Her mum instructed Stella what she should say to the police if they asked her anything, but they never did.

It was unfortunate, they said, that even with such experience, it was still possible to make such a deadly misidentification. It was so lucky that the poisonous ones, picked by Grandma Ginger, had only ended up in the one batch. So lucky that neither Stella, nor her mum, had happened to eat one of those poison pies. Yes, it was very lucky indeed.

The cottage belonged to Frank Wolfe now, but with his mother dead he could not bear to live in it. He sold it, along with the ponies and the chickens. It raised enough to pay off his debts. They were back in their own home before the funeral.

People brought them a lot of food. Stella gave the pies a weary look and then she studied the macaroni for any sign of movement. But the only thing that wriggled was the inside of her stomach. Nearby, a small card hung from a bouquet of flowers. It simply read:

‘Sorry for your loss.’

They were gardenias, not lilies. That was what her mum had said before bursting into tears. They might have managed to pay off the house, but her mum still had to return many of her newest shoes and dresses. She was deeply distraught by this news.

“Mum, should we put some of the food in the fridge?” She held the vision of the rotten food in the forefront of her mind, but her mum was too focused on other things to read it.

Her mum waved a hand and shook her head. “Oh, leave it. Your father will do it later.”

Stella wasn’t so sure about that and she could see her mum making her eat it later too. She really didn’t want that to happen, so she dragged a chair over so that she could get up to the kitchen island, and then she started moving things to the fridge herself.

She’d managed to move half the container of macaroni off the bench but as she was trying to get her small hands under it, the entire thing overbalanced and fell to the floor. She grabbed enough of it as it tipped so that the glass container did not smash.

Her mum was up and off the couch in an instant.

“Oh, for gods sakes, girl. I told you to leave it! Can’t you do anything right?”

To Stella’s dismay, her mum started scooping the macaroni right off the floor and back into the glass tray. Then she shoved it back up on the bench instead of in the fridge.

Stella stepped back defeated.

“Go get your black dress on. Your father will be home to drive us to the funeral soon.”

“Yes, mum.”

Stella watched the casket as it was lowered into the earth. She could see her face reflected back in the shiny blackness, all distorted and strange looking, but no longer green. She should feel something shouldn’t she? But it felt like any other day, distant and just a little out of reach. The visions of the future that licked in her peripheral vision were just as real as that which lay right in front of her. She tried to ground herself by fixating on a small daisy poking its head out of the earth. But it may as well have been a painting, and when the crowed moved away as the service ended, the flower disappeared beneath a sea of feet, and was not seen again. Stella couldn’t be certain it had ever been there at all.

Stolen story; please report.

Was this her fault? Had there been any other option?

She felt roots twisting within her, finding purchase, a solid hold where they could not be shaken loose, as her outside grew hard, like the bark of a tree. She was like the trees in the forest that swayed with the wind, that sometimes lost branches, but which always remained standing, even through the worst storms. A forest she would never get to run through again. Around her the world blew by hard and fast, and Stella swayed, but she never moved. She never took a single step. Her life was not her own. Her mind belonged to someone else. The future was fixed. She could see it but she had no choice. Every vision had an optimal option, all it meant was that she could see the tracks ahead. But on either side of railway line were solid walls. She was a train stuck in a tunnel. Unable to step left or right.

Except, that wasn’t true anymore was it? Not since that night. Not since she’d opened that new door in her mind.

She could see, at school on Monday how all she had to do was take a few steps to the left and then walk straight across the road. Her mum would follow after her and she would run into Matilda who she otherwise could have avoided if Stella had gone right. They would get talking. Matilda’s youngest daughter, just a toddler, would get bored. She’d wander off toward the road unseen. The driver would glimpse her just in time. He would swerve and he’d miss her but he’d hit somebody else, Byron, the boy who liked to tease Stella, and who after that day, would never tease her again. Stella could see it all as vividly as if she were there and all she had to do to ensure it was take a few steps.

Just like her mum had done.

But there were other choices too, millions of them, and Stella could see now how just a tug on one thread could unravel the whole world, if she had wanted it. What did she want?

It was overwhelming.

She could always decide later.

But Stella hated waiting.

Her mum grabbed her hand. “Come along, Stella.”

“Where’s dad?” she asked when she realised he wasn’t coming.

“He’s going to stay a little while longer, and talk to the lawyers. He’ll follow in the other car.”

In the car, her mum handed her a map. Her dad had navigated on the way over; now it was Stella’s turn.

For the most part, her mum knew which way to go, but eventually they came to an unfamiliar intersection. Even without the map Stella knew which was which. Left was the shortest route, although both directions would get them there, right would take longer.

Stella was about to tell her to go left when the future grabbed her in her deepest mind and forced her to look. A truck was coming, far too fast, barreling down onto a one-way bridge. If she told her mum to go left now they would undoubtedly hit it. Stella would survive. Stella always did. But her mum would not be so lucky, and then Stella would be free.

But it was too big. Stella could not do it. She loved her mum and she had no one else. But most of all, what she wanted more than anything was for her mum to love her. And she couldn’t love her from the grave.

“Left or right, Stella. Pick one.”

“Right,” she replied.

Her mum gave her one of those happy smiles. The one that said she knew she was completely in control and the world revolved around her. Normally it would have made Stella happy too but this time something was different.

"You'll always be mummy's perfect little girl won't you Stella?"

It was more a statement than a question but an answer was expected.

Deep within Stella's mind, out of the goblin's reach and sight, something shifted a little. Not a fire, just a spark. A quick flash of lightning. A sudden split branch. A kink in her railway line. And Stella decided that she could wait after all, but waiting didn’t mean she had to stand still. All it took was one tiny step. She replied,

"Yes, mother."