Theodora Eloisa Charity Ettings was a very long name for a very small girl. This, her aunt liked to say, was probably why she was such a handful – by the time one had fully shouted the words “Theodora Eloisa Charity Ettings, you get back here this instant!” said ten-year-old girl was almost always long gone.

Today, Theodora Eloisa Charity Ettings – who generally preferred the name Dora – was busily escaping her adult captors, with the goal of making her way to the wild woods behind Lockheed Manor. These woods were full of fantastic trees to climb and fast-flowing muddy creeks with which to dirty her skirt hem, all of which sounded much more interesting than sitting down to learn embroidery with her cousin Vanessa.

Auntie Frances’s shouts faded behind Dora as she darted through the tree line, giggling to herself. Strands of her curly, reddish-gold hair caught among the branches, tugging their way free from her neatly coiffed bun. Dora tripped over her pristine white skirts, catching herself just in time to avoid a fall – but the toe of her slipper ground the fabric of her hem into the dirt, staining both shoe and dress. Later, Dora’s aunt would be furious and her punishment severe... but for now, Dora was free, and she had every intention of taking advantage while she could.

There was a particularly good tree for climbing just across the creek, near the blackbird’s nest she’d found last time. Dora hadn’t got very far up the tree before getting stuck, but she’d ruminated on the problem for more than two weeks now, and she was sure she would be able to climb much higher this time if she set her mind to it.

Just as Dora had settled onto the banks of the creek to pull off her slippers, however, an elegant male voice spoke from behind her.

“Oh, little girl,” it sighed. “How like your mother you look.”

Dora turned her head curiously, wiggling her bare toes in the cold water before her. The man behind her had appeared quite out of nowhere – and surely there had to be magic involved, because his long white coat was unstained by his surroundings, and his eyes were the fairest shade of pale blue that she had ever seen before. Being an imaginative little girl, Dora was not surprised to note that his ears were very gently pointed at the tips, but she was very surprised to see that he was wearing at least four jackets of different cut and colour, all layered carelessly atop one another.

“I don’t look a thing like my mother, Goodman Elf,” Dora informed him matter-of-factly – as though tall, handsome elves addressed her every day of her life. “Auntie Frances says that Mother’s hair was lighter than mine, and that she had brown eyes instead of green.”

The elfin man gave Dora a kind smile. “You humans always miss the most important details,” he said. “It’s not your fault, of course. But your mother’s soul and yours are of the same bright thread. I spotted the resemblance in an instant.”

Dora pursed her lips consideringly. “Oh,” she said. “I suppose that makes sense. Well – were you one of Mother’s friends, Goodman Elf?”

“Alas,” the elf told her, “I was not. Once, she may have called me such – but she later changed her mind in a manner most abrupt.” His unnatural blue eyes fixed upon Dora, and she felt a strange shiver go through her. “You have also been very impolite, firstborn child of Georgina Ettings,” he said. “I am no ‘Goodman Elf’. Indeed, you should address me as ‘Your Lordship’ or ‘Lord Hollowvale’, for I am the marquess of that realm. You can tell that I am important, for I am wearing many expensive jackets.”