Two bluebirds drag a silk banner that reads: HAPPILY EVER AFTER — TERMS AND CONDITIONS APPLY
The words beneath rearrange themselves into increasingly worse options.
MAY CAUSE CURSES VOID WHERE TRUE LOVE EXISTS NO REFUNDS
A handsome guy in a gold-trimmed coat and matching crown jogs behind the carriage, brandishing a blue velvet pillow, sans shoe. “Are you the one?” he asks a passing goose.
The goose honks, affronted at being the chosen one.
“I knew it,” the handsome fellow sighs, kneeling. “Your eyes are like starlight on a lake, and I have found my one true love.”
The goose pecks his crown, which tilts and falls to the ground. I get the love affair with the feathery kind, but they are friends, not floof material.
Hart and Nash flank our sides as we watch the spectacle. “What in the Hallows is happening?” Hart grumbles.
“A mess,” I say, delighted as a lizard bursts into sparkles. “A proper, full-blown, glitter-covered mess.”
A cluster of glass slippers hops across the ground like agitated frogs. One of them leaps onto Nash’s boot and clings there. He stares down at it. “Absolutely not.” It sparkles harder.
“I think the fairy tales are muddled,” I say with a smile as Nash argues with a stage-four clinger enchanted shoe. “Unless this is normal for So Far Away?”
Malachi leans his chin on my shoulder. “Normal is not a word to describe anything where you’re concerned.”
The pumpkin carriage halts with a loud, wet pop. Half of it collapses into a squash, its seeds spilling across the road. The Cinderella story is in place, but it seems to have collectedrandom parts of other narratives to make itself a unique tale. I approve, so long as it’s what they want.
A tiny mouse in a red waistcoat climbs onto the seat and clears his throat. “Attention, travelers!” he squeaks. “Because of a minor enchantment dispute, the Ever After Procession is experiencing technical difficulties. Please remain calm and do not kiss anyone until further notice.”
A shower of rose petals falls from the sky, but as soon as they touch the ground, they turn into frogs. One lands on my shoulder. “This is not what I ordered,” she croaks in a voice that sounds like an offended grandmother.
I scoop her up and stare at her cute, wrinkly face. “Tell me about it.”
She blinks at me, her eyes widening. “Oh,” she whispers. “Oh, no.”
“What?”
“You’re her.”
Not this again. Maybe I need to wear a name tag. “Her who?”
“The one who breaks things by existing.”
Malachi’s arms tighten around me. “That’s not true,” he mutters.
The frog ignores him. “Everything’s unraveling. We were meant to escort the next destined couple to their first dance, but the prince keeps proposing to livestock and the slippers are unionizing.”
A slipper hops past, carrying a tiny protest sign that reads: NO FEET, NO SERVICE
Nash shakes his leg with a growl at the clinging shoe. “This is ridiculous.”
My grin widens. “This is delicious.”
The mouse scurries toward us, hat in paw. “Oh, thank goodness. You look competent. Or at least dangerous. Either is acceptable.”
“What do you need?” Hart asks.
“A decision,” the mouse says. “Which of these is the real bride for the prince?”
Seven more geese waddle forward, identical apart from the various colored satin bows tied around their necks.
