She stopped and stared. Someone had built a glass house in her sister’s garden. The door was black. It stood ajar. There was a bed inside, covered in white sheets, and it resembled a white rose.
She circled it slowly. It sparkled in the sun like a rare jewel.
She trailed a finger on the glass, caressing. It was warm and smooth and so pretty. She ambled inside.
The door closed gently behind her. She ran a hand over the sheets and sighed. Soft as a feather.
She stood staring out the back wall; the garden looked magnificent. Large white, pink-tinted and palest yellow roses grew. She had done a good job. It was the perfect backdrop for her wedding.
Time to go back. She turned and walked the five steps to the door. The door didn’t open. She rattled the knob; the door stayed stubbornly closed.
Her sister walked out of the shrubbery. She wore the casual green habit of female wizards, not her formal robes. “Trouble, dearest?”
“Help me, sister. The door must be stuck. I must not be late.”
“Your darling fiancé must wait.” Smiling, she waved a hand and whispered a word.
Her stomach roiled and her vision went black. When she could see again, she found herself staring at the gigantic mole on her sister’s forehead. “You’ll make an excellent ornament, dear. Don’t try to break the glass. You’ll only hurt yourself.”