Half an hour later, I was regretting my life choices.
"No, no, NO!" Giselle shouted, pacing the room with bird-like strides. "Open, snap, flutter! Not 'open, wave, drop'! You look like a pigeon trying to take off! Grace, child! Grace!"
Ellia was holding a lace fan. She looked miserable.
"This is stupid," Ellia groaned. "Why can't I just say 'I am annoyed'? Why do I have to snap the fan shut?"
"Because," Giselle lectured, expanding her arm-feathers for emphasis, "in Court, words are dangerous. A snap of a fan can declare war. A flutter can start a romance. A tap on the cheek means 'follow me'."
Ellia threw the fan on the table. "It's just a floppy stick! It's useless!"
I stepped in. I saw Ellia's frustration. She was a physical kid. She needed a physical metaphor.
"Ellia," I said, picking up the fan. "Think of it like this."
I snapped the fan open with a loud THWACK.
"This isn't a fan," I said. "It's a shield."
Ellia blinked. "A shield?"
