…there lived a lady named Ivy. Ivy loved nothing more than to walk along the seafront or in the woods behind her house. But she often got lonely. One lonely day Ivy pulled her old sewing and bric-a-brac boxes out and began to play.
First, she found some pipe-cleaners and made a rough body shape. Then she added beads for hands, feet and a head, and wound the pipe-cleaners in wool and tapestry silks. She added hair and painted on a face, then finally a beautiful skirt of wools, silks, ribbons and other old ends.
“Well, aren’t you beautiful?” she commented, partly to herself, “But there’s something missing…” Raking through her box she found a bag full of gauzy wide ribbon. “Ahh,” she muttered, “Wings. Of course.” She skillfully clipped the wings and attached them to her creation. By now the light was fading, and Ivy was tired, so she put aside her glasses and took herself to bed.
The next morning, Ivy awoke early and wandered through to the kitchen to fetch her morning cup of tea. Glancing over at the work bench she was surprised to see her sewing box neatly ordered, ribbons and laces rolled and pinned, spools of cotton in neat rows and piles of fabric folded in neat squares.
“That’s odd,” she thought aloud, “I don’t remember doing that at all!”
“That’s because you didn’t!” came the reply. “I did.”
Ivy had never been a jumpy girl and age had not changed that. She had lived through the air raids of the Blitz, afterall, and if that hadn’t made her jumpy nothing would! Nevertheless, her teacup clattered in its saucer. Ivy fumbled for her glasses as the fairy settled on the saucer.
“I’m Fleur,” she explained, trying to right the teacup. “Pleased to meet you.”
