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ABC Blog

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This Grandma Looks Amazing

In her 2 photos - she now looks 50 years of age event though shes 89. Its completley remarkable how rubbing this on her face completely made her look different. See her and take a look

Give it a try on your own face

It was the Elder Dryads tree, the great oak that once stood tall and proud, looming over the others. Now, like its twin in the clearing, it was dying. Its branches were bare of leaves, the shaggy moss that covered it brown and dead. A lump rose to my throat. I remembered the Elder Dryad from our first visit here: an old, grandmotherly fey with a soft voice and kind eyes who had given the very heart of her tree to make sure I could rescue my brother. And kill the faery whod kidnapped him. The Elder had known she would die if she helped me. But she gave us the weapon we needed to take down the enemy fey and get Ethan back. The dryad girl stepped beside me, gazing at the dying oak. She lives still, she murmured, her voice like the whisper of leaves. Dying, yes. Too weak to leave her tree, she sleeps now, dreaming of her youth. But not gone, not yet. It will take a long time for her to fade completely. Im so sorry, I whispered. No, Meghan Chase. The dryad shook her head with a faint rustling sound, and a shiny beetle crawled across her face to burrow into her hair. She knew. She knew all along what was going to happen. The wind tells us these things. Just as it tells us you are in terrible danger now. She suddenly fixed me with piercing black eyes. You should not be here, she said firmly. It is very close. Why have you come My skin prickled, but I shook off the feeling of trepidation and held her gaze. Im here for Puck. I need to see him. The dryads expression softened. Ah. Yes, of course. I will take you to him, but I fear you will be disappointed. It doesnt matter. I felt cold, even in the warm summer night. I just want to see him. The dryad nodded and shuffled back, swaying in the breeze. This way.

Page 7 Chapter Two The Heart of the Oak Puck, or the infamous Robin Goodfellow, as he was known inA Midsummer Nights Dream, had another name, once. A human name, belonging to a lanky, redhaired boy, who had been the neighbor of a shy farm girl in the Louisiana bayou. Robbie Goodfell, as he called himself back then, had been my classmate, confidant and best friend. Always looking out for me, like an older brother. Goofy, sarcastic and somewhat overprotective, Robbie was... Different. When he wasnt around, people barely remembered him, who he was, what he looked like. It was like he simply faded from their memories, despite the fact that whenever anything went wrong in schoolmice in desks, superglue on chairs, an alligator in the bathrooms one dayRobbie was somehow involved. No one ever suspected him, but I always knew. Still, it came as a shock when I discovered who he really was: King Oberons servant, charged with keeping an eye on me in the mortal world. To keep me safe from those who would harm a halfhuman daughter of Oberon. But also, to keep me blind to the world of Faery, ignorant and unaware of my true nature, and all the danger that came with it. When Ethan was kidnapped and taken into the Nevernever, Robbies plans to keep me blind and ignorant unraveled. Defying Oberons direct orders, he agreed to help me rescue my brother, but his loyalty came at a huge cost. During a battle with an Iron faery, a brandnew species of fey born from technology and progress, he was shot and very nearly killed. Ash and I brought him here, to City Park, and the dryads took him into one of their trees to sleep and heal from his wounds. Suspended in stasis, the dryads kept him alive, but they didnt know when he would wake up. If he woke up at all. We had to leave him behind when we left to rescue Ethan, and the guilt of that decision had haunted me ever since. I pressed my palm against the mossy trunk, dering if I could feel his heartbeat within the tree, a vibration, a sigh. Something, anything, that told me he was still there. But I felt nothing except sap, moss and the rough edges of the bark. Puck, if he still lived, was far from my reach. Are you sure hes in there I asked the dryad, not taking my eyes from the trunk. I didnt know what to expect: his head to pop out of the wood and grin at me, perhaps But I felt that if I took my eyes away for a second, I would miss something.

The dryad girl nodded. Yes. He lives still. Nothing has changed. Robin Goodfellow sleeps his dreamless slumber, waiting for the day he will rejoin the world. When will that be I asked, running my fingers down the trunk. We do not know. Perhaps days. Perhaps centuries. Perhaps he does not want to wake up. The dryad placed her hand on the trunk and closed her eyes. He is resting comfortably, in no pain. There is nothing you can do for him but wait, and be patient. Unsatisfied with her answer, I pressed my palm against the tree and closed my eyes. Summer glamour swirled around me, the magic of my father Oberon and the Summer court, the glamour of heat and earth and living things. I prodded the tree gently, feeling the sunwarmed leaves and the life running through their emerald veins. I felt thousands of tiny insects swarming over and burrowing into the trunk, the rapid Page 8 heartbeat of birds, dreaming in the branches. I pressed deeper, past the surface, past the softer, still growing wood, deep into the heart of the tree. And there he was. I couldnt physically see him, of course, but I could sense him, feel his presence in front of me, a bright spot of life against the heartwood. I felt the wood cradling his thin, lanky frame, protecting it, and heard the faintestthumpthump of a beating heart. Puck hovered limply, his chin on his chest and his eyes closed. He seemed much smaller in sleep, fragile and ghostlike, as if a breath could blow him away.

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