The magic of the Dream-Bubbles made Lily and Tom feel extra joyful, and they tried their best to be kind. But even the kindest children can sometimes forget. One morning, Mother had made a special batch of warm, gooey chocolate chip cookies. There were only two left, perfectly golden and smelling ever so good of vanilla and chocolate.
'I want the big one!' Tom shouted, reaching for the slightly larger cookie. 'No, I saw it first!' Lily retorted, pulling it closer. Their voices were sharp, not soft like the whispers of the enchanted trees.
'You're always taking the best things!' Tom grumbled, pouting. 'And you're always bossy!' Lily shot back, her lower lip trembling. The air in the kitchen, which usually smelled of cinnamon and warm, crusty loaves, suddenly felt a little bit chilly. The sun, which had been streaming in, seemed to hide behind a cloud.
They looked at the brass kettle on the counter, usually so ready to gurgle and sigh. But it was silent. It was cold to the touch. No hint of steam, no promise of a shimmering Dream-Bubble. It looked just like an ordinary, uninteresting kettle now. The cheerful sway of the curtains stopped, and the wiggling wooden soldier stood perfectly still, as if holding its breath.