Page 37 of Barbie: Dreamscape

I walk down the gumdrop-lined path warily, ready for literally anything to jump out at me. When nothing changes, I narrow my eyes in suspicion. I sink to my haunches. The moment I reach toward a gumdrop, it flips into the ground and pops back up as a regular shrub. I glare at it.

At least let me eat you if you’re going to trick me, I think.

It flips over again, returning as a gumdrop.

Candy-cane trees. Gingerbread hedges. Candied apple trees, and gates made of caramelized sugar. The breeze smells delicious.

I look around, searching for anything glowing pink, to no avail. Yet, my necklace is still glowing. If anything, the pink burns brighter. The key must be near. I look around, not seeing anything—

Until I spot a reflection of pink in a puddle of butterscotch syrup.

I look up.

And there, in the sky, is the key.

It resembles one of the miniature bells from the oak tree, only this one has a pair of tiny wings attached. Perhaps it transformed from a bird. Whatever it was before, there it is.

Now I just have to figure out how to get it.

Think, Barbie. I try to remember everything I’ve learned. This land has been teaching me its rules with every step. Things can become other things, but my emotions can affect their forms. I’ve proven I can change objects in this world, if I just focus hard enough…

I look down at the necklaces again. They’ve gotten me through the mist around Heartland. They’ve channeled the power of Wardrobe without Wardrobe, and they’ve also helped me find the shell in Summerland.

It’s not me… it’s their magic that has been transforming this world.

I grip both charms in my hand, staring up at that floating bell. This land is about transformation and imagination.

I haven’t really… played in a while. Not since I was a kid. The moment I started school, and got my first perfect score, and saw the look of pride on Robin’s face, I put all my energy toward learning.

But before that, I used to love to paint. I would ask for palettes and brushes and canvases, and I would spend hours in my room, painting everything.

Painting didn’t make Robin’s eyes crease with pride. It didn’t make her hold my hand and tell me how proud my mother would be of me.

So I gave up on it.

Now I try to think back to that creativity. I squint at the sky—and those clouds… they kind of look like stairs.

This is ludicrous. It makes no sense. It defies logic.

But maybe that’s what makes this land special.

I look around for a hose. This is a garden, even if it is made of candy. There. It’s curled like a snake near a bush, but I approach it quickly and calmly, and it doesn’t turn into a serpent. No, I focus on what I want, and in my hands… it turns into a rope. I make a lariat loop, spin it around and around, and throw it up into the sky.

I capture a cloud. I pull it toward me, and it’s far heavier than it should be.

Because the cloud is not a cloud at all… it’s a flying sheep. The rest of the clouds-turned-sheep follow the one I’ve herded in.

“Stairs,” I command, feeling ridiculous, but pushing away any doubt.

And responding to the confidence of my tone, the sheep come together… and begin to form an upward incline. All the way to the key.

It… actually worked?

I take a deep breath. And take the first step.

The sheep hold, chomping on spun sugar that has floated up toward the sky. I take step after step, tired legs already straining, but I keep going, following the path to that winged bell like it’s a guiding star.

I made a plan. I executed it. And… it’s working.