Once all the carriages had disappeared over the hill, the forest grew quiet.
The tree near the cottage rustled. The pink bird fluttered down from the branch and landed on the soft grass. Her feathers shimmered in the morning light, soft and pink like the blossoms still drifting through the air.
Then she shifted.
Her wings folded into arms. Her beak softened into lips. Her feathers became a dress, pink and flowing, that swayed in the breeze.
A little girl stood where the bird had been.
She had pink hair, long and silky, that fell past her shoulders. Her eyes were the color of clear water, pale and bright, with flecks of pink that sparkled when she moved. Her skin was creamy and soft, her cheeks dusted with freckles, her lips red like ripe berries.
She looked like a doll. A perfect, porcelain, impossibly beautiful doll.
She watched the road where the carriages had disappeared.
"Peach will miss you," she said softly.
