As the night transformed into the day, the sunlight began to pour over the little town. The light leaked through holes in the curtains of the little house on the hill, with a single beam reaching the dusty clock on the tattered wall. The outside resembled a dreamy medieval castle, its stones caked with dust and ware. A small navy and emerald peacock appeared out of the door, its nasal-like chirps resembling coughing rather than crowing. It coughed seven times before retreating to its home. Evelyn, her eyes closed, shot wide open at the end of the seventh cough. She sat up straight, her cogs still ticking, as she made her way to her mirror. She analyzed her image carefully. Evelyn brushed off her dress, adjudged her bow, and poofed up her curls as she turned towards her bed once more. She removed the picture of the night, and once again placed the picture of the supposed outside back up on the wall. Before leaving the room, she picked up Bruno and held him close in her arms.
Evelyn glided over to her bedroom door and made her way to her father’s room. She knocked on his door three times. No more, no less.
“Come in, Evie,” the old man answered on the other side, “My knees are starting to bonk up.”
Evelyn opened the door to see Nick-Nack sitting upright in his bed. He looked well-rested, happier than other mornings. She walked over to the side of his bed, helping him out of bed as the morning light peered past the breaks in the curtain. The old man took her arm as he pulled himself, albeit slowly, out of bed. He let out a soft grunt as his feet reached the floor, yet another morning under his cap. He grabbed the elegant cane by his bedside table, steadying himself.
Seeing that her father was stable, Evelyn glided to his dresser, carefully taking his clothes out of each respective drawer. She picked out an off-white undershirt, a caramel waistcoat, and a deep tangerine jacket. She laid them out on the bed as Nick-Nick smiled before returning to the dresser. She took out his coffee-coloured shirt pants, and a dark tangerine bow to match the father’s weathered jacket. He smiled, thanked his creation, and Evelyn left the room, closing the door behind her. She squirmed around excited, knowing that Gastone would be arriving soon. She shuffled over to the beat-up mirror in the workshop, dusting off her dress and freshening up her bow. After quickly grabbing a haggard cloth, she used it to wipe up her face. She gave her reflection a supportive nod as Nick-Nack left his room, fully dressed. He carried himself over to his usual chair, holding tightly on his walking stick. Evelyn wanted to see if Gastone was walking up by the path, but Father said she wasn’t allowed to get too close to the window, which was decorated with raindrops from the outside.
There was a quick, efficient, knock at the door. Evelyn’s attention snapped to the door as Nick-Nack ordered the person to come inside. The key clicked into the keyhole as Gastone opened the door, his silk, black coat trailing behind him as he held onto his hat and book bag. He swiftly shut the door, removing his coat and hat and placing them on the rack next to the door.
“Good morning, Nick-Nack,” Gastone said calmly as he nodded towards his employer who replied with a minor cough, “….and Evelyn.”
Evelyn’s smile grew to nearly her entire face as she fiddled with parts of her skirt. Gastone put his book bag onto the usual spots and took off his hat before turning towards Evelyn.
“Well…Evelyn”, Gaston said calmly as he put his hands together, “Today is Friday, which means we get to pick whatever activity you want to do. Do you want to draw again?”
Evelyn shook her head quickly in disagreement. She quickly shuffled over to her makeshift bedroom and came out with a large book, almost as large as her torso. The cover had gone from a snowy white to a pastel yellow, the spine held together with old tape, the pages smelling like smoke. On the cover was a glass slipper surrounded by ribbons, ribbons that still seemed bright after so many years. She handed the book over to Gastone, whose hand felt hers for a moment. Still cold.
Gastone took a quick look at the book cover, he hadn’t read this story in a very, very long time. Gastone gestured his arm to the large, oak dining room in the middle of the room where many lessons had once taken place. Evelyn made her way towards it before stopping suddenly in her tracks. She once again ran to her room, grabbing Bruno, and made her way over to the table. Gastone was already sitting down, the book opened. Evelyn sat down next to him, placing Bruno carefully on the table. She then rested her head on her arms, looking up at Gastone. Nick-Nack watched carefully.
“Once upon a time,” Gastone began, his tone soft, “there lived a kind man and his beloved wife. The couple had one young daughter, named Elizabeth, whom they affectionately called Ella.”
Gastone peeked at Evelyn as he was reading, she kept looking at him, her eyes focused on him.
“Then one evening,” Gastone continued, “the wife became very ill and died. The man wa- “
“Died?” A soft voice asked. Gastone stopped reading and turned to Evelyn who had a confused look on her face. Gastone bit his lip as he tried to think of the best way to explain it to Evelyn, he didn’t want to scare her.
“It’s, um,” Gastone thought aloud, “when…someone takes a very…long nap…sometimes alone or with others.”
Gastone looked at Evelyn, who seemed content with his answer. He let out a soft sigh of relief.
“The man wanted Ella to have a mother,” Gastone read from the book, “so he married a woman of similar age, with two daughters slightly older than Ella. All seemed well on the surface, but one day the kind man also grew ill and died, leaving Ella alone.”
Gastone paused for a moment to look at Evelyn who had a sad expression on her face, her blue eyes looking up at him.
“…Alone?” Evelyn asked in an unusual tone, “Ella…. alone?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Gastone answered sombrely, “However, not all hope is lost for our Ella.”
Evelyn’s expression shifted from sad to relieved as she waited patiently to hear more.
“While Ella’s stepmother made her sleep near the fireplace, covered in ashes, cook all their meals, and treated her poorly,” Gastone carried on, “Ella never lost her hope that one day, she would be able to leave her stepfamily.”
Evelyn, while she had been listening to the story, blanked out for a moment at what Gastone was saying. She kept her head on the table, resting it. Her ocean eyes focused on Gastone, who was looking down at the heirloom storybook. She adored listening to Gastone’s voice, it was calming, like something that popped out of a happy dream. She wondered if he enjoyed listening to her voice as much as she liked his.
Evelyn had enjoyed the lessons she shared with Gastone, even if she did not always understand him. Her eyes changed focus from his face to his hands, his hands looked so much larger compared to hers. She only felt them on a few occasions, only for a moment. His hand wasn’t fuzzy like Bruno, it was smooth, firm, like a piece of marble. As Evelyn was lost in her daydream, she snapped to attention, suddenly springing up. Gastone looked at her, slightly confused with one eyebrow raised. Nick-Nack, who had been watching in the background, stared onwards. She leaped from the table and scurried back to her makeshift bedroom, Gastone simply stared in her direction. Evelyn came back, evidently holding something behind her back as she hurried back to the table.
She stood over Gastone, squirming a tad. Before Gastone could say a word, she pushed a small, folded piece of paper into his face. Gastone looked at the paper for a moment before setting the storybook down and took the note from Evelyn carefully. She moved her hands behind her back as she began to fiddle with them, waiting for his reaction. He opened the note and took a light gasp. Evelyn had handed him a pencil drawing of himself, his expression stern yet kind. His clothes in the picture weren’t his usual dark ones, but a cream, almost yellow suit with gilded trim and golden tufts on his shoulders. He gave the picture a soft smile.
“Thank you very much,” Gastone said to Evelyn while still looking at the picture, “This is a wonderful picture, Evelyn.”
Evelyn smiled as she held her clasped hands in front of her, her eyes a-twinkle. Nick-Nack, observing all of it, smiling softly as he sat in his chair. Gastone put the paper in his pocket as he opened the storybook once more. Maybe, this doll he saw in front of him, who had
“Now then,” Gastone asked softly, “shall we continue with the story?”
Evelyn sat back in the chair, bringing Bruno closer as Gastone continued reading. He had moved slightly closer than before they started the story. The rain clouds slowly broke away by beams of sunlight pouring through, as the light made its way into that little house on the hill.
As the afternoon sky shifted to night and Gastone had gone home for the day, once again thanking Evelyn for her wonderful picture, Nick-Nack closed the shutters with his cane once more. Evelyn remained in the corner, away from the sun and starlight. When the final deep cedar shutter closed with an ear-shattering thwack, Evelyn moved from her position and glided over to her aging creator.
She carefully placed her hands on Nick-Nack’s shoulders, guiding him to his bedroom. She helped him sit down in his bed and went to grab his night clothes. Right as she opened the closet door, Nick-Nack’s voice suddenly rang out.
“It’s alright, Evie,” Nick-Nack remarked warmly, “I will try and fetch my clothes tonight. You may go rest early for a job well done today.”
Evelyn appeared shocked for a moment but smiled soon after. She closed the closet door with a shy but swift hand movement. She quickly moved to Nick-Nack, giving him a soft hug before moving to the door and closing it. Nick-Nack sighed happily as Evelyn’s footsteps grew softer. She was a VAST improvement over the other creations he had made in all his years. If only his ideas hadn’t been stolen by that fox! Then imagine just how many kinds of Evelyns he could produce if he had the resources available to his rivals in the capital. He would have their RESPECT, their backing, their position, power, privilege, and everything else he believed he was owed due to his skills in his field. Everything that had been stolen from him
Nick-Nack’s throat grew heated at the very thought of anyone trying to take Evelyn for themselves. He knew Gastone would never tattle on him, he was FAR too attached to Nick-Nack to betray him, like ivy on a house.
HeNick-Nack opened the side door of his antique side table, its once vibrant emerald green and deep mahogany tones were now paler with age. Upon opening it, he saw a family friend: his old pipe and a heavily used set of matches. He never smoked in public, but Addy always hated the smell when they retired for the evening. Only one other house aside from Evelyn couldn’t smell what Nick-Nack considered intoxicating fumes, but that individual was no longer of any concern to the great toymaker.
Igniting the match, Nick-Nack set off his pipe and took a deep breath, and then expelled the puff. This was his treat to himself every single night for the last four decades, and he enjoyed every second of it. After huffing and puffing for a few minutes, he put out his pipe and lay down, albeit painfully in his bed. He looked next to time, at the pillow that had been empty for many nights. He just stared at it, both in sorrow and amazement. One night, they’d have their evening chats about current affairs and the events of the day, and then the next it was all gone. All gone because of a horrible mistake.
He stared up at the ceiling, covered in cobwebs, smoke, and many chats. As his eyes grew heavy, Nick-Nack yearned for those days again, even if it was only for the briefest of moments.
“Oh…. Addy….” The widower said in a sorrowful tone, “…. What…. happened?”
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
“…. Wake up, boy!” A stern woman’s voice rang, “The fair is tomorrow! You need to finish your report.”
A young man, about twenty years of age and in good health, with golden girls and a slim figure, was shaken awake by his less-than-amused mother. The boy finally opened his eyes to reveal his mother, dressed in her cream walking gown, a puffed-up rouge vest, and a matching bonnet still on her head. This means he had slept in all morning, something he had done a few too many times. While still in place, her brunette curls seemed just as fuzzy as her expression.
“Well, move along!”, the woman said, “If you don’t finish that report then you can just say ta-ta to that invitation to the science fair tomorrow!”
The young man nodded as he quickly hurried to get dressed. He dashed across the room to his grand mahogany dresser, quickly putting on his grey trousers as he hopped around his room to find his shoes. He found his favorite pumpkin-coloured, double-breasted frockcoat lying on his desk chair, and he snapped it up while buttoning his coat down the stairs. His mother, who had been waiting for him to finish dressing, calmly walked down the stairs, her bonnet still atop her curls. The man opened the front door, quickly slamming it behind him. His mother turned to the left of the stairs to the living room, grabbing a leather book bag and a slightly conical tall hat from the couch before making her way to the front door. She sat on her wooden stool by the front as she waited alone. His younger sister, with brunette curls and a white gown and pink ribbon, giggled as she watched her brother run out the door. Not long after, the young man kept bursting through the front door searching the environment around him in a panic. His mother, saying nothing, raised her arms and handed him his belongings. The man smiled and gave his mother a light kiss on the forehead, as he placed his hat on his head and held on tight to his bag. Once again, he closed the door behind him, remembering to lock it.
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The man walked outside and looked around him: streetlights gave off a soft, white glow from illuminated rose quartz, self-driving carriages made of thick and vibrant vines, and streetcars and trains powered by hot water and lemon juice. On long rides, the cars would always smell like freshly made lemonade. The young man hopped onboard a streetcar, admiring the white brick houses with glittering windows and brightly painted turquoise rooftops. People enjoyed the soft breeze created by standing on the fully automated sidewalks. The sky was as clear as freshly made glass and the air smelt like a dream. Every marvel in the two-hundred-year-old capital had first premiered at the Diamond Innovation Society Science Gala. The winners of the gala became respected members of the group, helping to shape not just the capital, but also to help improve humanity. The young man had dreamed for decades of joining this group, hoping to one day change the world too.
“Next stop is Walter Avenue!” A friendly male voice echoed inside the streetcar, “Please ensure you have all your belongings before leaving your car. Enjoy your day in our fair capital.”
The young man stepped off the streetcar, making sure he hadn’t left his bag on board and ran down the crowded streets to a row of smaller buildings. This area was home to mostly smaller shops and boutiques but was also known as the Rookie Row by the locals since so many young inventors settled here due to the cheap rent and frequent fires. The man fiddled with his bag as he dug for his keys and walked towards a small apartment with semi-cracked paint and covered windows. He unlocked the door and took the papers from his bag.
“Tony?” the man yelled, “Tony, are you here? I’m sorry I overslept!”
He walked from the front door, down the hallway, and inside the workroom. The tables were covered from cover to cover with books, pencil dust, and mysterious stains from drinks gone by. Papers with various formulas and ideas decorated the floor, some crumpled. There was a loud rustling before a head of bright, fiery hair popped up from the pile of books. A young and slender man aged only a few years more than the gentlemen, with one green eye and one hazel eye, walked towards his co-worker. He wore an ensemble like his colleague, but he wore deep aquamarine blue for his frock coat with snow-white trousers. His shoes were polished to such perfection that one could see their reflection. In contrast, the gentlemen’s shows how resembled a brick. On a nearby wall, there was a newspaper clipping with a portrait of the slender man, his multi-coloured eyes focused, almost icy. “Anthony Volpe Outsmarts Opponent”, was written in large letters, recalling when he had won a local chess tournament a few months prior.
Anthony was in the pair''s makeshift lab, focusing on their blueprints. The two had spent many sleepless nights in the lab, sometimes in a drunken stupor, working on their formulas. Anthony had circles under his eyes, biting his thin lips, his expression blank. In front of him were springs and cogs of all shapes and sizes, broken machinery, and red paint on his hands.
The young man walked over to his old friend; he clicked his tongue as he looked at the massacre of spare parts. The science gala was tomorrow, but the pair still had no functional prototype for their automation. A few attempts were made in the last few months, but spontaneous combustion was not one of the planned features. The blonde gentleman pondered momentarily, knowing that if the two showed up with nothing, they’d be laughed out of the festival.
“There…. must be something we’re missing, Tony,” The gentleman thought aloud, “an equation, a cog, something.”
“You don’t think I’m aware of that?” Anthony replied with an unamused tone, “I’ve been staring at those damn prints all hours of the day and I cannot for the life of me figure out the nonsense. Every time we try to make the stupid thing move; it combusts!”
For the entire afternoon, the pair tried making another prototype of their idea, making the automation the same size as a grown man. Unfortunately, no matter how hard they tried, something seemed to catch fire or break apart. As the sun set, the pair had no fruits for their tireless efforts.
“It’s hopeless,” Anthony said as he sat down on a lumpy wooden stool, his face buried in his hands, “We may as well call it quits, close up the lab, and be stuck sweeping garbage for the rest of our miserable existence.”
On the other hand, the blonde gentleman stared out the window, his face lost in thought. He watched as the people walked by on the glided streets. Some of the passersby were the capital soldiers. The gentlemen always admired their uniforms, the men wore a rich green waistcoat, bright, white trousers, and a single green stripe on the side of their pants. Their boots, always shiny and looking brand-new, were a deep charcoal. They had tall, dark helmets with a golden seashell pinned onto them. The two soldiers were a few meters away, talking to a woman holding her newborn. They looked smaller from the distance…. like…toy soldiers….
The blonde gentleman sprung out of his chair; his eyes wide with passion. He grabbed a spare page from the mountain of papers around him and began drawing. Anthony raised an eyebrow, silently staring at his colleague. After a few minutes, the blonde gentleman flipped the parchment over to show his friend: it was a diagram of a soldier, dressed like the ones who roamed the capital.
“This is how we can make our automation!” the gentleman exclaimed happily, “We could never agree on what the automation could do. We kept having it do too many things! Configuring it to move like the soldiers will reduce the risk of it breaking down or catching fire!”
Anthony thought for a moment, before nodding quickly and quietly. The gentleman sat down at his workbench, with the only light source being a small handle of new and old candles. Anthony looked over the gentlemen’s shoulder, his eyes staring at his colleague. Throughout the night, the man worked on the prototype, the workshop echoing the clanks and creaks of his work. With the body finished, the man stood it up on his deck. The prototype, made of leftover pinewood from a stool, resembled a miniature man, complete with an award-winning smile, and hair created from an old, faded brown rag. Inside the miniature were cogs, only seen when the panel on the chest was opened.
The gentleman began playing with his curls as he looked over the tiny man. Something still didn’t seem right. He looked over at the old rags he had gathered while making the prototype and began to cut them. Before long, he had a small uniform for the miniature, it wasn’t quite the right shade, but it would have to do for now. He kept cutting old rags until he crafted trousers, a small hat, and shoes. Instead of a seashell emblem on the helmet, the gentleman had created a small butterfly instead, just like the ones he saw outside his window on many sleepless nights. The soldier looked like a pauper, but his makeshift uniform got the job done. The gentlemen rolled up the jacket of the tiny soldier and turned him over. On the back was a small button, once again shaped like a butterfly. He pushed the button, and the miniature hopped to life. It hopped to its feet and gave a salute to its creator. Anthony stepped back in shock, while the gentlemen smiled and pressed the button again. This time, the soldier marched a short distance across the desk, its footsteps echoing in the room.
“With this little guy,” The gentleman explained, his voice afloat, “We’ll be able to save the lives of countless men from going into battle! No family will ever have to bury their sons, brothers, or husbands, again!”
Anthony looked at the soldier, his eyes tracking its movements like a hawk on a wounded chicken.
“We’d…. make quite a profit with those,” Anthony thought aloud, louder than he thought, “We’d never have to worry about paying our rent or about what to do with our lives.”
The young man turned in his chair towards his friend, an expression of concern and confusion on his face.
“Profit?” He asked, “We’re entering this fair to help people, to change the world, Tony.”
“But if we were to win the contest,” Anthony replied sharply to his colleague, “We’d get the money anyway. It’s just a…bonus if anything.”
The gentleman’s expression soured slightly as he looked at his friend.
“You know that money is not why I went into this field, Tony,” the gentleman continued, slight anger in his tone, “I got into this profession to help improve the lives of those around us.”
Anthony was quiet for a moment, staring blankly at the gentlemen. He did not blink, or make any sudden moves. He resembled a statue found in the palace gardens.
After a short while, Anthony looked the young gentleman in the eyes. His expression was cold, his eyes intense.
“Fine…,” Anthony said, “If that’s how you…truly feel.”
The gentleman smiled as he got up from his chair and held out his hand towards the man, whom he considered his closest friend. Anthony looked at his co-worker’s hand for a moment before grabbing onto it and shaking it slowly. After the handshake, the gentleman walked towards the front door of the workshop, grabbing his bag, coat, and hat.
“Well,” the young man said as he began to open the door, “I am glad that we were able to come to an agreement. Not just about our work, but also why we do that work.”
He opened the door, the cold breeze pouring in, his coat blowing behind him.
“See you tomorrow at the fair,” the gentleman said happily, “Let’s hope for the best and I’ll see you at our booth tomorrow”
The man closed the door behind him, as Anthony turned his attention to the soldier, the candles around it slowly burning out. He walked over to the miniature and grabbed it with force, his eyes locked on it. He slowly turned his head towards the blueprints, his name behind his co-worker.
His blank expression turned into a crooked smile, his thin mouth looking like a crude slash against his face.
The next morning, the young man had jumped out his bed early and began dressing in his finest suit and shoes. He kissed his mother on the forehead and waved goodbye to his younger sister as he made his way towards the Crystal Palace. The palace sparkled like freshly fallen snow as crowds of people made their way towards the entrance. Parents running after their children, guards helping the elderly into the building, and aspiring scientists wheeling in their wagons to display their inventions. The gentleman made his way through the crowds and was admitted entry into the side corridor where the other contestants were gathering. As the gentleman walked through the hall, his eyes grew from wonder. He passed by a dark-haired girl and her silver-haired partner at a booth. The tuffs of hair on his head greatly resembled dog ears. The silver-haired man had an ebony-beaded necklace around his neck, while the girl was presenting to the small crowd gathering.
“This, ladies and gentlemen,” the girl began, “is the latest in criminal apprehension technology! Scared of criminals running away onto our beautiful streets? Well, our well-crafted Thief-Nabber will stop any crook in their tracks!”
The silver-haired man proudly displayed his necklace with a smug grin on his face.
“It’s simple to use for our police,” the girl continued, “All they must do is utter one simple command: sit!”
As soon as the command left the girl''s mouth, her partner was dragged onto the floor by his necklace with a thud. The crowd, the gentleman among them, around the booth clapped in amazement as the pair took a deep bow. The gentleman left the crowd, going through the sea of people to the booth he had booked with his friend. When he arrived at the booth, he noticed it was empty. He checked the clock on the wall: 10:07 a:m. Anthony should have been here already, all setup and ready to go before the members of the Diamond Innovation Society had arrived. He looked around, but Anthony was nowhere to be seen. The gentleman waited another twenty minutes before his heart felt like an anchor, he worried that his friend had overslept. He decided the best way to clear his mind for the time being was to walk around and look at more experiments and inventions.
He fiddled with his hands as he walked around the room, looking nervously at the contraptions in front of him, from steam-powered bicycles to mechanical elephants designed to water plants. The man began to breathe heavily, sweat began to form on his brows, and his curls seemed to come undone. The man looked up from his feet for a second, stopping dead in his tracks. His breath became fast, his throat felt like it was clamping, the sweat raining from his forehead down his face. There before him was Anthony, dressed in a deep green suit and at a booth made for a single person. Around him were men and women dressed in light purple jackets, a heart-shaped diamond brooch with ruby roses, and an amethyst crown above it. He pressed the button on the miniature solider and the miniature began to march on the table, met with applause from the accomplished and layman members of the audience alike.
“With the funding to create large-scale models of these miniatures,” Anthony explained, a prideful expression on his face, “we will be able to overpower our enemies by equipping these automated soldiers with more firepower than one man would ever be able to carry.”
The crowd cheered as Anthony looked at the gentleman, a sinister smile forming on his narrow lips. The gentleman’s heart sank as he ran to the exit, tears forming in his eyes, his face turning red as he ran through the people. He went to the staircase and sat down, crying into his eyes. As tears poured down his cheeks, his breath was hot and heavy. Many spectators passed by him, paying him no attention. A young woman stood before the man, dressed in a pale pink dress, her oak hair in a bun, a white bonnet, and matching gloves.
“Are you alright, mister?” She asked, her voice sweet and concerned, “Is something the matter?”
The man looked up, his face puffy, and he froze as he met the worried gaze of the young woman before him. She held out her hand, he grabbed it, and she pulled him up carefully. She reached into her small bag and pulled out a blush pink handkerchief.
“You look like a tomato, mister,” The girl said, “Use this to freshen up.”
The gentleman chuckled for the first time all day as he used the handkerchief to wipe away his tears. The handkerchief smelled faintly of rose petals, which happened to be the gentleman’s favorite flower.
“Roses?” The gentleman asked softly.
“Yes!”, the woman asked excitedly, “I dabbed the cloth in some of my favorite perfume.”
The man handed the young lady her handkerchief back, a smile peeking on his face.
“May I inquire as to what your name is?” The gentleman asked.
“My name is Adelaide,” the young woman responded, “Adelaide Tesoro. What about you, mister?”
“My name is…” The gentleman began before pausing, “Nicolas Collodi.”