A Task of Kindness

Lillypad’s bedroom, usually a riot of stuffed animals and scattered crayons, felt hushed and expectant. The morning sun, usually so boisterous, seemed to tiptoe through the curtains, casting gentle stripes across her quilt. She’d woken with Cathy’s velvety purr still echoing in her ears, the queen’s regal pronouncements about twenty tasks and twenty wishes a potent spark in her young mind. The dream had been so vivid, so real, that the ordinary world felt a little muted by comparison. But Cathy had been clear: the wishes wouldn't simply appear. They were earned. And the first task, whispered like a secret on the wind as Lillypad had blinked awake, was a task of kindness.

Kindness. Lillypad chewed on the word, letting it roll around her thoughts. It felt… soft. Like petting a kitten, or sharing her favorite cookie. She looked out her window, her gaze landing on Mrs. Gable’s small cottage next door. Mrs. Gable was old, her hair the color of spun moonlight, and she always had the most beautiful roses in her garden. But lately, Lillypad had noticed Mrs. Gable’s steps were slower, her smile a little less bright. She’d seen her struggling to carry her grocery bags, her shoulders stooped under their weight.

A flutter, like a trapped butterfly, stirred in Lillypad’s chest. Shyness. It was a familiar feeling, a little knot that tightened her throat whenever she had to speak to someone new, or ask for something, or, as now, offer help. What if Mrs. Gable thought she was being nosy? What if she said no? But Cathy’s wise, star-dusted eyes seemed to gaze at her from the dappled sunlight, a silent encouragement. Kindness. It was the first step.