Certain roles warrant mention, and those that play them, however often in the wings, deserve to step forward and take a bow. Once upon a time there was a little girl… not the first girl nor the first time, but let us say the first this time 'round. The first First Tooth, the first one following; the first one loose, the first one falling. And what does that mean? Is a fallen tooth like a fallen leaf? Is it a hole that lets a whistle through? A space for a straw (for now)?

And once upon the same time, there was a man who wondered how that story went: was it the same as when he grow some teeth and dropped them, or had the story changed somewhere along that road? What was a fairy, anyway, and what strange land did they inhabit? It all needed to be told, or else the first imagination would deflate; then the second imagination and so on and on after that. They say a lie begets a lie, and so do stories that gently stretch what's credible to fit an eager mind; so on a rumpled paper, with a pen disguised to be another hand, Larissa makes her way onto the page…

Dearest Isabela,

Thank you so very much for your kind message. It makes the work of a tooth fairy so much easier when we don't have to hunt for our children. I shudder to think what I would have done, if I had found an Isabela and no tooth… or a tooth, and no Isabela!

Dear, I have given you a few extra goodies this time. I hope you like them. You see, we are running short of baby teeth, so I have had to borrow your old ones for some of the new babies. Please tell Mousy, who I left to guard your treasures, which babies should get the teeth, and I'll see to it they go to the right smiles.

Meanwhile, brush, brush, brush!

Your fairy toothy godmama,

As you might imagine, Larissa's triumphant if not magical swirl beneath and around her name was unfortunate, as her triumph led to several confusing messages addressed to Clarissa, who also happened to be a girl who babysat now and then. Most unfortunate, and the number of Imaginations that required reimagining were more than a writer cared to count.

Finally, Larissa did settle down to being just Herself, and in an irregular but wholly expected series of correspondences, she serviced the departure of each of Isabela's baby teeth, to growing skepticism but never waning delight. There began to be more than a little complicity in the story line, and letters were left under the pillow at decidedly inappropriate and unguessable times, adding considerable stress to the poor Fairy's already unworkable schedule. Always ready with a reasonable reply, a loving farewell, and a "we will see you next time…!"

Of course there came a day when there could be no more next times, for a tooth fairy. Some letters are harder to imagine than others. They all wait to be written nonetheless.