■■■ cuckoo
______various ages | n/a

Little Quinny used to own a cuckoo clock. Her parents had bought it for her when she was four. Every hour, the little wooden bird would come flying out and tickle her as it cooed the time. She loved that clock dearly, and told her parents that she wanted to be a clockmaker when she grew up. Little Quinny used to own a cuckoo clock. Her parents had bought it for her when she was four. Every hour, the little wooden bird would come flying out and tickle her as it cooed the time. She loved that clock dearly, and told her parents that she wanted to be a clockmaker when she grew up. "I want to charm wooden cuckoos like that!"

Of course, back then she was only little. She didn't know.

Quinn next saw a cuckoo at the zoo, and it was a real one this time. She peered at the birds as they flew around in their large cage, and couldn't explain her sudden sadness. "I don't like my name," she'd said, and felt it to be true. "Just call me Q."

There was a cuckoo clock at Mungo's too, in the children's ward. Q was nine and a half by then; they'd gone to see a specialist. She stared at the wooden birdhouse as the Healers waved their wands with grave expressions. The clock was broken. She was there for three hours, and it didn't cuckoo once.

What a stupid clock. If the bird was in there, why didn't it work?