junie st. james, d7 (cb)

If you are looking for Junie, you will find her outside, playing hopscotch with the pigeons and forest nymphs. Her pockets will be filled with stolen watches and jam sandwiches. She lost track of the time, she will say. 

The way Junie’s father tells the story, she was found in the forest, tucked away in a grove filled with bluebells. She was a tiny infant with rose-blush cheeks, wrapped in a blanket of moss. They found her while out walking, down a long and winding path, and, although they took her home and tried to make her human, she never really let go of the forest that birthed her. It wasn’t a lie, not really.

Pa was far more practical. He told her an approximation of the truth; that they had wanted her, badly, that she was always supposed to be a part of their family. That the woman who had carried her, although not her mother, had been generous and good, and given them a gift they could never repay in the form of a small, scraggly child with mud on her face and a fire in her heart.

Junie is sorry. She didn't mean it, not really.