An illustrated tale · Sèna Sublime
A tale for the children who keep their wishes under their pillow. And for the parents who forgot they had any.
The question
There are evenings when your child asks for nothing.
They eat what is put in front of them. They say yes. They say thank you. They fold their napkin and go to bed, good as a picture they have been asked to hold still.
And you, in the kitchen, feel — without being able to name it — that something very small is happening behind that silence.
A wish so tiny it fits inside a thought. A warm waffle. Ten minutes alone with you. A Sunday with no screens.
They do not say it. Not because they have nothing to say. Because they worked out, all by themselves, that you have enough to do.
“What do you like?”
Nobody has ever asked them that. Really asked. And then waited for the answer, without finishing the sentence for them.
This tale was written for that silence.
The book
Sèna Gay-Vigan · Sèna Sublime
Chrystal is seven, and she has a secret that fits inside a thought. One Wednesday, someone listens to her all the way to the end.
What it tells, without telling everything
The rest, your child will keep. That is how a tale works.
Chrystal is seven. And she has a very small secret, one that fits inside a thought.
Not the Sunday waffles. Not the supermarket ones. The warm waffles — the ones that go pshhh when you open the iron. The ones that smell of sugar and butter at the same time.
She has never said it. Mum has enough to do.
One Wednesday, her mother leaves her with Aunt Peacock. A house at the end of a path, with no doorbell. A wooden gate that creaks.
Behind it: a garden full of flowers, an old stone bench, tall grass that tickles your legs.
And a peacock. A real one. Blue. Green. Gold.
He looks at her. He takes two steps towards her. And he says — not with his mouth, with his eyes: Welcome, Chrystal.
On the stone bench, Aunt Peacock holds out a glass of juice and a biscuit with honey. “Take whatever you like. Or take nothing. You decide.”
Chrystal does not know how to choose. Nobody has ever let her choose.
So Aunt Peacock sits down facing her. She waits. Like the peacock. And then she asks: “What do you like?”
“Your voice counts,
even when it whispers.”
The peacock lifts his head. And opens his fan — a great circle of blue, green and gold, a hundred eyes shining all at once.
Chrystal goes home with a blue, green and gold feather in her pocket. She tries twice to speak. Twice, she closes her mouth.
Then, one morning, in front of the bowl of milk, in the kitchen: I would like warm waffles.
The waffle iron had been kept on the top shelf. It had not come down for years.
Hear the voice
Three passages, to taste the language before you open the tale. The other pages do not tell themselves.
He looked at me. I held my breath.
He took two steps towards me.
And he said — well, he did not say it with his mouth, he said it with his eyes:
Welcome, Chrystal.
Chrystal, seven years old
She leaned towards me and said, very softly:
Your voice counts, even when it whispers.
I kept that sentence. All afternoon. All night. All week.
Aunt Peacock
I looked at the milk.
I looked at the feather.
I looked at Mum’s eyes.
And I said — not loudly, but whole:
I would like warm waffles.
Chrystal, one morning
The first time she says her voice. Not loudly. But whole.
What you will find
One tale, two ways to meet it
The same tale, the same house at the end of the path, the same sentence. Said by a voice, or by yours.
To read together, curled up. To show each other the pictures. To let your child turn the pages alone, when they are ready.
For the evenings when your voice is tired. For the car, the waiting room, the moment you need, right now, a soft voice to begin.
For the parents who read aloud
This tale is the book you hand to your child. It does not replace yours. It opens its door.
Because you too, perhaps, were that little girl — or that little boy — who learned to ask for nothing so as not to be in the way. Who offered your good manners as a gift, never knowing it was your silence that was being taken.
The peacock is an invitation. To ask, regularly, this very simple question: What do you like? And to wait. Without hurrying. Without sighing.
Discover Mijoter, se retrouver — the path made for you.
Four questions
From the moment your child can say “I would like”. The voice of the tale is that of a seven-year-old girl. Younger children recognise the peacock and the feather. Older ones keep the sentence for themselves, longer than you would think.
No. The tale stands alone, and it is complete. It sometimes opens, faintly, a door towards Mijoter, se retrouver — for the parents who will want, afterwards, to walk that same path for themselves.
The whole tale, read aloud, as a nineteen-minute MP3. No sound effects, no musical decoration: only the voice. It comes in two versions — narration alone, or narration laid over a very quiet bed of piano and strings, for the evenings when your child needs to be soothed as much as listened to.
Immediately, by email, after payment. No subscription, nothing to renew. The file is yours.
A word before you close the page
There may be a moment, between the click and the purchase, when an inner voice says: it is only a tale. One more book.
Listen to it.
Then remember: it is not the book that matters.
It is the question you will ask, one Saturday morning, not knowing that it is still working: What do you like?
It is the silence you hold after asking it — a silence that is not empty, but a place being kept for you.
And it is the sentence your child will end up saying, one day, to someone else. Perhaps to their own child.
Your voice counts,
even when it whispers.
With tenderness,
— Sèna
Illustrated tale · PDF + EPUB
44 pages · 42 watercolours · the audio version as an option
Secure payment · Instant download · No subscription
Beautifully imperfect.
