There was a legend about the well in the garden — one filled with wonder and magic. No one knew the secrets it held; perhaps a portal to another world, maybe just a simple well. Adults told children to stay away, for fear faeries would come and whisk them away.

Typical cobblestone shaped the well, though moss and vines crept and crawled along the sides. There was little water inside, hard to see in the dark depths. A worn-out wooden bucket hung above, no longer used.

Sonja grew up in the garden with the well. She tended to the flowers and the trees, pulling the weeds, watching the bees. She knew the legend of the well and often daydreamed about the wonders it held. The years passed her by; six and then seven. Soon she turned nine. Little Sonja decided it was time to see the truth of the well. If it were indeed a worn-out well, she would leave it at that. However, Sonja hoped the legend was true. Sonja had nothing against her life; she had a happy family, though she was an only child. Food filled her belly, a house kept her warm. 

Yet, Sonja grew bored. Tending the gardens became such a chore. An offering to the well, one made out of love, would open the portal to another world. Or so the legend told. No ordinary stone would work, nor a coin. Instead, Sonja tried the head of a rose, one she had tended.

One night she made her way to the well, the light of the moon shining perfectly in the garden. Glancing down in the deep darkness, Sonja inhaled and held that breath. With a wish as forceful as she could, Sonja dropped the rose into the well, watching, wishing.

It seemed unbelievable, and Sonja gasped. The light from the moon could not compare to the light that escaped from the depth of the well. It swirled up like magic, shimmering bright. It wrapped around Sonja, warmth from the night. Before she could blink or call out to home, the wish she had made whisked Sonja from home.

When she opened her eyes, Sonja gasped in surprise. The world before her was bright and colorful, full of delight. Flowers bloomed aplenty, the sun shining bright. Rainbows flickered and darted across a sparkling sky. She felt as happy as a child could be. Faeries and unicorns, and happiness aplenty. The air filled with magic, she giggled and squealed. With wings of her own, she took off into the skies, laughing in mischief with the faeries beside.

But deep down inside, the horrors untold. Grief and sadness filled little Sonja’s home. For when magic and glitter had whisked her away, poor Sonja fell forward, the well now her grave.