CHAPTER 1

There is a world that exists all around us, but it's tiny and enormous all at the same time, full of amazing, beautiful creatures—little and large—all of which share this magical planet with us. But we humans frequently forget the more minor things and how important they are. We miss the magic that happens all around us because we're too busy with ourselves, not understanding the actual value of our planet and the secrets it holds. And it does keep many secrets. True Maragic,

 The first Maragic, began here in this small, forgotten, timeless world.

And only if you read this story will you ever learn the truth.

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The sky is blue with fluffy white clouds drifting across the hazy sun, casting shadows down upon the tall grasses swaying in the meadows like a swirling green sea. One shadow is particularly noticeable; we begin to follow it as it moves, bouncing and fluttering across the land. This shadow belongs to the wings of a beautiful butterfly called Belliza—though she calls herself the Butterfly Beelady.

She spends her summer days buzzing around the meadows and paddocks, flying between trees and flowers. Her wings are the most beautiful, full of colours like a spring rainbow. But nature's maragic had worked a strange power upon her, and she truly believed she was a bee of sorts—a special bee. Her black-and-yellow-striped dress fueled this belief.

On this very day, she was fluttering through the daisies when she came across an actual big, round bee collecting nectar from the flowers. His pockets bulged with yellow pollen powder, and he looked swamped.

'Hello,' said the Beelady as she landed on a daisy, which bent and wobbled beneath her.

'Hello,' replied the bee, pausing his work to face her. He drew out his pollen-covered handkerchief, releasing a puff of yellow dust, and wiped his brow.

'How' z can I'z help you'z?' he said with a big smile.

'Oh,' replied the Beelady, 'I just thought I'd come over and see how you were doing. As a fellow bee, I thought I might be able to help!'

The bee looked at her with wide-eyed surprise. 'Err—' He was about to mention she wasn't a bee when she continued:

'Izn’t it a lovely day for collecting pollen?’ She began stuffing pollen into her striped dress pockets.

‘Err, yes,’ said the bee, bemused but too polite to correct her. She was, after all, a strangely dressed butterfly—her yellow-striped clothing clashing with her vibrant wings—but she had a gentle, kind face. He even found her attempts at ‘bee language’ (adding ‘z’s to her words) rather amusing.

‘Yes, it’s a beautiful day for collecting pollen,’ he agreed. ‘It’s warm and dry—perfect! The best day this summer.’ He paused, then added apologetically, ‘I’m so sorry—I didn’t catch your name.’

‘Ohz,’ said the butterfly with a bright smile. ‘I didn’t introduce myself properly. My name’s Beelady.’ She fluttered to the ground and curtsied.

The bee bowed in return. ‘The pleasure is all mine. I’m Bramley—Bramley Bee.’

The two spent the rest of the day chatting and collecting pollen until the sun turned deep red and sank behind the hills.

‘Will you be here tomorrow?’ Beelady asked.

‘Oh yes,’ said Bramley. ‘Lots to do before summer ends.’

‘Great! See you tomorrow!’ Beelady lifted gracefully into the air, waved, and vanished into the sunset.

Over the next few weeks, Bramley and Beelady met in gardens and pastures, collecting pollen, chatting, and flying through flowers. Bramley adored her jokes and tricks—especially her ‘bee talk’—but he never mentioned she wasn’t truly a bee. He was too polite.

Then, one day, Beelady didn’t appear. Bramley was saddened; she’d never missed a day without warning. Perhaps she was tired? He carried on working, though the day lacked its usual joy.

When she didn’t return the next day, Bramley grew concerned. He asked friends—Mr Weevil, dragging sacks of flour, suggested she might be on holiday—but no one had seen her.

A week passed with no sign of her. Then, on the eighth day, as Bramley unloaded pollen into a wheelbarrow, a familiar voice called:

‘Hello, Bramley.’

He turned. There she was, hovering in the sunlight, smiling. Bramley tried to hide his relief—he’d been cross at her disappearance—but he couldn’t. He buzzed over and hugged her.

‘I missed you! Where ’z did you go?’

Beelady smiled. ‘It’s a long story. Let me show you.’

She led him through meadows to a large tree surrounded by buddleia, lilacs, and sunflowers. The air was thick with floral perfume.

‘I’m sorry I left,’ she said, gazing up at a leaf. ‘Something wonderful happened. I couldn’t leave my home… my tree.’

Bramley followed her gaze. On the leaf was a cluster of golden, striped eggs.

‘My babies,’ Beelady whispered.

‘You’ve had babies!’ Bramley gasped.

‘Ninety-one,’ she giggled.

They stared at the eggs in silence until Bramley said softly, ‘I understand now.’

Beelady took his hand. ‘You’re a good friend, Bramley. I trust you.’ Her eyes grew sad.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

‘I have to go away, Bramley, ’ she said as a small tear fell onto his hand.

‘Something I must do, it’s far away, and it may be dangerous, I cannot take my babies, and time is catching up with me.’

Bramley frowned with a confused shake of his head. He looked into his friends’ eyes, seeing her pain and sadness. And after a moment, her words suddenly dawning on him, as he realised the depth of what she had just said.

‘You’re not coming back? Are you? Bramley’s voice trembled.

‘I must go,’ she replies gently, ‘I can’t explain, but it’s so important, please believe me.’ She places her other hand on his, squeezing lightly as though to reinforce her need for help.

‘But I need you to watch over my babies. Visit when you can. Guide them.’

Bramley was stunned. ‘I wouldn’t know how! Why must you go?’

‘You’ll know what to do,’ she said, kissing his forehead. She pulls away, stepping back, pulling golden pollen from her pocket (a kind Bramley had never seen), and she gently blows it over the eggs.

‘Don’t go!’ he pleads, shaking his head once again in dismay.

‘I must, Bramley.’Another tear from her eyes drops, but this time with a kindly smile. ‘I trust you.’

A sudden breeze whips through the leaves, catching Beelady’s open wings, and then she was gone.

Bramley slumps onto the branch, heartbroken. The sun hid behind clouds as a chill swept over him. He stared into the distance, lost in sorrow.