She was lonely so she built herself a friend of sticks and leaves and sat on the forest floor with it, looking into its attentive acorn eyes and telling it stories. It would either come alive like in a fairy tale, she thought, or it wouldn’t, and then she would know if there was any enchantment in her life. She told it story after story, and the leaf-friend said nothing. It blinked not, and neither did it laugh, and towards evening a breeze stirred and carried it away. She stood and walked slowly out of the forest, sad to discover there was not, after all, any enchantment in her life. She didn’t look back to notice that she was followed by birds. They gathered in the branches at the forest’s edge and watched her go. “How do you suppose that last story ends?” asked one bird, and another bird shrugged and said, “I guess we’ll never know.”
P.S. There is always enchantment.