The Triplets

We walk several hours before noticing that something is amiss. So slowly as to be imperceptible, the colours of the wood have brightened to a jewel-like intensity — and those colours are all wrong. The sky above looks a bright yellow, the grass beneath our feet a lurid pink. Even the waters and the trees have assumed an odd, toy-like quality. As we gaze about ourselves, confused…

A petulant, girlish voice sounds behind us. “Ah! There you are. I thought you’d never get here.”

We turn to see three children sitting in the boughs of a tree above. One wears a hooded robe that masks their face; in their hands, they clutch an open scroll. The second child — the speaker, a girl with a sharp, moon-like face — wears a beribboned silk dress. The third child is a boy in a flat cap. He skilfully juggles clay cups as he grins down at us.

The hooded child sighs mournfully. “They took… a very long… time…”

“So?” cries the boy with the flat cap. “Next time, you can shift them.” He peers down at us. “Hello, mortals. Do you want to play my game with me?”

Before we can answer, the girl stamps her foot on her branch. “Don’t be stupid, Dominic! They’re going to play my game.”

The hooded child shakes its head. “They can’t play… all of our games. They must… choose…”

The hooded child is clearly correct. As one, the children turn at us.

The hooded child sighs, “You must… play with us...”

The beribboned girl snaps, “But only one of us!”

The boy in the flat cap cries, “Choose!”