Lily hid under her pillow.
"That was scary!"
Madam Tang tickled her under the patchwork, proudly her own. A burst of chuckles tumbled out.
"If you don't finish your hot chocolate, the Gobbler will come for you!" So saying, she tickled her precious granddaughter even more.
Chimes of sunshine filled the room as grandma's gentle, nimble fingers travelled up and down her belly like thousands of tiny, playful spiders. At that moment, a flightiness fill Lily so much, her body felt as weightless as a rising hot air-balloon. Under the glow of twinkling lights and floating cloth fairies, a drowsiness washed upon her. "Grandma, do you remember? We used to make cloth fairies together, you taught me how."
They looked up at the fairies. Every year, they would make one together. As grandma lived quite far away it was a precious moment, always.
One of the fairies, likely her own, looked lumpy. It twisted into a grumpy-looking bulb with a gaping mouth and tiny fangs.
"What happened to the grubby thing? Where did it go?" Lily asked, curiosity rising in her chest.
"Who knows, maybe it never really left", Madam Tang said quizzically.
"But it disappeared – where did it go?" Lily remembered very clearly, it did not seem to die in the story nor did it continue to live with the villagers. Who would want to play with it, anyway?
"Maybe it is still in the hearts of men." Grandma's eyes squinted playfully.
Such are the fates of certain things. They often appear to emerge from nowhere, as if from a seed spread by the winds or fallen fruit from a tree. Only to have hidden roots in the flesh of men. Often, it is in people that they exist. And where they exist in humans, it is only within them that they may be vanquished.
"Is it in your heart, grandma?" Lily laughed.
"Hmm...that is a very good question. Who knows," said the old lady as she flashed a devilish smile, hugging the unsuspecting child with her warm arms, fingers curled in comical claws. Her fingers could transform into all kinds of beings, tell all sorts of stories.
Lily sank in the bosom of her grandmother's embrace, the old, cotton cloth rubbing against her cheeks with the comforting smell of cinnamon. Would she hear the grub moving in her grandmother's heart if she leaned close enough?
"If there is one in yours, would there be one in mine too?" Lily asked, looking up. She wouldn't want to have a grub in her heart, however, and felt bad for resenting this prospect. The thought of letting it go hungry if it ever wanted food sounded very terrible. Very terrible indeed.
Madam Tang smiled. "Who knows, darling. Though, I'm sure there wouldn't be one in you. Or, it might be a very, very small one."
"I feel sad for the Gobbler." Lily gazed at the twisting bulb of cloth. It seemed to be gnawing at something now.
What a curious child. Madam Tang thought, never short of surprise at her granddaughter's thoughts. The ideas of children, and where they place their attention, may offer perspectives so unique and rare missed by the scrutiny of even the most meticulous of adults. It is a different kind of rationality.
"You don't feel sad for the villagers?"
"I feel sad for them all. It's all the grub's fault that they weren't happy."
"But the grub gave the Gobbler what it wanted, did it not?"
"Yeah – and the Gobbler gave it lots of food too!"
"Then, what makes you feel sad for the grub?"
Lily thought for a while. It hadn't been all that bad. But it disappeared just like that, as if...as if it were dead. It didn't really do anything but eat either. Nor was it happy after eating the big man. And just like that, it had disappeared, perhaps searching for more things to gobble in a never-ending cycle. It felt similar to not having had a life at all.
"The grub wasn't that bad, was it?" Grandma asked, as if reading Lily's mind. Her grandchild nodded quietly. What a thinker for her age of 6.
Lily could not wrap her head around it. Why couldn't the Giant man just share what he had?
The lights began to blur.
The pills had begun to take effect.
"Will you teach me how to make a fairy tomorrow, Grandma?" Her voice had become even more sleepy.
Madam Tang smiled and leaned down. Lily felt a kiss on her forehead, where it landed and spread, as if in an everlasting ripple upon a water surface.
"Yes, dear, let's make one tomorrow. Have sweet dreams, my child." She heard Grandma's words in the distance, her voice growing softer, and softer. The ceiling grew fuzzy, and the fairies had started moving.
They were dancing around her now, in splashes of red, yellow, green, and blue – all the velvety colours of the rainbow. Somewhere, among them, she caught a glimpse of an emerald figure, trying to fly. But its wings looked wounded. It couldn't seem to get up, limping and falling with each step. It looked to be weeping. Just as Lily tried to reach out to her, the dancing had slowed down, and the colours coalesced into a melting scenery of a pastel sky, enveloping her in layers and layers of soft, warm clouds as it began to dim with the melody of a lullaby.