Where before there had been darkness there was suddenly a blinding white light.

At least, it seemed to be a light at first, but after a few moments they began to realize that they could feel this light, and they could not remember ever having felt light before.

The whiteness around them was scratchy and at times would tickle them under their chins, or would leave an unpleasant itch as it passed over their legs. Then the uncomfortable white light slowly began to wind around their bodies, first gathering at their feet and moving up to cover them entirely. Before either of them could say a word the children were being pulled up and through the air.

Next moment Swain and Verow were thrust upon something hard and flat. As the whiteness unwound from them and began to recede they could see that they were on small stools, and they saw what the whiteness was.

“It’s hair!” said Verow. “And it’s moving!”

Indeed it was, and it filled the entire room. Now it was back and pushed a full teacup into each of their laps. The hair spread like vines up the walls, and covered most everything, but through it they could see a cozy sitting area, made up of a high-backed armchair that was turned away from them so that it could face the lit fireplace.

As soon as we have said it we are mistaken, for now we see that the chair is not turned away towards the fire, but faced the children directly; and amidst the wild ropes of moving hair they could see the small face of an ancient man, who beamed at them both.

“Welcome, Swain and Verow,” he said. “Please excuse my beard; it so likes to entertain the company.”

The beard curled around the legs of their stools and pulled them closer to the man’s chair, where they could feel the warmth of the fireplace.

“Who are you?” asked Swain. Of course he should have asked before he drank the tea.

“Yes, who?” said Verow. “And how do you know our names?”

“Are we in the world of lost things?”

“And have you seen my color?” Verow leaned to see under her stool, as if she might find it there.

A strand of the man’s swirling beard brought over a steaming kettle of tea and refilled their cups, while another strand stacked more wood into the fire and two more rubbed the children’s sore feet. When they were settled in and comfortable the man cleared his throat and began to speak, and they listened well because they were feeling sleepy and wanted a story.

“You come in search of your color, Verow,” the man asked. “Tell me ­­- do you think Mrs. Gordon is worried for you, right now?”

When Verow thought about it she decided that of course Mrs. Gordon would be worried, and really it is true. Should we glance back at her home we would see that the woman still lay in the wreckage of the shelves and glass jars, and her skin was still stuck all over with needles. She had not moved or blinked since noticing Verow’s departure.

“I think so,” said Verow. “We’ve never been apart. She’s my Grownup, after all.”

The man looked Verow over curiously. “What do you think it means to be a Grownup?”

The girl could not say, and remained quiet, so the man went on.

“I will answer your questions,” he said. “It’s time that you learned the truth about your lost color.”

Topher Daniel can be reached at [email protected]