The Castle That Hums at Night

Castle Starwrite never looked the same twice.

Its towers were made of crystal pens — each one taller than the last, catching the blue light of Storia's sun and scattering it across the cobblestones like scattered ink drops. From the top floor, Penelope could see all of Chapter Kingdom: the rolling hills of parchment-colored grass, the winding Plotline River, and villages where people told stories for a living.

She pressed her nose against the cool window glass and sighed happily.

"Perfect," she whispered.

She had moved into the castle just three days ago, hauling in her sketchbooks, her ink sets, and one very large beanbag chair. She was working on her greatest graphic novel yet — a story about a girl who builds her own world, page by page.

Her latest drawing sat open on the worktable: a lone tower on a stormy hill, exactly as she'd sketched it.

Or was it?

She tilted her head. The tower had a window now. She hadn't drawn any window.

The Parrot Who Talked Back

Penelope stared at the window in her drawing.

It hadn't been there last night. She was sure of it.

She pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and decided to draw something simple — a blank room, four walls, nothing else. No doors. No windows. Nothing that could surprise her.

She finished in ten minutes and set it on the table to dry.

Then she went downstairs to get breakfast.

The castle's kitchen was small and cheerful, with copper pots hanging from the ceiling. Sitting on the windowsill was a parrot — a big, green-and-gold one with sharp orange eyes. It belonged to nobody Penelope had met. It had simply appeared there one morning, and the castle staff seemed to think it had always been there.

"Morning," said the parrot.

"Morning," said Penelope.

She poured herself some porridge. When she came back upstairs twenty minutes later, she stopped in the doorway.

The drawing of the blank room now had a figure in it.

A girl. Sitting in the corner.

Penelope had drawn no girl.