a child better schooled in the alchemical culinary arts would have known not to eat marmalade made from Cockatrice Peaches unless standing in full sunlight. And so, due to Reginald's many failings, he turned to stone.

A few minutes later, the owner of the cottage returned home from setting pixie traps to discover that someone had broken into his home, wasted his pixie dust, and eaten his jam. He was understandably very cross.

The lesson to be learned here is never to leave a fire burning in the fireplace when you go out, and always to lock your door, or you could return home to any number of unpleasant surprises. Also, if you ever find yourself in the home of a witch, alchemist, thaumaturge, or really anyone who owns a lot of strange substances stored in jars, don't just start sticking your hands in things and eating stuff. That's both rude and stupid.