A Courtroom Procedure

Fido, captured and sentenced by ghosts,
is saved at the last moment by Anne —
with a story that might
reveal the forgotten truth.

The ghost leader stepped forward heavily, his many sharp claws clacking against the stone floor. Then, in a sudden outburst of rage, he flew up, grabbed the cage, and shook it violently, causing Fido to bounce inside like a rag doll. Several times his head clanged against the iron bars.

Reflections on the scene

⸻ ❦ ⸻

– ❦ –

This is not just a scene—it’s a moment of reckoning. Fido, the valiant, gruff protector, stands accused in a macabre parody of justice. But what looks like a trial is in truth a tragedy: the ghosts, terrifying in appearance and manner, are nothing but broken toys—his own broken toys. Fido, like Anne in the first book, is trapped in the Forest because he has not faced the past. And unlike Anne, he hasn’t yet accepted that these monsters are his doing.

The courtroom imagery is intentionally grotesque: a headless judge, swampy fog, misshapen creatures—Kafka reimagined for a children’s tale. But there’s method to this madness. These ghosts seek revenge not for what Fido has done to them now, but for an ancient hurt they themselves don’t fully understand. Their judgment is based not on truth but pain, and that’s what makes it so dangerous. It is scapegoating disguised as righteousness.

And just when despair seems total, Anne enters—not as a warrior, not as a hero, but as a voice. She challenges the trial not with violence but with justice. Her cry for the right to defense rings like a moral thunderclap. In a world of twisted faces and murky motives, her call to fairness is radiant and clear.

This scene is about guilt, projection, and the power of speaking out. It tells us: trauma unhealed becomes vengeance. But also—compassion can interrupt the cycle. Even when the ghosts howl, a single voice of truth can change the story.