Castle on a Saturday

The forest had no quiet nights — it only had nights that tried to be quiet and failed.

Crayon Phantom Castle rose out of the dark trees like it had always been there and always planned to stay. Its towers were crooked in a friendly way, and ivy climbed the stones like it owned the place. Inside, lanterns swung from the rafters, and the great hall smelled like pine and something sweet baking somewhere.

Saturday night was in full swing.

Mira — a tall wolf with silver fur, sharp amber eyes, and a loose cream housecoat — leaned against the stone archway, watching Doodle Phantom sketch something on the wall with a bright orange crayon.

"You're drawing a rabbit on my wall," she said flatly.

"It's a very good rabbit," Doodle Phantom said, blue eyes glowing as he stepped back to admire it.

Mira folded her arms.

Down the hall, laughter bounced off the stone floors. The party was warm and easy. Nobody had a single worry yet.

The Night the Lullaby Stopped

Doodle Phantom capped his orange crayon and slipped it into his belt.

That was his last one.

He had used the rest of them earlier that week — a sky-blue on the castle ceiling, a forest green on the kitchen door, a whole red one on something he'd rather not explain. Now one orange crayon sat alone in his pocket like a forgotten coin.

Mira, the silver-furred wolf in her cream housecoat, suddenly pushed off the archway.

"Did you hear that?" she said.

The music from the great hall was still going. But somewhere past the tall windows, something had gone wrong with the night. A bear named Borra — stout, brown-furred, always humming a little tune to herself — came running in from outside, her housecoat muddy at the hem and her face tight.

"Pip is gone," Borra said, short of breath.

Mira's ears went flat. "Gone where?"

"Into the deep forest." Borra gripped the doorframe. "She went in alone. She's just a cub."