Image Description: A whimsical, pastel-coloured woodland scene shows six anthropomorphic fairycakes gathered outside a cupcake-shaped house with a large swirl of frosting for a roof. A wooden sign reads “Welcome to Fluffwood Hollow,” and a small curved wafer bridge crosses a golden syrup stream in the foreground.
Each fairycake character has distinct sponge colouring, frosting details, and delicate wings:
One vanilla cake with lemon wings floats gracefully in the air (likely Miss Buttercup Bloom).
A sticky toffee cake with caramel colouring zips across from the right, trailing playful energy (Rolo Ripple).
Two cherry-coloured fairycakes stand on the ground smiling warmly — one likely to be Cherry Tumble.
A fairycake with a nutty, oat-topped sponge hovers low, holding a honey jar and looking slightly grumpy (Branberry Crumbletop).
A zesty orange cake with candied peel wings (Clementine Cocoa) flies toward the viewer with a joyful expression.
A glowing orange jellybee buzzes nearby, adding a touch of sparkle. In the background, pastel towers, cupcake trees, and spongey houses peek through a sugar-mist forest, suggesting a magical village beyond.
The overall tone is soft, magical, and inviting — a perfect representation of the gentle, sweet world of Fluffwood Hollow.
Chapter Two – Cherry Tumble and the Wing That Wouldn’t Set
Cherry Tumble woke with a flutter in her heart and icing on her pillow.
It was her Wing Day — the moment every young fairycake dreamed of, when their wings fully formed and the first proper flight would carry them into the sky like a drifting petal.
She blinked the sugar crust from her eyes and sat up in her Cracked Muffin Nest. All around her, the Hollow was waking up too jellybees buzzing in the ivy, sprinkle chimes tinkling in the breeze, and the faint scent of cinnamon rolls drifting in from Branberry’s direction.
Cherry reached around and gave a hopeful wiggle.
Her right wing unfurled perfectly — sugar lace spun into a delicate fan, catching the light in threads of pink and shimmer.
But her left wing…
…was still sticky. Still folded. Still not ready.
“Oh no,” she whispered. “Not today.”
She gently patted it, blew on it, even tried the ‘three-sneeze flutter’ trick Rolo had suggested (though he’d also once told her that licking a jellybean before sunrise gave you invisibility). Nothing worked. Her left wing drooped like a tired petal.
“I’m not ready,” she said softly. “I’m not finished.”
She stayed in her nest longer than usual, listening to the Hollow wake up without her. She imagined Miss Buttercup floating gracefully through the Sunpetal Tree, Bluebell whispering to clouds, Clementine tuning her spoons for tonight’s stories…
And here she was. A fairycake with one working wing. Half a flutter. Half a chance.
She crept out at last, keeping her left side tucked in as best she could, and tiptoed through the peppermint grass past the jellybean orchard. She didn’t want anyone to see her — not today, when everyone would expect her to be flying.
Without thinking, she followed a winding crumb trail she hadn’t noticed before. It led between two sugarberry bushes and down a narrow path that curled like frosting. Cherry had never been this way — or if she had, it had looked very different.
The trees grew thicker. The air grew cooler. And just ahead, the mist seemed to sparkle with a colour she didn’t have a name for.
She stepped into the clearing — and gasped.
It was a tiny grove, hidden behind frosting vines. In its centre stood an old, twisted Cupcake Tree, hollow in the middle, with broken candle-lanterns hanging from the branches. The ground was soft sponge, overgrown with edible moss. On one side sat a stone bench shaped like a biscuit.
She wasn’t alone.
A single jellybee hovered near the tree — glowing faintly, wobbling gently, and staring at her with wide, jelly-filled eyes.
“Hello,” Cherry whispered.
The jellybee wobbled once and hovered closer. It blinked. She blinked. Then it turned and began to zigzag slowly in the air.
“Do you want me to follow?”
The jellybee wobbled twice. Cherry took a breath, tucked her left wing as neatly as she could, and followed.
They moved together — the jellybee wobbling, Cherry flutter-stepping, her right wing doing most of the work. And somehow, in the soft light and the strange quiet, she began to rise.
Just a little. Just enough.
She hovered, a tiny lift of air beneath her. Her left wing twitched — still sticky, still unsure, but trying.
And Cherry Tumble smiled.
Maybe it wasn’t perfect. Maybe she couldn’t spiral like Bluebell or glide like Buttercup. But she was flying — her own way, in her own time.
The jellybee landed briefly on her nose, wobbled warmly, and took off again toward the treetops.
Cherry didn’t follow this time. She turned, made her way back through the frosting path, and fluttered home with her uneven wings and her whole, brave heart.
Blind Man Makes 