Dear diary, It’s my Arrival Day, but no one is around. Festival Season draws near, and everyone scrambles during the changing of the seasons: painting leaves amber, cooling the winds, crafting decorations. But it’s a sleepy afternoon today in which the sun seems to fade faster. No one flitters through the square with cinnamon twigs in tow or beckons the butterflies into hibernation. Nobody teaches the wind how to whistle its wintry song. Looks like everyone went home after dance practice today. The only normal thing is the lingering scent of the sweet shoppe, which always oozes its buttery scent of baked goods. But I'm not hungry. On this day, ten years ago, I arrived on Fairy Island. On my second arrival day, fairies came to my house and gave me a cinnamon cake, just as they had the year before. That was when I was just born. This time, it feels as if they’ve forgotten. I should do something outrageous while no one is watching. I always wondered what it would be like to jump into the Pixie Dust Tree. What if I just climbed into a squirrel's nest, or...tried to swim? No, no. All of that would be dangerous! What do I do with myself? Suppose I could go back to practicing for the Harvest Dance… I don’t know what made me bring my diary to the amphitheater, but I just did. At least I can write while I’m here. The golden sun shines into my eyes when I turn that way. I’m embarrassed to write it, but I tripped on stage today. Luckily, no one is here to watch me like usual. I know the dance steps better than I know the music. My elbow hurts now. As I tread the wooden beams, I could feel nothing but restlessness. My wings keep flapping, buzzing with speed on their own. Afternoon…something special happens in the afternoon. But what?
13 of the Harvest Month, Year 11
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