”Come on, Isabella, that’s nonsense. There is no such thing as magic and unicorns.” Father told her angrily. 

  “Of course there is, Father!” Bella said excitedly. Her rich brown eyes were aglow and her dirty brown hair clung to her face in sweaty disarray. She smiled up at her glaring father. 

  “That’s silly, girl. Its time you learn to grow up” He stalked out angrily, leaving Bella alone in his wake. Bella hated seeing her father like this, angry and sad. She knew he missed Mother and she had often seen him crying at night when she was supposed to be asleep.

  It was only a year ago that her mother had passed away from her fatal illness and her father was left alone to look after little Bella, who was only five at the time. In his sadness and desperation he moved to a secluded part of the country, hoping for a fresh start in life. But Mother’s death had made him bitter and often Bella had trouble talking to him.

  Father had never called her Isabella before. Not when Mother was alive. he always called her his “little Bella”. Before Mother’s passing he told her stories of magic and courageous fairy tales with kings and queens and love. But, after her death, the storytelling had ceased.

  Bella’s nanny, Briony, tried her best to keep the child at bay. She scolded Bella and often complained that her imagination was running away with her. Once in awhile she would read to her, but her voice was nothing compared to that of her father’s

  While her father spent most of his time working in town as a lawyer and the rest of the time sulking near the telly, Bella spent most of her time in the forest which was her backyard.

  Today, while her father was staring at a photograph of her mother, Bella gathered a lunch and ventured outside to have a picnic in the woods.

  As Bella scrambled up the path leading to the edge of the forest she noticed that the trees were restless. They swayed this way and that in the breeze. The wind whirled around her erratically.

  Bella clung to the basket as she walked down the path into the forest. The forest path was straight and clear. Arching over the creek was a small beautiful bridge, made in the memory of someone that had fallen into the river years ago.