rubbish edit sorry

        Have you seen her? That little girl, right there, sitting by the
          window. She’s just sitting there, every night before I put her
          to sleep. She always ask me; “Mama, do you think he will
          come by tonight?” I cannot help but smile. She’s such a sweet
          little girl. So innocent and so pure of heart. I can see the stories
          in her eyes as she’s gazing towards the moonlit sky, filled with
          sparkling dots. She says it’s the fairies, dancing the fairy dance.
         
          And when the moon is full, that’s when she tells a story. You see,
          she believes the moon is asleep when half of its face is covered.
          “He’s too tired. That’s why he’s hiding beneath his blanket.”
          So when the moon is full, that’s when she will tell the moon a
          story. She often asks me if she can stay up just a little longer,
          just to finish the story. In that way, the moon doesn’t have
          to wait for so long for the next part.
         
          That’s the beauty of it. She always has stories to tell, always
          have a next part to add. Her mind is so innocent, full of life
          and imagination. So pure, and so full of stories to tell.
          And this is her favorite time of the hour. When the moon
          is shining, the fairies are dancing on the night sky, and
          she’s holding on to that moment just before she falls
          asleep. Sometimes I wonder if she’s freezing, but every
          time I find her sleeping by the window, a patched blanket
          covering her from her toes to her neck.
         
          I can see the dreams flickering between her eyes, and I
          know what she’s dreaming about. Because in those who
          minutes before you fall asleep it becomes so very nearly
          real. It is the snuggest and most compact of places, not
          large and sprawly, you know, with tedious distances between
          one adventure and another, but nicely crammed.
         
          I know the moon is not the only listener. I can tell by the
          clue you leave behind now and then. And I know you
          are oh so tempted to listen to her stories. You’ve always
          had a soft spot for storytellers, haven’t you?
         
          You see, that little girl, asleep by the window with that
          familiar red and gold patched blanket on, is my daughter.
          And she’s dreaming of Neverland. She’s dreaming about it.
          She’s dreaming about you, Peter, and she’s waiting for
          the day you will come and take her with you, and give her
          the adventures I left behind.
                      Because I grew up, but I never forgot about you.
         

10

A series of Broadchurch scenery appreciation posts (x) - Broadchurch S02E08

8

Once upon a time in a faraway land, there was a tiny kingdom, peaceful, prosperous, and rich in romance and tradition. Here in a stately chateau, there lived a widowed gentleman and his little daughter, Cinderella. Although he was a kind and devoted father, and gave his beloved child every luxury and comfort, still he felt she needed a mother’s care. And so he married again, choosing for his second wife a woman of good family with two daughters just Cinderella’s age, by name, Anastasia and Drizella. It was upon the untimely death of this good man, however, that the stepmother’s  t r u e  n a t u r e  was revealed. Cold, cruel, and bitterly jealous of Cinderella’s charm and beauty, she was grimly determined to forward the interests of her own two awkward daughters.