My poor Juliette, what have they done to you? Your day started with such cheer: presents exquisitely wrapped were torn open to beaming smiles and yelps of delight; Pierre the dog bounced with confused excitement around your perfect room as Mama and Papa doted and wished you a Happy Birthday. Then, you were off, a new emerald green scarf slung around your shoulders, running towards the rest of the day ahead, without a backwards glance, leaving me, as always, behind.

But now you’re back in front of me wet face held in tiny hands. You are too good for them, Juliette, they are not worthy of your shuddering tears. I long to comfort you, to rest a consoling hand on your tiny shoulders; I know that I could make your troubles fade, if I were only given the chance. But, no, this cold glass prison, my window into your life, keeps me from you, a doomed observer, forever. If only you could hear my voice I would offer such words of comfort that your fears would vanish in an instant. I will whisper them anyway, Juliette. I hope they reach you.

Inspired by an amazing blog post by Jenny Colgan on terrifying French children’s books!