Paranatellonta

Photographs and stories, Stars rising together. Photographer: Fie | Storyteller: Minerva Cerridwen

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King Par’s Party

It had taken a very, very long drive for Ruby to escape the overwhelming city. Ironically, now that she’d finally arrived in the long stretches of greenery where she intended to hike, she’d give anything to find a car park. Finally, a sign pointed her to where these tiny, winding roads had been hiding one of them. As she got out, she realised that she was standing in the middle of a perfect circle of buttercups…and then the ground gave way beneath her.

Par, the fairy king, threw the very best kind of parties: dancing was, of course, encouraged, but there were also cakes, the freshest mixed juices, and boardgames of all types. King Par—short for Paranatellonta, not because these fairies were particularly into astrology but because he was named after their favourite source of short stories inspired by photos—danced and played with Ruby all night, and she forgot all about the worries in her concrete life. By sunrise, she decided to leave, and the fairy king merely smiled and let her. Oddly enough, the sign pointing to the car park looked very different in the daylight: it hadn’t been so bent before, so worn, so overgrown with moss; the houses shining their lights in the distance had changed their shapes, and the trees and flowers looked untouched by a human hand. Those of you familiar with fairy stories will know that time passes differently in the fairy realm, and that it only ever moves forward, no matter how hard Ruby tried to walk backwards into the circle of buttercups.

“Ah well,” the fairies said, holding out their hands to invite her to another dance, “what would be the point in returning to a time when ‘parking’ had to do with concrete rather than trees?”

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[Image description: A blue traffic sign pointing to the left, saying “parking”, set up on two grey poles. The sign is looking the worse for wear, overgrown by green moss and taped back together at the top. Around it, there’s a growth of buttercups, long grass, and an overgrown pollard willow. Behind it there’s a meadow, a horse in front of a shelter, and a row of houses, some of them with the lights on.]

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It's 32°C today, so have a refreshing new Paranatellonta video!

Rabbit's Restaurant was the 152nd edition from July 2016. Almost 10 years old!

Rather read it in text form? Find the original Tumblr post here.

Also want to hear it in Dutch? All my translations come out of my own brain and are read into a microphone by my own voice, no AI involved. Watch the Dutch video here.

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Grandfather’s Papercut

In the house of Grandfather Mouse hung a colossal picture of a black blossoming tree—colossal, at least, in the eyes of the four little mice.

“I nibbled its shape out of paper myself, every petal and every leaf,” said Grandfather proudly when his grandchildren asked him about it. “It depicts the happiest day of my life, and I would say you are now old enough to hear the story.”

This, of course, is something grandchildren are universally glad to hear, and they gathered around him on plump, velvet cushions and pricked up their tiny, round ears.

“There was a time when there was no greenery to hide in, no grass or dandelions, no food or fair, when fierce winds swept away grey ashes over a plain of emptiness and sorrow.”

“And that was your happiest day?” asked one of the little mice sceptically.

“It became that, when I went exploring and found a young apple tree raising its thin branches on which it was growing small, pink blossoms. I climbed onto one of those branches and suddenly felt filled with hope and joy, because, while it might have been just a single tree growing on its own, it was as if I knew the future: both mice and farmers returning to the land, litters of children and grandchildren born in safety, the farmers’ cats so overfed and lazy we’d never have to fear them.”

“We won’t fear a cat when we know Edgar!” giggled the smallest grandchild, who was thinking of their neighbour, a large tuxedo cat who spent his days either basking in the sun or giving Grandfather and Grandmother rides on his back to the market.

Grandfather smiled, and wished the children would never have to spare a thought to the beginning of his story, or to the reason why the paper was charred.

—

[Image description: Outline of a tree with fruit blossoms, leaves, and a little mouse on a branch on the bottom left, all cut out in black paper on a white background and with a rectangular black paper frame.]

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Cloudy weather put me back indoors to read you all a story about clouds.

Enjoy Cirrus, the 385th edition of Paranatellonta.

Rather just read it in text form? Find the original Tumblr post here.

Also want to hear it in Dutch? All my translations come out of my own brain and are read into a microphone by my own voice, no creepy AI involved. Watch the Dutch (Flemish) version here.

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Hidden Straw

I hid my final straw among the flowers, and the cat looked for it relentlessly.

He tore up each box, regardless of the magical objects they might hold. He crashed into stacks of books until they fell over and blew out spells, ghosts, potential doom. He opened the oven and crumbled my bakes, shredded my boots, slashed through my broom’s brakes. He hopped onto a bench where I’d placed the beaker in which I’d brewed myself a boost, and beat it so it tipped onto the carpet. He batted at flowers floating in a test tube, an experiment that had yet to reveal its goal and now never would. The cat knew he was getting close to the end of his quest, and he crashed and burst and boomed into every plate that I had kept spinning.

I wasn’t angry with him, even if I stayed close to the last straw throughout all of this—but my patience kept stretching, no matter how thin. The boxes, the books, the bakes, the boots, the broom, the brew, and the blooms were all out there because I hadn’t finished the tasks they represented. Once I did, the cat would no longer be able to get to these objects, and peace would return to my brain.

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[Image description: The photo looks down on a small, brown side table with a transparent glass vase of white flowers, a tealight in a round wooden holder, a small framed flower painting, a small transparent glass bottle with purple flowers, a gold-coloured dish in the shape of a ginkgo leaf, a black cylindrical candleholder with a circular pattern of holes letting out the light from the sides, a piece of cross-stitch embroidery standing up in an embroidery ring and depicting an orange cat reaching out to a steaming purple cup on top of a stack of books, and a transparent cat out of metal wire that holds a test tube filled with daffodils, so that they form a flower crown for the cat.]

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Embroidery by @tanouska!

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I met a new friend in Domain Kiewit, and recorded the 313th edition of Paranatellonta: Fishy Fortune!

Rather listen to me read it in Dutch? Then click here!

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Chasing the Gods

“They’re almost here,” whispered Safirne, child-goddess of wisdom, while she hugged her fluffy cloud in the shape of a duck close to her chest.

“They might still get tired and give up,” comforted Tirleva, Safirne’s parent and the elected ruler of all the gods of Nerfia. However, even as xe was petting Safirne’s long, dark hair, xyr gaze didn’t move from the group of cyclists who were steadily climbing the mountain. The top reached all the way up to the gods’ palace in the clouds, and if these humans on their bicycles persisted, there was no gate or guardian to keep them from walking in and making unpredictable requests. Granting the wish of one human might have negative consequences for another, but would they react peacefully to being denied?

Against all expectations, the cyclists didn’t dismount their bikes until they effectively stood in the palace hall, panting and sweating but somehow cheerfully elbowing each other in the ribs.

As Tirleva majestically strode in with Safirne peeking out from behind xyr skirt, the humans froze and stared, and one of them gasped: “The gods!”

“Brave travellers, what is your request?” asked Tirleva.

“Oh,” said one of the cyclists, doffing their helmet respectfully, “we didn’t come to request anything, but merely to conquer the mountain—and we completed that challenge!”

After a festive meal, the cyclists started on their long descent, and Tirleva and Safirne found themselves watching them again—this time not with worry, but feeling proud of how their own creations still managed to baffle them.

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[Image description: Under a blue sky with large grey-and-white clouds, a grey road winds through a green, uneven landscape. Down in the distance, there are many white houses, a beach, and the ocean.]

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Wrong Story

We forget the stories we tell in a hurry.

Every evening I came up with something, anything, to make our young queen smile or think or, when I was on particularly good form, both at the same time. We’d sit in the Garden of Wonders, looking out at the sunset, she in one of her floaty pink nightgowns, me in my uniform, our imaginations on fire. And then, all of a sudden, she banished me.

Not just me, everyone. In mere months, the Garden of Wonders turned into the most desolate place in the country, where no bird would land, no flower would grow, not a single living thing would accompany our queen. All because, told a chambermaid who’d heard her crying on the night before our eviction, the queen in the story had failed her entire country when she’d let other beings come close—so our queen had decided she couldn’t take the same risk.

You see now why it was my responsibility to return to her, layers of curses, catapulted rocks, and fences made of complicated spiked chains be damned. Very little was left of me when I reached her, but I knew that it would be enough. She yelled, she kicked, but in the end she leaned in to hear the story her old friend told her, and in that same end, all would be well with her and her country.

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[Image description: Photo of a Camellia japonica plant with one large, round, pink flower. It stands in ground covered by bark mulch, and there’s a colourful sunset in the background.]

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As another spring celebration, I'm taking you into our local Japanese Garden in this video!

Enjoy Holding the Sun, the 328th edition of Paranatellonta.

Rather listen to me read it in Dutch? Then click here!

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Flood Defence

It’s raining again, after a drought lasting from late spring until early autumn. Now, of course, everything is flooding, and buckets, rubber boots, and water pumps are in high demand.

So am I, as a dragon biologist specialised in swamp species.

When I approach the flood-meadow, the mossy fallen tree trunks lift up from the shallow water and bend towards me: one pointy head at the trunk’s end giving me a curious stare, a wider head growling threateningly, all six of them equipped with dangerously large horns and sharp teeth.

These days, even when your house isn’t developing leaks, there’s still a chance that a branch-like claw with mossy scales will tear into your roof and rip it plain off. People always get annoyed at me when I assure them there’s a bright side to the growth of these hydras’ population.

I place my foot forward, my moss-green rubber boot hovering just above the surface of the shallow water, and then I make it come down thrice: splash, splash, splash.

The hydra’s six heads turn towards the noise, all with different expressions of delight, and then lower themselves.

Gulp, gulp, gulp, and the beast has drained the entire meadow by quenching just a fraction of its thirst.

Sure, it is a pest that you need to show them the water because they aren’t bright enough to realise they’re literally sleeping in it, but if you splash your boots in enough puddles to let them know they’re there, these “impervious pests” may just save the world.

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[Image description: Photo of trees standing in shallow water and reaching up towards a white sky. Across the picture, fallen trees overgrown with moss reach across the flooded area like a bridge.]

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We're celebrating early spring with Paranatellonta!

This is the 302th edition, The White Crocus, read to you by Minerva Cerridwen.

The same story is also available in Dutch.

Enjoy, and let us know what you think!

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The Queen’s Mistake

Glittering flakes and gleaming bubbles fell from the sky and announced the Snow Queen’s arrival that morning.

The city had lost its colour under her ruling. Everyone was gloomy, hiding under dark caps whenever they weren’t running away from the snow and the freezing cold altogether. This wouldn’t do, the Queen decided: her visit was a reason for celebration, and so she commandeered a crane and forcibly lifted everyone’s spirits.

Now her people danced, all right, and they dressed in bright colours and played the music of a cheerful heart. As they did so, their moods thawed, and they felt better and better. So good, in fact, that they retrieved their courage. Clapping their hands, stamping their feet, their dance became a march, and all of the citizens whirled towards the square where the Queen was to greet them. They demanded the right to rule themselves, and the Snow Queen saw that they were too many and too powerful. She fled, taking her clouds of snow with her, and at long last, spring returned to the city.

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[Image description: Photo of a group of dancing people in colourful costumes with purple iridescent jackets, orange waistcoats with large purple and green buttons, rainbow skirts, and gold shoes. Their orange hats have multi-coloured openings resembling horns. Some of the people are holding gold hand bells to jingle. The sky is white with falling snow and some soap bubbles floating through the air. There’s a large crane (machine) in the background.]

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The Bonsai Tree

He had heard the stories of the giants. They could reach the clouds, their roots touched the middle of the earth. They harboured birds and squirrels and caterpillars. But while stories of gods are entertaining, he was happy not to be one of them. He did not need all the excitement, all the heroics. He was perfectly comfortable in his quiet home, branches carefully trimmed and pruned every so often. He moved with the seasons and enjoyed the rest in winter. His leaves had travelled onwards and he came back to his centre. Soon, new buds would sprout and he would be ready to dazzle everyone around him. But first, a few more months of sleep.

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We’re celebrating the 420th edition of Paranatellonta! This story was written by Fie, and the photo that inspired it was taken by Minerva.

Next time we’re back to our usual roles. Thank you for reading!

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[Image description: A dead bonsai tree in a blue planter, standing on a piece of blue stone, seen from above.]

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A new Paranatellonta video!

This is the 409th edition, Pastel Greeting, read to you by Minerva Cerridwen.

The same story is also available in Dutch.

Minerva was also part of the Strong Women, Strange Worlds QuickReads of February 6, 2026. You can listen to the reading via this link.

Enjoy, and let us know what you think!

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Rocket Man

During a livestream by my favourite yoga teacher, I was invited to set myself up in tree pose, balancing on one leg while the other foot pressed against my inner thigh, knee turned out. The teacher prompted me to close my eyes, and when I did, suddenly the foot I was balancing on lifted off the ground. I floated upwards and upwards and turned into a rocket ship.

I landed on a colourful planet where people with long braids were kneeling in hero poses and didn’t recognise me as anything special, as if they had human tree-rocket visitors every day.

On the second planet, someone immediately came up to me and handed me a hammer and some nails, with which I was to help assemble a picnic. I made a table, which they didn’t seem to find helpful at all, and so I moved on once again.

The third planet was filled with flowers more magnificent than any I had ever seen before. I decided to collect a sample of every new species I encountered so I could make a full report back home. A friendly local young man kept pointing out new ones for days on end, the only reward he wanted a selfie with every flower I picked.

When I finally landed on my yoga mat again, the young man was still with me, and he helped me take care of the alien flowers for the rest of my days.  

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[Image description: Photo taken from a set of stairs in the Zürich Kunsthaus, looking out on two floors of the art museum at once. Downstairs, a large pink rocket ship (“First Spaceship on Venus” by Sylvie Fleury) is standing on the marble floor. On the wall to the left of it, Augusto Giacometti’s painting “The Circling of the Planets” is displayed. Behind the rocket ship, there’s a grey painting with two young men sitting on the ground outdoors, one of them holding a hammer and nail to what seem to be some plants. Upstairs, under a glass ceiling, there are two marble doorways and a wall with 2 paintings: a round dark blue galaxy painting with a large red orchid-like flower, and a square green painting in which a man has his back to the viewer. There’s a dark statue in the corridor and through the middle doorway another painting is visible, where women seem to be putting bedsheets around a dog.]

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We're travelling back in time to the 256th edition, of April 2019: the very first with our muse, cat Pinou!

Mind that the original has a sequel written by @intermittently-ava: read Replacement and the sequel here.

Video in Dutch: [x]

Enjoy, and let us know what you think!

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Castle Heist

Puck rolled through the snow, flattening it evenly so not a single footprint would give him away. When he reached the small waterfall cascading from the castle hill, he took a deep breath and rushed through the icy curtain of water, finding the tunnel behind it.

Had all those princes who’d come before him, who’d been hacking through bramble bushes and climbing the ivy, even really tried to get inside the castle?

At the end of the tunnel, the hatch leading to the castle dungeons was guarded by a huge blue dragon, whom Puck fed some caramelised hazelnut biscuits, thus making a friend for life.

While the dungeons were simply dungeons, the castle upstairs was filled with a creepy atmosphere: here one would expect the bustle of life, yet all that could be heard were some faint snores from the people limply leaning against the walls of the corridors, which made Puck glad he wasn’t headed for the sleeping princess’ bedroom.

Entering the armoury felt far less invasive—and there it was, against the wall as if it were part of the sleepy household staff, next to rows of guns and swords: the lance with the golden head, which everyone at this week’s tournament would recognise at a glance as the one kept at this enchanted castle. If Puck used it at the joust, everyone would recognise instantly that he was the best trickster in the land.

“Won’t you wake them?” the blue dragon asked, when Puck returned and scratched him behind the ears.

“Nah,” Puck said, “they’d better continue their naps, because the world may be a little ill, as pale as it’s looking today.”

Then he opened the hatch, tucked his lance tightly under his arm, and rushed back through the tunnel and out into the snow.

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[Image description: A castle with several towers, each with a golden weathervane at the top, depicting either a horse with a rider holding a lance or a figure holding up a flag. The roofs, the hill below, and the trees and shrubs all around are covered in snow. To the right of the castle there’s a set of stairs and in front of that there’s a small waterfall.]