Caravellum

Working on the concept of a potential children’s story. The innocence of the perspective character is stifled somewhat by its form of prose and delivery. I would like to rework this one into a picture book with simpler prose.

Pleated fronds of palm grass itched against her shins. She smelled pomegranate and mulberry on the warm breeze, and watched through the arch of sunbrowned wisteria where a woman danced in a ring of stones. A tempest of cloth and colour, crowned with eucalypt bark and honkey nuts. She found her courage with a swig of her cordial, and stepped into the garden glade.

The small clearing offered relief from the torpid summer heat, sunlight dappling through the canopy of the mulberry tree. The Queen of Pixies swayed in a mesmeric circle, plucking fruits from the branches.
“Good afternoon, young detective.” The Queen curtsied, eyes twinkling behind her veil. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
The detective stumbled a bow, searching for her missing certainty of a moment ago.
“You’ve been stealing my bubbles.” She managed. The Queen gasped.
“Well, you’re either lion-hearted or monkey-minded to accuse a pixie without proof.”
“I have proof!” From her overalls, she flourished her battered magnifying glass and the tiny letter from the birdbath. “I found a letter of-”, she sounded out ‘marque’ and the Queen gently corrected her, “for pixies to capture my bubbles, stamped with your seal!” She pointed at the faded mark of blue upon its parchment.

“Ah, alas, you have caught us.” The Queen cast her eyes down. “But we hope you will understand. For our daughter – a young princess with hair just like yours – has been accursed with the grumps.”
“The grumps?”
“Yes! Can you imagine a grumpy pixie? To sit chuckleless through a beetle’s pantomime? To find no joy in a spider’s yawn? Oh, it is a terrible affliction, indeed. But, we found a cure! For when she saw your bubbles, she smiled a smile so big that the whole world would never have guessed there was ever a time without it. So, for her sake, will you please share your bubbles with us?”
The detective was silent for a while, brow furrowed. The Queen hummed and ate mulberries.
“What’s her name?” She eventually asked.
The Queen paused. “Tiffania.”
“And the bubbles make her happy?”
“She shines brighter than your eyes have ever seen.” The Queen beamed.
“Then, I guess I’d be okay sharing.” 
“Really? Oh, you’re the best detective ever!” the Queen cried. She pulled her into a hug and they laughed and danced in joyous spins and tumbles. To finish their agreement, the detective drew her bubble wand from her belt and signed her name in giant letters. She watched the floating orbs of fantastic ripple into the foliage and, when the bubbles burst, she smiled.
She didn’t notice the Queen leaving, but she spotted the coin lying where she had been. Milk chocolate in gold foil, soft from the warmth of a pocket.
“Tiffany! Bathtime!”

As she sat in the filling bathtub, the detective recounted, with dramatic vigour, how she solved the great mystery of the disappearing bubbles. Her mother listened and laughed, and wiped the chocolate from her daughter’s grin with purple-stained fingertips.