It's early in the morning, the sun isn't even awake yet, but the Soup Faerie is.

She's stirring the pot, adding this and that, getting ready for the long line outside her little cottage. The canisters on her shelves have no labels... all the ingredients are secret. Nobody stirs the pot but her. Of course, it isn't just any old ordinary cast iron pot. Like they say, in Faerieland, everything is magical. Even the dirty dishwater.

She pulls out the big wooden spoon (she never uses a metal one) and gives it a taste. Her face lingers for a moment, eyes closed, as she considers. Then, she reaches to those canisters on the wall, pulls one down, and adds just a touch of something that smells like it could be a little asparagus or maybe something a bit more exotic. It's always tough to tell.

A few more minutes of simmering and the soup will be ready. She puts the top back on the pot and wipes her hands on her apron... then she turns to peek out the door. A line has already started and reaches back as far as she can see. A little smile curls on her lips. "Almost," she says. "Almost ready."

She turns back to the pot... The pot!!!

The spot where it rested... now an empty space. The smell of the soup still lingers in the air, but the pot is gone. She runs around to every corner of her cottage, looking for any sign of an intruder... any sign of the pot.

Nothing.

Gone.

Lost.

She's collapsed on the hardwood floor, listening to their voices outside -- the hungry pets waiting for her to open her door. She shakes her head slowly, keeping the tears from escaping. Then, slowly, she rubs her hands on her apron, lifts herself to her feet, and walks to the door...