“Excuse me, Miss! . . . Madame!”
Mary-Ann gently scanned the beach with her royal retinas. At long last she spotted a tiny witch with a characteristically crooked nose, orange skin, and a pointy navy-blue hat standing on the drawbridge of a respectable sand-castle just beyond reach of the high tide. She had no broom at hand, only God knows why. There were several tiny goat-heads bearing long droopy tongues awkwardly perched on stakes rising from the moat, but that doesn’t really matter because it doesn’t pertain to the story, and Mary-Ann was very tolerant, not to mention fictional, like Harry Potter.
The tiny witch standing on the tiny drawbridge above the tiny moat adorned with tiny goat heads on tiny stakes was in a major pickle. She was covered from fashionable flats to furrowed forehead in a densely sticky purple slime.
“Me Lady! Verily, verily, I have been brutally, brutally, mauled by a bi-polar jellyfish and cannot move!”
Struck with compassion, Mary-Ann replied, “Art thou not freezing, dear witch-with-the-skin-of-a-tangerine? Let me escort you to my ample water-basin in the royal outhouse for a proper cleansing of that abominable jellyfish’s violent violet marmalade excretion!”
“Oh thank you, me lady!” croaked the witch as she burst into joyful forest-green tears of relief.
Medieval Mary-Ann carefully plucked the witch from the drawbridge like a mouse from a glue-trap and trotted elegantly down the shoreline as fast as dignity and Elizabethan whale-bone corsets would allow. As they neared the royal outhouse--built of hewn boulders and stained glass with ample girth, beautiful lighting, and offensive ventilation--Sir Honeybucket, on guard duty, stood at arms adjacent to said marvel of medieval relief architecture. He simultaneously hoisted his eyebrows at the site of the witch and acknowledged the presence of royalty with a solemn bow from the hips.
All of a sudden Mary-Ann and her purple-plastered passenger were overtaken by a flurry of thundering hoofs, horsehair, and armor--knocking and crashing like a barrel full of cymbals chasing a cheese wheel down Mount Sinai! Mary Swooned. The witch shrieked. Sir Binjalot, the modest yellow knight! Temporarily blinded by Dutch courage and floating molars, he nearly trampled the princess, so desperate to train Thomas on the terracotta!
Sir Honeybucket would have nothing of this brash disrespect of the nearing nobility and her feeble friend! Drawing his sword, the protector of the potty placed it smartly between the sanctuary door and the charging Sir Binjalot! Pointing toward Mary-Ann with his free hand, he shouted at the top of his lungs, “Pee not! But her and jell-y sand witch!”
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