“I’m fine.Really.”
Mrs. Millwood frowned, her lips thinning. “Well, if you insist… Though one can’t help but wonder how you tolerate it, Pansy – being so alone all the time.”
I’m not alone, Pansy thought to herself, her chest contracting around a flash of stubborn heat.I have my parents and Blossom and – I guess Ren, too, technically. Though hopefully not for much longer…
She shuddered, remembering the way her bare feet had crunched in the dirt still strewn across the bedroom floor that morning, her slippers too small a target for her flailing, sleep-loose limbs. Yet like everything Ren had thrown her way thusfar, it was nothing she couldn’t handle. Mrs. Millwood, on the other hand… that part was far less certain, especially if she started badgering Pansy about her nephew again.
Honestly, I’d rather marry Ren, and I don’t evenlikethem, she thought, suppressing a grimace at the prospect of having Mrs. Millwood for an in-law: the only thing more dreadful than taking a crotchety, perfectionist, moss-and-dirt-loving goblin for a spouse.
Granted, marrying Ren was an equally impossible proposition, as Pansy was quick to remind herself when the (absurd!) image of her and Ren exchanging vows beneath a white canopy sent an inexplicable rush of heat to her face.
Ridiculous. She scoffed, rapidly putting the goblin out of her mind as she turned her attention to the poster Mrs. Millwood had affixed to the noticeboard.
Bring the Annual Harvest Festival to Haverow!it declared in impressively large letters, meant to be read from all corners of the plaza. Unfortunately, the text that followed was not nearly so digestible; no doubt because Mrs. Millwood – or whoever had put together the poster – had insisted on turning a list of best practices to impress the Greater Halvenshire Festival Committee into a whole screed.
Amazing how something as beloved as the Harvest Festival could be rendered so joyless. Pansy made it approximately two lines before her eyes glazed over, and she gave up.If this is what it takes to host the Harvest Festival, it’s no wonder they haven’t picked us in over twenty years. You’d need to fill the whole village with a wizard’s simulacrums to even have a chance.
Catching the direction of Pansy’s gaze, Mrs. Millwood said sternly, “Ah, that reminds me. Pansy, I feel compelled to warn you that we won’t be tolerating any funny business this year.Haverowwillbe hosting the Halvenshire Harvest Festival come autumn, and it’sveryimportant that all residents put their best foot forward – lest Halfend get the honor yet again.” She shuddered, as if the prospect of attending the festival in a town barely even a few hours’ ride away was a nightmarish proposition.
How fortunate for you that I’m no longer a resident, Pansy thought sourly. “I wouldn’t dream of ruining Haverow’s prospects on purpose, Councilor Millwood,” she said, laying it on a bit thick, the words so choked with saccharine sweetness they were practically dripping with it.
“Not on purpose, no,” Mrs. Millwood admitted. “And that’s precisely the problem, Pansy. Everyone remembers what happened with your grandmother at the last festival – the way she attacked poor Fenwick when he was setting off the fireworks, thinking the noise was the necromancer come back to life or some such. All that adventuring never was good for the poor woman. And now that you’ve moved into that old cottage of hers, well… people are beginning to wonder about you too. You always did ask far too many questions. Although curiosity is natural among children, you’re a grown woman now. It’s unbecoming. No one likes it when someone makes waves in an otherwise tranquil pond, and Haverow,” she continued firmly, “is exceedingly tranquil. Far more so than Halfend, at any rate.” She sniffed.
It took everything in Pansy’s power not to gape at the woman. Surely, she couldn’t be serious. Fury surged within Pansy, hot and bitter. It streamed into her ribcage, corroding muscle and bone alike. She wanted so badly to unleash it all on this woman, to spit in her face, and ask her,How dare you?But where would that leave her? Where would it leaveher parents? Pansy had learned a long time ago that nothing was ever onlyabout her. Everything she did, everything she said – it was all a mirror, one that reflected right back on the people around her.
I’m sorry, Grandma. Pansy forced a smile, her best one yet. By now, she had it down to an art, even if it left her cracking at the seams. “The Festival Committee will be coming around soon as part of the selection process, right? How about I bake some cookies for when they arrive? That way, they’re sure to remember Haverow in the best possible way.”
Mrs. Millwood paused, considering. “You are rather talented in the kitchen, even if the presentation can sometimes be a little unorthodox… Very well. But nothing –adventurous.” She said the word like a curse, her nose wrinkling.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Nothing but classic shortbread for our honored Committee, cut into perfect little squares.”
And with that, Pansy turned on her heel and walked away, heading in the direction of the one place she knew she could safely detonate the bomb ticking down in her throat.
Blossom’s Blossoms was, thankfully, not far. Decked in vibrant twists of purple wisteria, the two-story stone-and-mortar building sat on the other side of the square, down a narrow, tree-lined road always thick with the honeyed scent of fresh pastries, courtesy of the bakery next door.
On any other day, Pansy might stop in for a hot, buttered scone – a prospect that should have sent her empty stomach gurgling with approval – but the ember cradled on her tongue had turned forge-bright. Like a pot about to boil over, she shook with each step, every impolite word she’d bitten back during her conversation with Mrs. Millwood surging against her teeth in a blistering tide. One way or another, it was coming out.
She barely made it into Blossom’s store, her entrance marked as much by the thunderous slam of the door as the shop bell’s delicate chime, before the last frayed vestiges of her self-control finally snapped. “I’ve been in town barely five minutes and I already want to scream!”
Blossom, who’d been in the process of removing thorns from a cluster of roses, looked up from her work, hands stilling mid-snip. “Should I get the cookies and tea ready?” she asked, her expression creasing sympathetically.
“Councilor Millwood accosted me in the village square.”
Blossom immediately set the roses down and, with an emphatic nod, said, “Cookies and tea it is.”
Whoever had ordered the bouquet, it seemed, would have to wait. Blossom’s Blossoms had far more pressing matters to attend to this morning, the kind that necessitated flipping the shop sign back toClosedless than an hour after opening. The door’s lock, however, remained untouched. No self-respecting Haverow halfling would do something so crass as to ignore a clearly posted sign.
The store now guarded against any unwanted interruptions, Blossom ushered Pansy upstairs to the flat she kept, in somewhat un-halfling fashion, above her shop. “It’s more convenient that way,” she’d said when questioned about the decision. And, somehow, that had been enough. The same people who couldn’t bring themselves to extract their noses from Pansy’s own business for more than one second had simply nodded along and let the matter drop.
At the time, it had enraged Pansy. Now, it frustrated her just as much, the memory stoking already-smoldering coals into new gouts of flame as she not-quite-stomped after Blossom, each footfall just heavy enough to send the frames filled withpressed flowers rattling against the plaster. In what way was any of this fair?
Of course, their situations weren’t the same; not precisely. While Pansy had, up until very recently, lived with her parents, Blossom’s parents had moved to Halfend a little over five years ago. Instead of joining them, she’d elected to remain in Haverow, a choice she’d been commended for. Not just because of the long-standing rivalry that existed between the two villages, which was serious enough that in any human town it would’ve surely culminated in a murder by now, but also because Haverow would’ve otherwise been left without a florist. Her decision had single-handedly kept the then-named Brimshine’s Blooms open. So, what was a bit of oddness in the face of that?
But still.Still. The thought pulsed at the forefront of Pansy’s mind, as gentle as the crash of a sledgehammer. Again, she found herself overcome with the urge to scream. It clawed up her throat, bit by bit, until her mouth was full of copper and salt.
“Why can’t they just leave me alone?” Pansy asked, the words rushing out of her in one fell swoop; not a scream, but something equally charged with feeling.
“I know, I know,” Blossom said gently, patting her on the shoulder. “Now, go sit while I put the kettle on and dig out those cookies.”
