Chapter 1: Queen's Island

Cora stepped off the ferry and simply stared - her eyes were the size of saucers. This was the first time she'd ever been to Queen's Island. She gawked at the extravagant plant life and marvelous creatures that dominated the cityscape. Back home, they only had such boring things as daisies and roses and cats and dogs. But here, they seemed to have thought of everything. Rainbow-feathered pigeons scavenged for tidbits of popcorn and cotton candy on the grounds in front of the ferry, while truffle-headed fish and neon-colored eels swam around the moat that surrounded the city center, Castle Firefly. Everywhere in between, elm and oak elephants roamed, the gentle breeze blowing through the leaves on their branched tusks, past slinky-necked giraffes who grazed upon brilliant blue trees and singing willows. Button beetles of every shape and color danced with amoeba flowers, which appeared to change shape and grow larger according to the tune of the willows' songs.

Suddenly, Cora remembered why she was here: she was on a mission. She shook her head and walked onto the wide path, trying not to gawk conspicuously at the procession of four-legged fish that was making its way into the center of town. She followed along nonchalantly - that was where she needed to be, too, and since she had no idea what kind of security surrounded the queen, she figured she might be as well learn by watching someone else first, just in case the guards weren't very friendly.

As they shuffled along noisily, kicking up dust with their webbed feet (Cora stayed back, not wanting the dust clouds to settle immediately in her penny-colored hair - her mother would certainly give her a talking to about that!), she reflected upon her quest. Cora was here because of a promise she'd made to her best friend Betty. Betty didn't believe in Queen's Island; it was just some old loon's crazy fantasy thought up to entertain children so well that their eyelids would slide shut well before their preferred bedtime.

But Cora knew she was wrong. She knew, because she'd seen and heard clues that this place existed, that it wasn't just some crackpot fairy tale. A tiger-striped mouse darted across the path in front of her, nearly tripping the last of the quadrupedal fish that trudged along. He scowled at the mouse, who squeaked out a measly "sorry!" as he streaked into the fields of zebra flowers that flanked both sides of this part of the path.