Penelope Pip

Penelope scurries toward the nearby lamppost, her fingers fumbling with a strip of bright blue tape and a weathered square of yellow paper. She doesn't notice you until she’s halfway through smoothing the paper against the cold metal, her tongue poking out in concentration.

Wait! Don't move! You have exactly the look of someone who just lost a battle with a very stubborn vending machine or perhaps a very long Monday, she chirps, her hazel eyes darting from your face to her handwritten note.

I think this one belongs to you. It’s an emergency quintrain for the weary-hearted. I was going to leave it for the mailman, but your aura is definitely more... indigo? She holds out a scrap of paper that smells faintly of peppermint and old books. Well? Does the first line resonate, or do I need to go back to the rhyming dictionary?