Peter Petunia and the Impotent Succubus, (under the stairwell)

Unreal flecks of dark colors floated in the thick, stuffy blackness. Her small heart racing, she grasped her wrist and turned the watch to face her. She wanted to press the two little buttons for light, even though it barely glowed anymore when she was stuck under here by her angry brother.  
 
She needed to see something… promises in voiceless whispers floated to herself. “I will ask daddy to get a new battery next time we talk.” A sob rose into her throat. Last time 2 days ago she tried to do that.  
 
Forrest and Perl were too locked in discussion… their voices in various tones, and always the same reaction to her knock. “Dear Violet, honey, we are busy for just a few more minutes. I'm sorry. Just be patient.”
 
Brother Peter caught her and assumed the worst. That she would snitch about his secret magical powers. Hissing in her ear he found the worst image his young mind could invent, “Don't you dare talk! One day, there will be monsters under the stairs. I know that, because I'll see to it! I will be so powerful no one will ever boss me around again. I will make the monsters for all the children I know and hate, to find in dark closets, under stairs, and under their own beds!”
 
She couldn't tell if her ears burned more from his words, or the magical way they seemed to drag her into the dark stairwell.  
 
So today there were new "reasons" to be under the stairs. Again she pressed her trembling fingers against the watch. This time the little face lit up dimly, followed by a blinding flashing light, that cut into the back of her throbbing, unprepared skull. Many colors flashed before her and a light, sweet voice range out… “My, my, this will be a crowded landing.”  
 
Sweet flowers and a warm breeze followed as the light dimmed and a pair of lady hands steadied themselves on her small shoulders, near gown covered knees. The last thing noticed was the pink halo of hair backlit by the dimming rainbow of once blinding sparkles….shifting green in one final flash, leaving the stairwell dark again.
 
Peppermint breath caught Violet’s attention… it was inches from her nose! Jerking her head back she forgot the oak steps were so close behind her head. Bang! “Aahh!” Violet shrieked and so did another voice. A purple light suddenly illuminated a beautiful face just two inches from her. “Violet light! My stars! I thought only the boy was magical! Obviously they didn't make it here before your mother gave birth.”  
 
Bonnie the birth fairy lowered her wand and the stairwell went dark again. “A storm is coming, and so is an invasion. I need to speak to your parents, now! Before I can't return for another ten years, because this is magical gateway storm that will close travel for a long time. This is our only shot at letting the grump-worlders prepare. I have only 5 minutes or so, before I must depart.”
 
Violet suddenly bristled at the familiar term. “Why not use ‘non-magical’ instead of “grump-worlders” and not sound so fake? Mom and Dad might have magic but they don't sound stuck up when they talk. Why even help such common so-called grumps, if you can't even use respect in your language about them?”
 
Bonnie wasn't ready to hear that. “Why not? You aren't a grump!”  
 
No one could see her narrowed expression but her tone was clear. “I was until just one minute ago. I thought the spell would protect me. Can't you just treat all people like equals, no matter their powers?”
 
Bonnie’s tone softened “Dear, did they tell you they protected you from magic with a spell? That's just not how it works. But I can tell they wanted to protect you, alright. Magic children is just the risk they faced by living in ethereal realms when they had you. I know they tried to leave, before it was too late, but, dear… it's just an old witches tale that if baby comes here as a newborn they can reliably receive a grump-maker spell. You just have to be born here for it to work every time. They will know better themselves, soon enough. My wand already picked up your violet aura. The change will manifest soon.”
 
Violet reached out and grasped Bonnie’s arm in earnest, pleading, “Please, just don't tell my brother, Peter!”  
 
Suddenly, from the draft in the cupboard door into the stairwell a young,  sinister male voice was heard, approaching with his clomping steps. “Who are you talking to, Violet?”
 
Hastily, and before the little door opened, Bonnie leaned forward and whispered, “don't worry! I understand!”  
 
Bluish-white daylight poured in, common daylight, bouncing in from walls and floors around the surrounding room. Again, it felt overwhelmingly bright but welcome after the stuffy black hour she spent, waiting for her mother to get back from an outdoor weeding session on the cliff side near their cozy lighthouse.  
 
She should have offered to help, and she wouldn't have been driven in there by Peter’s foul mood in the first place, but lately Violet had been using all her spare time painting, whenever she wasn't catching up on her often neglected chores, chatting in the study with her Dad, going over magical history with his books spread across his desk, or being punished for next to nothing by her babysitting brother. Painting and singing with her music blasting, unaware of her brother’s temper, about to flare over her “racket.” So mother failed to get gardening help, and she ended up feeling like she half deserved her poor treatment, which, of course, couldn't be farther from the truth.