Once upon a time, deep in a quiet forest, there lived a little girl.
Her home was an igloo–small and round, made of ice. The city hummed somewhere far away, visible from the treetops, but not loud enough to reach her.
Every morning, mist curled between the tall trees, catching the light of the rising sun. Birds chattered softly above. The air smelled like pine. At night, the stars twinkled, and inside her igloo, the little girl sat alone, wrapped in a big jacket while a little fire crackled bravely beside her, keeping her warm.
She didn’t remember how she came to be here, only that this was her life and it felt safe. She loved her forest. She loved her igloo. It was peaceful here, unlike the city that shimmered in the distance. Sometimes, when she was curious, she would climb the tallest tree and watch the city lights twinkle, and sometimes when she was very brave, she would make the long trek to visit the city, but she never invited the city into her igloo. The forest, and especially the igloo, were hers–quiet, safe, known.
One day, she noticed a fairy sitting next to the base of a tree. The fairy smiled and motioned for her to sit. They sat together beneath the branches, and the fairy asked, “Where are we?”
“In the forest,” the little girl said proudly.
“And why,” asked the fair, “did you build an igloo in a forest?”
The little girl froze.
Her heart sank like a stone into snow.
Why had she built an igloo here?
The forest was warm and alive, yet she had built a home that always tried to melt. A home that always kept her cold. It took so much work to keep it frozen, particularly with the essential fire for warmth inside.
She felt a sting of shame. “That was silly of me,” she whispered.
The fairy smiled gently. “You didn’t know how to build anything else yet.
You used what you knew, and that was enough for then.”
The shame softened into sadness. The little looked at her igloo surrounded by lush green. It was beautiful, yes, but heavy to keep alive. She had never noticed all the daily work this structure of safety required of her.
And suddenly, she dreamed suddenly of something new: a cabin of wood and light, high in the trees, a home that breathed with the forest instead of fighting it.
“I don’t know how to build a treehouse,” she said.
“Not yet,” said the fairy. “But you’ll try. And you’ll find help. Others will come with hammers and hands and hearts, and together you’ll build a home that feels like you.”
The little girl thought about tearing the igloo down, but the fairy read her thoughts and shook their head. “No need. It will melt on its own. Just build the treehouse. Focus your energy there.”
So the little girl took a deep breath. She watched a drop of water roll down the side of her igloo, turning ice to water, water to mist. She smiled through her tears. She could imagine the blueprints of the treehouse now–open, high among the branches, a place for many people, filled with love and laughter.
“Thank you,” she said to the fairy. They held hands for a moment, quiet and steady.
Then she stood, heart beating with courage. It was time to begin the work. Not to rebuild what had been, but to build something new–something warm, alive, and big enough to invite others in.
