Story

A Little Princess

30 minAges 7-9

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The story

Introduction

Imagine a world where a little girl, with a heart full of sunshine, discovers magic hiding in plain sight! She arrives at a grand old school, ready for adventures and dreams. But when her world turns upside down, will her special imagination help her find joy again? Join us for 'A Little Princess' a story about kindness, courage, and a touch of real magic.

Sara's Sparkling Arrival

And so, our story begins, with a very special little girl named Sara Crewe. She sailed all the way from sunny India, across the big blue ocean, to a grand, grey house in London. This house wasn't just any house, you see; it was Miss Minchin's Select Seminary for Young Ladies! What a fancy name! Sara wasn't like the other girls who arrived with just a small suitcase. Oh no! She had the most wonderful clothes, all made of silky fabrics in colours like lavender and rose. Her hair, the colour of polished chestnuts, flowed down her back, and her eyes sparkled like bright blue jewels. She brought with her a tiny monkey, named Marmalade, who peeked shyly from her travel basket! And books! Mountains of books, and the prettiest dolls, and even her own little pony carriage! Everyone at the school looked at her and whispered, "She's a little princess!" Miss Minchin, who was usually very stern, even managed a small, thin smile for Sara. But what adventures would await a little princess in such a grand, old school?

A Birthday Wish and a Cloud

And adventures there certainly were! Sara quickly settled into Miss Minchin’s Select Seminary for Young Ladies. She loved learning new things every day, especially about faraway lands and exciting stories. She had a special way of making everything seem like an adventure, even the boring sums. Her favourite part was often playtime, where she would gather all the other girls around and tell them wonderful tales she made up herself, full of magic and brave heroes. The girls adored her, and even some of the teachers found themselves listening intently to her imaginative stories. It was a joyful time. Soon, a very special day was approaching – Sara’s eleventh birthday! Oh, what a day it was going to be! Her Papa, Captain Crewe, had promised her the most beautiful party, with delicious cakes, colourful decorations, and even a new pony. Sara couldn't wait! She pictured all her friends laughing and playing, and she felt so, so happy. On the morning of her birthday, the sun shone brightly. Sara woke up feeling like the luckiest girl in the whole wide world. She had a special birthday wish, too. She wished that everyone, everywhere, could feel as happy and loved as she did. It was a very kind wish. But sometimes, even on the happiest days, a little cloud can drift across the sky. As Sara was getting ready for her party, Miss Minchin called her into her office. Miss Minchin’s face was very serious, and her voice was not at all jolly. “Sara,” she began, “I have some terrible news about your Papa.” Sara’s heart fluttered like a trapped butterfly. She listened carefully as Miss Minchin explained, very quickly, that her Papa had lost all his money in an unlucky business adventure. And then, Miss Minchin said something even sadder. Her Papa was gone. He wouldn't be coming back. The colourful balloons and delicious cakes suddenly seemed to fade away. Sara felt a cold, empty feeling in her tummy. She was no longer a little princess with a grand party. She was just Sara, and her Papa was gone. The world had changed in an instant.

The Attic Room and the Friendly Rat

That very night, the world felt even colder for Sara. No one led her to a soft, warm bed with silk blankets and fluffy pillows. Instead, a stern-faced Miss Minchin pointed the way up, up, up a creaky wooden staircase, past all the other warm, cosy rooms, until they reached the very tippy-top of the house. This was the attic. The room was tiny, cold, and dusty. It had a sloping ceiling that made it feel like a secret cave, but not a very friendly one. There was a small, hard bed with a thin mattress, a chipped basin for washing, and one little window that looked out onto the grey rooftops of London. No pretty dresses, no colourful toys, no books with wonderful stories – just shadows dancing in the corners whenever the wind whistled outside. Sara shivered. Not just from the cold air, but from the cold, lonely feeling inside her. She missed her Papa so much it made her tummy ache. But Sara was a very special girl. Even when things were difficult, she tried to remember the lovely stories her Papa used to tell her. He always said, 'Sara, my darling, you can be a princess inside, no matter what you wear or where you live.' So, she closed her eyes tight. She pretended the thin, lumpy mattress was a fluffy cloud, drifting gently across a warm, blue sky. She imagined that the chipped basin was a silver fountain, sparkling with magic water. And the little window? That was her own private window to the stars, where she could wave to her Papa, who was perhaps a bright star himself now. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Sara's life was very different from before. Instead of learning French and history in a warm classroom, she now had to run errands for Miss Minchin. She scrubbed floors, carried heavy buckets of coal, and peeled endless piles of potatoes in the cold, dark kitchen. Her pretty clothes were replaced by plain, worn-out dresses, and her hands, which used to be so soft, became rough and red. Sometimes, when she was very tired and very hungry, Sara would forget to pretend. She would feel sad and alone. But then, she would remember her Papa's words. She would sit in her little attic room, sometimes with just a dry crust of bread for her supper, and begin to imagine. She would imagine that the crust was a magnificent feast, with roasted chickens and sparkling drinks, and that she was a queen in her grand castle. One evening, as Sara was sitting very quietly, nibbling her crust of bread, she heard a tiny scuttling sound. *Scuttle, scuttle, scuttle.* She looked up and saw two bright, beady eyes peeking out from a small hole near the skirting board. It was a little brown rat! Most children might have squealed or been frightened, but Sara had always been kind to every creature, no matter how small. 'Hello there, little friend,' she whispered, holding out a tiny piece of her bread. The rat twitched its nose, hesitated, then slowly, slowly, crept out. It was a shy little thing, with soft brown fur and a long, thin tail. It took the bread very gently from Sara's fingers, nibbled it quickly, and then darted back into its hole. Sara smiled. It was the first time she had truly smiled in a very long time. She felt a little warmth spread through her tummy. She had a visitor! A secret friend in her lonely attic room. Every evening after that, Sara would save a tiny crumb of her supper for her new friend. She didn't have much, but she always shared. She decided to give her little rat friend a very special name. A long, important name that made him sound like a brave explorer or a wise old professor. She thought and thought, and then she remembered a name from one of Papa's old books. 'I shall call you Melchisedec,' she whispered to the hole in the wall. 'Yes, Melchisedec. You are my very clever, very kind Melchisedec.' And so, even in the cold, dusty attic, with her hard work and her hungry tummy, Sara found a way to be a princess. Not with grand dresses or sparkling jewels, but with her imagination, her kindness, and her tiny, scuttling friend, Melchisedec. She knew that even when the outside world was grey, her inner world could still be full of colour and warmth, as long as she believed. And she did believe. Always.

Imagining Warmth and Magic

Sara certainly did believe. Even though her grand dresses were gone, replaced by plain, patched-up clothes, and her lovely room was now a chilly attic space, her imagination shone brighter than ever. It was like a secret, sparkling lamp inside her heart that no one could ever put out. The attic room was often very cold. Especially on those blustery, rainy days when the wind whistled through the tiny cracks in the windowpane, making the old curtains dance. Sara would pull her thin blanket tighter around her, but sometimes, even that wasn't enough to chase away the shivers. That's when her special magic would begin. She would close her eyes, and the little attic room would transform. The rough, grey walls would melt away, replaced by the soft, warm colours of a grand drawing-room, just like the ones in her favourite storybooks. Instead of the draughty floorboards, she would imagine a thick, fluffy rug, as soft as a cloud and warm as toast. She’d picture a huge, roaring fireplace, crackling cheerfully, sending dancing shadows across the imaginary walls. She could almost feel the warmth on her cheeks and the tips of her toes, even though her actual feet were still a bit nippy. Sometimes, she'd whisper to Melchisedec, who would often be curled up nearby, waiting for a crumb. "Look, Melchisedec," she'd say, pointing to an invisible spot, "there's a lovely big armchair, all squishy and red! And a tiny one just for you, next to a little plate of cheese biscuits!" Melchisedec would twitch his nose, as if he could smell the imaginary treats, and Sara would giggle. Her imagination wasn't just for warmth. Oh no! It was also for delicious, scrumptious food. When her tummy felt a little empty, and her dinner had been just a small, plain piece of bread, Sara would embark on a grand imaginary feast. She'd close her eyes and picture a table laden with all her favourite things! Piles of fluffy pancakes, dripping with golden syrup and fresh berries. Crispy, golden chips, hot from the fryer, with a generous sprinkle of salt and vinegar. And for dessert? Mountains of chocolate cake, with thick, creamy icing, and perhaps a whole bowl of sticky toffee pudding! She would describe each imaginary dish in such detail to Melchisedec, that even he seemed to listen with great attention. "And then, Melchisedec," she'd whisper, "we'll have tiny little cucumber sandwiches, cut into perfect triangles, for our tea party! And pots of lovely Earl Grey tea, with just a splash of milk!" She’d sip from an invisible teacup and make a little 'ahhh' sound, as if she’d truly enjoyed the most wonderful drink. Sara knew that Miss Minchin and Miss Amelia couldn't take away her thoughts or her secret games. They could make her work hard, and they could give her stale bread, but they could never, ever touch the wonderful world she carried inside her head. It was her very own kingdom, and she was its clever, kind queen. She often imagined that her father, Captain Crewe, was still with her. She’d picture him sitting in a comfy chair, laughing gently at her stories, his eyes twinkling. "You're a brave girl, Sara," she'd imagine him saying, "to keep your chin up, even when things are tough. Your imagination is a wonderful gift." And just thinking about him, hearing his imaginary voice, made her feel a little less lonely, and a lot more loved. One particularly grey morning, when the rain was hammering against the roof and the wind was howling like a hungry wolf, Sara felt an extra chill right down to her bones. Her fingers were numb as she tried to thread a needle for some mending. "It's so cold today, Melchisedec," she mumbled, blowing on her fingers. But then, she remembered her magic. She paused, closed her eyes tightly, and took a deep breath. She began to imagine the sun, not just a little bit, but a huge, enormous, smiling sun, beaming down through the attic window. She imagined its golden rays touching every corner of the room, making the floorboards feel warm, and even warming up the cold air that tickled her nose. She pictured little sunbeams dancing on the dusty shelves, turning ordinary cobwebs into sparkling, silvery decorations. She even imagined a tiny little robin, with a bright red breast, hopping onto her windowsill, singing a cheerful tune, as if it were a beautiful spring day, not a miserable winter one. And do you know what? As she imagined it, a tiny, almost imperceptible warmth seemed to spread through her. Her fingers still felt a little cold, but her heart felt much warmer. The sound of the wind didn’t seem quite so scary, and the grey outside didn’t feel quite so heavy. Her secret imaginary world was a place where nothing was impossible. She could fly to the moon on a biscuit tin, or turn her thin blanket into a cloak of shimmering stars. She could talk to the sparrows that sometimes perched on the roof, and they would tell her tales of far-off lands. She even imagined that Melchisedec could speak proper English, though mostly he just said, "Squeak!" and wiggled his whiskers. This powerful imagination wasn't just for fun; it was also her very best friend and her bravest shield. It helped her remember that even though she was in a small, cold attic, the real Sara inside was still a princess. A princess of kindness, a princess of cleverness, and most of all, a princess of imagination. She knew that no matter what happened, her inner world would always be her own, full of warmth, colour, and magic. And that, dear listeners, was a wonderful, powerful thing indeed.

Ermengarde's Secret Friend

Sara's wonderful, powerful imagination wasn't just for herself, you see. Oh no, it had a magical way of spilling out and touching others, like a warm ray of sunshine on a chilly day. And there was one girl in particular who needed that sunshine more than anyone else at Miss Minchin's school. Her name was Ermengarde. Now, Ermengarde wasn't like Lavinia, who always seemed to know the right answer, or Jessie, who was quick with a clever remark. Poor Ermengarde was a very shy, quiet girl with big, worried eyes that often looked like she was about to burst into tears. She wasn't very quick at her lessons, and the numbers and letters seemed to dance about on the page, confusing her little head. Miss Minchin, who was never very patient, would often sigh loudly when it was Ermengarde's turn to read or recite. The other girls, especially Lavinia, would sometimes giggle, which made Ermengarde's face turn a bright, embarrassed red. She often felt quite alone, even in a room full of children. Sara, with her keen, observant eyes, noticed Ermengarde's struggles. She remembered how she felt when she first arrived, a bit lost and uncertain, even with all her beautiful things. Sara knew what it was like to feel different, even if her difference was being rich and Ermengarde’s was feeling a bit slow. Her heart, always full of kindness, went out to Ermengarde. One blustery afternoon, when the wind was howling outside like a lost puppy, Miss Minchin had set a particularly difficult history lesson. Ermengarde was sitting at her desk, chewing on the end of her pencil, tears welling up in her eyes as she stared at the long, complicated words. Sara, finishing her own work quickly, saw her. Instead of going to play, Sara quietly slipped from her seat and sat down beside Ermengarde. "Are you having a spot of bother with the Tudors?" Sara whispered, her voice as gentle as a feather. Ermengarde jumped, startled, and then nodded miserably. "I just don't understand it, Sara," she mumbled. "It's all so many dates and names. My head feels like a muddled ball of wool." Sara smiled. "Well, what if we made them into a story?" she suggested. "Imagine King Henry the Eighth as a big, grumpy lion, and his wives as little birds fluttering around him. And Queen Elizabeth, well, she could be a magnificent queen bee, buzzing around her hive, which is England!" Ermengarde's eyes, which had been so dull, brightened a little. "A queen bee?" she repeated, a tiny smile starting to form. From that day on, a secret friendship began to blossom between Sara and Ermengarde. Whenever Miss Minchin was busy, or during quiet study times, Sara would lean over and whisper a story, turning boring facts into exciting adventures. She would draw little pictures on the corner of Ermengarde's slates – a brave knight with a wobbly helmet for a battle, or a curly-haired princess for a queen. She made up silly rhymes to remember long lists of words, and together they would giggle softly, careful not to be heard. Sara’s attic room, which was usually so lonely, became their special, secret classroom after dark sometimes. When everyone else was asleep, Ermengarde would sometimes sneak up the stairs, carrying a biscuit or two she’d managed to save from tea. They’d huddle together under Sara's thin blanket, with the moonlight peeking through the dusty window, and Sara would read stories to Ermengarde, or explain a tricky sum using the stars as examples. "Look," Sara would whisper, pointing to the glittering sky, "if that big star is one apple, and that little star is another, how many apples do we have altogether?" Ermengarde, who found numbers so hard in the bright, busy classroom, suddenly found them making sense in the quiet, magical attic. With Sara, learning wasn't a punishment; it was an adventure. Slowly but surely, a change came over Ermengarde. Her worried eyes still appeared sometimes, but they weren't quite so full of tears. She still wasn't the cleverest girl in the school, but she wasn't always at the bottom of the class either. More importantly, she wasn't so lonely anymore. She had a friend, a true friend, who understood her and never made her feel silly. Sara, in turn, found great joy in helping Ermengarde. Even though her own life was now difficult, filled with chores and cold, she still had this precious secret. It reminded her that she still had something valuable to give, something even Miss Minchin couldn't take away: her kindness, her imagination, and her ability to make others feel better. It was a secret source of strength for Sara too, a tiny, warm spark in her sometimes chilly world. Their friendship was like a tiny, secret garden, hidden away from the stern gaze of Miss Minchin and the snide remarks of Lavinia. In this garden, kindness bloomed like the prettiest flowers, and laughter bubbled up like a clear, cool spring. It showed that even in the toughest of times, a little bit of empathy and a lot of imagination could create a haven of warmth and happiness. Sara truly was a princess of kindness, sharing her inner warmth with her dearest friend. And Ermengarde, who had once been so lost, now had a guiding star in Sara. A secret friend who helped her see that she, too, had wonderful things inside her, just waiting to be discovered.

The Mysterious Neighbour and the Squirrel

Even though Sara shared her make-believe warmth and joy with Ermengarde, her days in the attic were still very cold. Miss Minchin, the headmistress, seemed to grow crosser, and often, Sara didn’t get enough to eat. Yet, Sara remembered her daddy’s wise words: "You are a princess inside, no matter what." She remained brave, wrapping her thin blanket like a royal cloak and talking to imaginary friends or the sparrows on her windowsill, sharing crumbs when she had them. Her imagination was a magic shield, protecting her heart from the cold and sadness. One day, something new happened in the big house next door, which had been empty for a long time. Carts arrived, carrying beautiful rugs, shiny furniture, and tall green plants. A new family was moving in! Sara watched from her tiny attic window, feeling a flicker of excitement, wondering who would live there. Soon, two people moved into the grand house. One was an important-looking gentleman, Mr. Carrisford, who often seemed tired and poorly, having come all the way from India, just like Sara’s daddy. The other was his faithful Indian servant, Ram Dass, a kind-faced man with a long, wispy beard and a turban. He moved very quietly, like a shadow, his eyes holding many secrets. Sara often saw Ram Dass watering exotic plants or glimpsed him polishing something glittering. She found him fascinating, like a character from her storybooks. She wished he would wave a wand and make a warm bun appear on her windowsill! One crisp afternoon, as Sara sat by her window, feeling lonely and hungry, a tiny, twitching nose appeared on the sill. It was a squirrel! Its fur was the color of warm chestnuts, its tail a magnificent plume. It looked at Sara with bright, curious eyes. "Hello there, little friend," Sara whispered, delighted. She held out a tiny piece of stale bread. The squirrel hesitated, then scampered closer, snatched the crumb, and darted away. From that day on, the squirrel, whom Sara called Nutkin, became a regular visitor, bringing a little bit of the outside world into Sara’s small, lonely room. Meanwhile, Ram Dass, the quiet servant next door, had a very special job. His master, Mr. Carrisford, was often ill. From the balcony outside Mr. Carrisford’s room, Ram Dass could see right into Sara’s attic window. He often saw the small girl, thin and pale, talking to herself or sharing scraps with her squirrel. He saw her ragged clothes and how she shivered. His kind heart felt a pang for her. Ram Dass knew about Mr. Carrisford’s search. Mr. Carrisford had been business partners with Sara’s father in India. They had a diamond mine, but tragedy struck. Sara’s father had seemed to lose everything, then died. Mr. Carrisford nearly died too, and believed Sara was left penniless. He felt guilty and had been trying to find her, knowing only she was a little orphan girl somewhere in London. He didn't realize she was living right next door, a prisoner in Miss Minchin's cold attic. One evening, after a particularly harsh day with no dinner, Sara went to bed terribly hungry and miserable. She pulled her thin blanket tight, tears pricking her eyes. She wished for warmth or a slice of bread. When she woke early next morning, she noticed something strange on her little table. It wasn't there when she went to sleep! She sat up. There, on a small, clean plate, was a pile of freshly baked, warm rolls! Next to them, a pat of creamy butter, a pot of jam, and a cup of steaming tea, still warm. Sara gasped. "What in the world?" She touched a roll; it was real! Then she saw a little note: "For the little princess who makes friends with squirrels. Eat and be well." Sara's eyes widened. A princess? Who knew about Nutkin? She thought of magic carpets and fairy godmothers. She ate every crumb, feeling her tummy fill with warmth and happiness. The next night, the same thing happened! This time, a warm bowl of soup, a juicy apple, and a slice of delicious cake. The note simply said: "Sweet dreams, little princess." Sara couldn't stop thinking about it, even telling Nutkin all about it. She kept her secret close, a sparkling jewel in her drab world. Ram Dass, meanwhile, was very careful. He would wait until the whole house was asleep, then quietly open the door to Mr. Carrisford’s balcony, right next to Sara’s attic window. He would gently open Sara’s window just a crack, place the delicious food and kind note on her table, sometimes adding a warm shawl or a new book. He moved like a whisper in the night. He liked to imagine the little girl's surprised, happy face in the morning. He also sneaked in small, brightly colored rugs, a soft cushion, and a tiny, sparkling picture frame with a cheerful robin, wanting to make her attic room feel like a cozy, secret nest. Sara believed it was all magic, a wonderful fairy tale coming true. She didn't know the magic came from the kind heart of Ram Dass, trying to help a sad little girl. And she certainly didn't know that the sick gentleman next door, Mr. Carrisford, was searching for her. But the secret was slowly beginning to unravel, like a beautiful, golden thread. And soon, the little princess would find out that sometimes, the most wonderful magic is simply kindness.

The Midnight Feast and a Special Gift

Even though Sara lived in a cold, dusty attic room and worked hard for Miss Minchin, she held onto her special magic. She knew kindness could appear unexpectedly. Her attic became a royal palace, the cold a spell waiting to be broken. One evening, after a long day of chores – scrubbing floors, carrying coal, running errands – Sara climbed to her attic room. Her tummy rumbled, her feet ached. A small crust of bread was her meagre supper. Curled on her hard bed, thin blanket pulled tight, Sara watched London fog swirl outside. But in her heart, hope flickered like a tiny candle. She closed her eyes, imagining a warm tent in a glittering desert, stars twinkling above. Next door, in a grand house, lived Mr. Carrisford, a sick gentleman now recovering with his clever Indian servant, Ram Dass. Mr. Carrisford often watched Sara from his window, seeing her small, sad figure working hard. She reminded him of someone special he was searching for. "Ram Dass," Mr. Carrisford said, his voice weak. "That poor child next door looks so cold and hungry. Can we brighten her life?" Ram Dass, with kind, wise eyes, nodded slowly. "Sahib," he replied. "Perhaps... a little magic? A secret feast?" Mr. Carrisford's eyes lit up. "A secret feast! And warm blankets? Books? A doll? Every girl needs a doll!" Ram Dass smiled. He was a master of secret magic. He knew all about climbing walls and tiptoeing. That afternoon, while Sara was busy, Ram Dass went to work. He bought delicious food: warm meat pies, fluffy bread, sweet jam tarts, and juicy oranges. He found thick, woolly blankets, a soft pillow, and a beautiful doll with golden hair and a silk dress. He even found colourful storybooks! That night, after everyone in Miss Minchin's seminary was asleep, Ram Dass began his secret mission. He was as quiet as a mouse. First, he climbed out of Mr. Carrisford's window, nimble as a monkey. He stepped onto the roof, carrying a basket of treasures. The moon made everything silvery and still. He tiptoed to Sara’s window, a tiny attic window. Very carefully, Ram Dass opened it a crack. He saw Sara, fast asleep, shivering slightly under her thin blanket. Her little face looked pale in the moonlight. Ram Dass slipped inside, moving like a shadow. He placed the warm blankets neatly on Sara's bed and the soft pillow where her head would rest. Then, with a flourish, he laid out an amazing feast on her rickety table: steaming meat pies, fresh bread, butter, cheese, jam tarts, apples, and oranges! Next to the food, he carefully placed the special gifts. The beautiful doll sat propped up, as if waiting to play. The colourful storybooks were stacked beside her. It looked like magic had truly visited Sara's room! Ram Dass looked around. The room was still dusty and bare, but now, with a new oil lamp glowing and the wonderful smell of food, it felt cared for. He quietly tiptoed back to the window, closed it gently, and disappeared, leaving behind a truly magical secret. Hours later, just as the first birds chirped, Sara slowly opened her eyes. Something felt different. Had she been dreaming? She sat up, rubbing her eyes. And then she saw it. On her little table, where there had only been her old mug, was a glorious feast! Meat pies, still warm, bread, butter, jam tarts, and fruit! And next to the food, a brand-new, soft pillow, two thick, woolly blankets folded neatly, and a beautiful doll with golden hair, dressed in silk! Beside the doll were books – real, new books with pictures! Sara blinked. Was she still dreaming? She reached out, her fingers trembling, and touched the warm pie. It was real! The blankets were soft. The doll's hair felt smooth. "Oh!" she whispered, a tear of pure joy rolling down her cheek. It was like a dream come true, only better, because it was real! She scrambled out of bed. She hugged the new, soft pillow. She wrapped herself in the thick, warm blankets. For the first time in a long, long time, she felt truly warm. Then, she sat at her little table and looked at the feast. She didn't gobble it all down, even though her tummy was very hungry. Instead, she ate slowly, savouring each bite. She peeled an orange, enjoying the tangy smell. She talked to the doll. "Oh, you beautiful lady!" she said. "Did a good fairy bring you? Did the magic come true?" She picked up one of the books. It was a story about brave knights and princesses. Just the kind of book she loved! Sara couldn't understand how it had happened. She knew Miss Minchin would never be so kind. It must be magic! Real, true magic! Someone, somewhere, knew she was cold, hungry, and lonely, and had sent a secret angel to help her. What Sara didn't know was that her kind neighbour, Mr. Carrisford, and his clever servant, Ram Dass, were watching from their window, just as the sun painted the sky. They saw her happy face, her eyes shining with wonder, and they smiled. Their secret magic had worked. And in her little attic room, surrounded by warmth, delicious food, and brand-new treasures, Sara felt a happiness so big it almost burst her heart. She knew, with all her imagination, that sometimes, the most wonderful magic truly was kindness, wrapped up in a secret, midnight feast. She felt like a princess again, even in her dusty attic.

Outro

And so, our little princess found her sparkle once more, proving that kindness is the greatest crown of all. Thank you for joining us on this magical adventure, little listeners! We hope you enjoyed Sara’s story. Do let Sonacasts know if you have any feedback – we'd love to hear from you. Perhaps you could imagine your own amazing adventures too? There’s a whole world of stories waiting to be told. Until next time, keep dreaming big! Bye-bye!