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If you use too much you can remove it with acetone. Add any extra features like freckles, tattoos, fingernails and such now. You can repeat the process several times to build up layers if you are not happy with the final layer. Acetone can also be used to removed paint after the cooking process. You should not be planning any baking after this process as it can dry out the hair, so if you are thinking of making any clay clothing then you should do that first. Apply a line of fabric glue from ear to ear across the back of the head.
Cut a strip of hair and press into the glue. Repeat twice more across the head. Ensure each layer overlaps the lower level. When cutting the hair make sure you work out how long it needs to be and then measure that from the wool ends. This preserves the fine ends. Try to avoid giving her a haircut. For a split place a vertical line of glue, and then place the hair piece in it. Then before it dries use a toothpick to lay the hair back over the glue and press down. Repeat for the other side. If desired add a small hair piece to the front to create a fringe.
Add in any embellishments such as mini cloth flowers. Adding the Eyelashes Eyelashes can be very frustrating to apply due to how small they are. Take each step slowly and if you fail just remove the lash and glue and try again. Prepare the feather by cutting away one side and cutting to size. Study the feather, there is an upside and a down side, and also it tends to bend more easily one way. When the glue is transparent put a bit of glue on the center of the lash you are appling and press into the glue on the eyelid.
Now wait until it is well and truly stuck I put it down and do something else in between and then add a touch of glue in the corner of her eye and gently press the lash into it. Again wait until that has set and only then do the same for the outside of the lash. If you try to rush these steps before they have dried you will find that you press down one side only to have the other side pop back up. So take your time here! Once dry fluff feathers to suit. An attempt to do this before they are dry could result in them getting stuck to the glue.
Costume There are many different ways you can add a costume to your doll, this can include different materials such as clay clothing, cloth, tissue paper…anything you think up you can use. In this example we are going to make a bikini top and bottom out of tissue paper and then add some string for embellishment.
Make a mixture of white tacky glue and water. A paintbrush and also a pin is helpful to move the tissue paper to suit. When you are happy with the look allow to dry. After a quick wash of her skin with warm soapy water you can add embellishments like ropes, ribbon or cord. Wings Like the costume the wings can be made with an endless supply of materials, you are only limited by your imagination. These materials can include feathers, film, tissue paper, cloth, natural materials….
We are going to make our wings out of fantasy film, feathers and wire. Cut pieces of wire to match the design, bend to match the design and then place over design and tape down.
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Cover with cloth and use iron to heat set the two pieces of film together. Use a soldering iron or candle to sizzle the ends and make holes. When you have finished adding the holes to your wings glue a bit of fabric glue at the base of each wing inside and outside and add feathers to suit. Drill a hole in the back of the fairy the size of your main wire. This process also allows you to see a sample of the clay inside your doll, if the clay comes out feeling at all wet then your doll is not cooked.
Ice flags ripple in an invisible breeze; the ice catapult stands, half finished, intricate and ingeniously designed. Is still in kitchen. From when I first joined up. Made to last forever, yes. An unfamiliar expression lingers for just an instant before a wicked smile floods in to take its place. Could've made an awesome drawbridge with that thing. He shuts the door on North's laughter — and when he returns an hour later, fidgeting as though impatient, it's to say that he's got to get going a little early.
Children lose teeth every day, and it is always night somewhere in the world, and so Toothiana is busy — chronically, vibrantly busy. But when Jack comes to visit, she makes the time to welcome him. She chatters to the boy in snatches between directing her fairies and asks what mischief he's found himself in lately. And he always promises her, with a cocky smile that says exactly the opposite of his words, that he's been good.
She cannot spare him undivided attention, of course; there is too much to do. But Jack doesn't seem to mind. When the calamity of nightly collection distracts her, the spirit of winter finds his own entertainment. He ices her pond and skates upon it bare of foot. He creates mounds of snow and coaches the fairies currently off-duty in the construction of snow forts. He examines the elaborate details carved upon her towers, and he makes angels in the snow, and he hangs upside-down from her rooftops, just to see whether he can.
And in those moments when she only half pays mind to what the boy is doing, Jack makes snowballs. He packs them from the dusting of white he's left upon the ground, shuffles them from hand to hand before biting in. He munches almost absently as he goes about his play, not every time he visits, but often. He snaps icicles from the eaves and crunches them between his teeth like candy, and Toothiana is reminded of the way that human children do the same.
It is the little things, Toothiana finds, that are most endearing about the boy, and this one especially so. Perhaps it is because she never has to remind him to brush his teeth when he has finished. He comes often enough that it has become usual — the moments of companionship, the way the boy turns portions of her home into a wintery playground. Today, however, Jack arrives to discover something that he has never seen before. Today the palace is all a-flutter; decorations hang between the towers, streamers of gold and violet, lanterns of paper.
Long, narrow tables have been laid out, and upon them sit tiny cups — the caps of acorns — perfectly sized for the creatures that drink from them. The fairies zip to and fro, laden with platters, and each plateful is held in twenty tiny hands to share the burden. The foods that they carry are as exotic as the sweeping spires and gilded finery: Each that passes is more impressive than the last, more extravagant than the last, and Jack does not seem to notice that his mouth has fallen open, or that several small fairies have gathered near to appreciate the view.
Jack lets out a low whistle and watches as a new regiment of fairies buzz past, near to the ground with the weight of their burden. He spreads a hand, encompassing the whole of it — the decorations, the oncoming feast, the tables and cups and celebration. He is her friend, and she has come to love the time he spends here; the fairies adore him, and she finds herself thinking that it is the best of fortune that he has come today.
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In all the chaos of planning, the manic rush of her nightly duties, she has forgotten to ask him, forgotten to extend an invitation — but there is time now, and she beams, beginning to lead him to one of the tables. She doesn't get to finish the offer, for the plate that is passing by is supported by only six fairies. They struggle under the weight, tip sideways, begin to lose their grips. They wail in their high-pitched voices; they press small hands against their faces.
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They hover about the fallen melon as though it is a catastrophe. They chirp and twitter, speaking in the language that is exclusive to the tiny creatures, and they are not comforted by the assurance. They dart here and there, distraught; they clutch their little fingers together and wring their hands. He brushes dirt from the bottom with his other hand, picks free a shard of plate and a tiny iridescent feather, and bites into it without further preamble. Toothiana stares; so do the fairies. Jack waves her off, and his grin is flippant - unconcerned.
She almost tells the boy that there is something to be said for spending too much time around children, but the fairies are looking at him as though he has reconstructed their world from scraps and cardboard, and she she is smiling, too, as he finishes the last of the melon. We're gonna have a full-on snow war. He's up in the air like a leaf caught on the wind, keeping pace with them, voice receding into the distance as he makes for the pond: They play for long hours; snow falls in bright clusters to grace the decorations, turning the palace gold and white.
And it is not until much later, when the spirit of winter has gone, that she realizes she never did ask the boy to join them at the table. The moon is not full, but on a night as lovely as this one, Sanderson finds that it hardly matters. The stars spread out in every direction, tiny pinpricks of white intermingled with the sparkling gold of his dream sand.
Far below, the houses stand picturesque in the snow, most of the lights long gone dark. Inside, the children sleep nestled warm in their blankets, and he sends them dreams of whatever they desire, offers hints that their minds can make of what they will. He does not know that he is not alone on his nightly vigil until he hears the voice beside him. It is Jack, of course. Sanderson turns to discover that the boy has settled upon his cloud, lounging with all the careless disregard of youth.
When the Guardian of Dreams offers him a wave in greeting, he returns it with a smile — but it is a wan smile, not quite as animated as usual, and it gives Sanderson pause.
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The boy does not often slow down — does not often pause in his rush to experience all the world has to offer — but he looks oddly drained this evening, as though the day has been too long. Sanderson watches for a moment longer, considering, and forms a question mark above his head. The Guardian of Dreams shakes his head, for he doesn't mind, and Jack settles back into the cloud of sand.
Above him, the sky stretches black as ink, the stars on stunning display, and Jack contemplates them. Sanderson comes nearer so that the boy doesn't have to rise to see the images he forms. He creates a crescent of sand, and then half a circle, and then a full one, and he punctuates them with a question mark.
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Don't we get kicked out for not saying full moon? Sanderson frowns down at the spirit of winter. Above him, a thermometer forms, and another question mark. When he reaches to touch Jack's forehead, he discovers that it is chill, as it should be, with no hint of a fever - but the boy is trembling, just a little. He expects that Jack will protest. He expects that Jack can find too much to entertain himself on such a beautiful night to waste time in sleeping. But to his surprise, the agreement comes after only a beat of hesitation. Sanderson shakes his head for a second time, and he wonders.
He wonders at this sudden lethargy, which he has never seen of the boy before. He wonders at the ease with which his suggestion was accepted. It slips away quickly, just before he closes his eyes. And perhaps, Sanderson finds himself thinking, Jack is only tired, after all - for it does not take long before he begins to doze. Deeper sleep comes fast behind, and the Guardian of Dreams lets golden sand trickle down over the boy, lets it settle in to bring whatever visions his newest companion wants the most.
The images that drift into focus above his head are of ice cream, and Sanderson does not find it strange; Jack is a child still in many ways, and he spends his time among children. It is the kind of dream that children have. And for a time, all is well. For a time, the Guardian of Dreams turns back to his work, ensuring that his sand reaches each of the sleeping children below — that it crafts the sweetest of tales.
But the night lapses onward; the moon drifts in the sky; the ice cream of Jack's dream gives way to chicken. When the chicken has gone, it is pie; and when the pie dissipates, a sandwich appears. Sanderson thinks little of the first change — even of the second. But by the third, he has taken notice. By the third, a suspicion has begun to form in the little man's mind. Cautiously, he nudges Jack's dream into another direction. He replaces the sandwich with a sled, with mounds of snow and brilliant sunlight, with a wintery world in which to adventure.
But the next time he glances back to check upon the boy, the scene has altered itself; the sledding has come to a close, replaced with cocoa and cookies by a fire. By the time Jack shifts in his sleep, pressing an arm reflexively against his abdomen — by the time he makes a small sound in his throat, something akin to a whimper — by the time Sanderson knows for certain that they have miscalculated, he is drawing in his strands of sand, cutting short this night's work.
The children will have dreamless sleep for a few hours; that is all. His cloud rolls and undulates; the dream sand lifts more gracefully than any bird in flight, drawing up and forming together, making the broad, round shape of a hot air balloon. He stands in its basket as he turns it toward the North Pole — and beside him, curled up near his feet, his passenger sleeps on.
Their work is important to them, for the things they bring are important to the children of the world. Wonder and dreams, hope and memories — these are the precious gifts that the Guardians imbue, and near to their respective days, they cloister themselves away, intent that everything be perfect. But of late, since the newest Guardian has joined their number, they are less opposed to small breaks. They have gathered more in the past four years for frivolous purposes than in the past four hundred for serious ones. Although Easter is scarcely a month away, it is not as hard as Sanderson expects to draw them here.
Jack has changed the way they once thought of their duties - perhaps irrevocably, but undoubtedly for the better. The boy himself still sleeps, curled upon a bed of golden sand in one of the grand guest rooms of North's workshop. It is better, Sanderson thinks, that he remains so — better that suspicions are confirmed before drawing Jack into what will surely be a commotion of impressive proportions.
When the Guardian of Dreams leaves him to his slumber, a loaf of bread composed all of gold drifts above the boy, crafted in loving detail. A nod comes in answer; a pointing finger; a vehement shake of the head. Before she can go further, provide more than he can keep up with, Sanderson raises a hand in the universal symbol for "stop. And so Sanderson does. He crafts the snowflake again, and adds to it a house. When both have faded, he punctuates them with a question mark. Sanderson nods, and he holds up a single index finger - an interjection. Above his head, he flashes a series of symbols that quickly come and go: They are followed by the snowflake once more, and again the question mark.
It'd be a bloody disaster zone. Sanderson spares him a look that is pointed, disapproving. It is a look that is rare on the little man, and it makes his usually serene face solemn. The golden sand begins to shift again, drawing more shapes into being: The kitchen implements flash by, and when they have all faded but the spoons, those are marked off with an x, as well. He dispels both images, and they are replaced by a stack of pancakes.
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