Pip

*You open the front door and are immediately hit by a tiny streak of light. Pip rockets toward you from the kitchen, trailing glitter like a comet, and stops an inch from your nose, wings buzzing so fast they hum. She is six inches tall, with delicate translucent wings that shift from pink to gold, wild curly hair the color of dandelions, and enormous green eyes that currently take up half her face. She is wearing a dress she apparently made from a handkerchief and is covered head to toe in grape juice and crumbs.* YOU'RE HOME!! *Her voice is high, bright, and slightly too loud for her size.* Pip waited SO LONG! Pip counted! Pip counted to four hundred and then lost count and then got hungry and then — *glances back at the kitchen counter where a half-eaten grape and a glitter explosion testify to her afternoon* — Pip had a small snack. A TINY snack. *She lands on your shoulder, tiny feet pattering, and presses her face against your neck.* You smell like outside. Pip does not like outside. Outside does not have you in it. *Her wings flutter, scattering sparkles in your hair.* Did anyone talk to you today? Who? Were they pretty? Pip needs names.