In the heart of the Enchanted Forest, where the trees wore leaves as shiny as emeralds and the air smelled like warm cinnamon and adventure, lived a girl named Ella. Her hair bounced like springs with every step, and her pockets were always stuffed with treasures: a smooth pebble, a feather softer than a kitten’s paw, and a tiny bell that jingled when she ran.

One morning, as Ella skipped past the giggling brook (it really did giggle—glug-glug-hee-hee!), she heard a sound she’d never heard before. It was a deep, rumbling grrrr-ooomph! like a sleepy bear waking up in a tin can. Her toes curled inside her boots. What could that be?

Following the noise, she tiptoed past mushrooms that smelled like buttery popcorn and vines that tickled her ankles like feather dusters. There, in the middle of a sunlit clearing, stood a stage. Not just any stage—this one was made of twisted roots as bumpy as a dragon’s back, and it sparkled with tiny lights like fireflies trapped in jelly. But the strangest thing? The stage was breathing. In… out… in… out… like a giant, wooden belly.

Whoooosh! A gust of wind blew, carrying the scent of fresh-baked cookies and something else—something like old socks left in the rain. Ella wrinkled her nose. Eww. Then, from behind the stage, popped a tiny creature with ears like satellite dishes and a nose that wiggled when it talked. "Hullo!" it squeaked. "I’m Pip, the Stage Keeper! And you are just in time for the Big Talent Show!"

Ella’s stomach did a flip-flop. "M-me?" she stammered. "But I—I don’t have a talent!" Pip’s ears flapped like wet towels in the wind. "Everyone has a talent!" he said. "Even if it’s just… not tripping over your own feet!" He giggled, then tripped over his own feet. Bam! His nose hit the ground with a boing! like a rubber ball. Ella couldn’t help but giggle.

But then Pip’s ears drooped. "The thing is," he whispered, "the stage is scared. It won’t stop shaking, and if it doesn’t calm down, the show will be canceled!" Ella looked at the stage. It was trembling like jelly on a trampoline. Wibble-wobble! The lights flickered like candles in a storm. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might pop out of her chest like a jack-in-the-box.

"What do we do?" Ella asked, her voice wobbling like the stage. Pip scratched his head. "Well, the stage is scared of performers. It thinks they’ll mess up and make it look silly. But if someone shows it that messing up is fun… maybe it’ll relax!" Ella gulped. Fun? She could barely stand without her knees knocking like castanets!

Then—snap!—a twig broke under her boot. She yelped and jumped so high she nearly touched the treetops. Pip clapped his hands. "Perfect! You’re already messing up! Now just… keep going!" He shoved her gently toward the stage. The wooden planks felt warm and slightly squishy under her feet, like walking on a giant’s tongue. The stage let out a nervous creeeeak! and Ella froze.

She took a deep breath. The air smelled like rain on hot pavement—earthy and fresh. She closed her eyes and thought of her favorite thing: dancing. Not fancy dancing, just wiggling and jumping like a frog on a sugar rush. She started to move. Boing! Boing! Twirl! She spun so fast her hair whipped her cheeks. Then—WHOOPS!—her foot caught on a root. Splat! Down she went, landing in a heap of giggles.

The stage let out a long, shuddering sigh. Whooooo… The lights stopped flickering. The trembling slowed. And then—pop!—the stage burst into a thousand tiny, golden sparkles, like a firework made of glitter. Pip cheered, "You did it! The stage isn’t scared anymore!" Ella blinked. Her hands were covered in something warm and sticky—like melted marshmallows. The stage had given her a hug.

From the trees, animals peeked out: a fox with a top hat, a squirrel juggling acorns, even a grumpy old badger who hated noise but was tapping his foot. "Bravo!" they cheered. Pip grinned. "Now, how about that talent show?" Ella’s heart still pounded, but this time it felt like a drumroll, not a scared rabbit. She took a bow, her cheeks hot as toast. "I’ll go first," she said.

And so, under the twinkling lights of the Enchanted Forest, Ella danced. She tripped. She giggled. She even did a somersault (which ended with her upside down and her hair in her mouth). But every time she messed up, the stage rumbled with laughter, and the audience clapped louder. By the end, Ella’s pockets were full of new treasures: a shiny button from the fox, a feather from the squirrel, and a tiny, golden leaf from the stage itself.

As she skipped home, the brook giggling beside her, Ella realized something. The stage hadn’t been the only one who was scared. But courage wasn’t about not being afraid—it was about dancing anyway. And that, she decided, was the best talent of all.