They all squawk at once, “Pick me.”
The guy faints. Are all princes this flaky?
Hart sighs. “This is a new level of chaos.”
The frog in my hand whispers, “You could fix it. You’re an architect, aren’t you?”
I glance at the seven geese. At the broken carriage. At the slippers marching in protest. At the goose wearing the prince’s crown.
The world feels… malleable. Like molten metal waiting to be poured into a new mold.
I lick my lips and wave my free hand in the air like I’m a conductor. The glass slippers stop hopping. The pumpkin steadies, its shape holding steady. The seven geese stop their bickering.
Oh my Idols, it’s working.
The air tightens, like a seam being pulled straight. The honking falters, and their ribbons glow faintly, as if remembering to whom they belong.
My vision flickers, revealing what the feathers are concealing. A baker in the yellow ribbon, a seamstress in the blue. A runaway queen brandishes the green, the pink hides a witch, and the white a cobbler. In the red ribbon is a chambermaid. Last but not least, the purple reveals a girl who tripped and got herself tangled in the story. I can relate.
I close my eyes. “Reveal the conceal and show us the way.” A burst of magic skims my skin and lifts my hair. When I open my eyes, the geese have gone and in their place are the true folk.
“Wow,” Malachi breathes.
“So who is the bride?” the pretty, redheaded seamstress demands with a stamp of her foot.
I shrug. “None of you, or all of you. Stop living your life according to the rules and start following your hearts.”
The blonde queen lifts her hand. “We can do as we wish?”
The genie poofs in front of us and takes in the crazy scene before lifting a brow. “What did you do?”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t start this.”
“Can you answer the question?” the baker asks.
“Follow your heart, so long as it doesn’t hurt anyone,” I advise.
“Anarchist is my new favorite version of you,” Nash mutters as the glass slipper gives up and drops off his foot. It takes his boot with it and dashes off into the depths of the forest. I guess that slipper was head over heels in love with his footwear, not his foot. Understandable.
The prince wakes with a snort and stares at each of the women who blink at him in expectation. Despite my advice, they’re still acting as the narrative demands. It will take time to break the ties of the Idols. Start small, and then the freedom of change and choice will spread.
The prince points to the only goose left, who makes a superb model for his crown. “I choose her.”
The goose honks, and the spurned women all talk at the same time.
“Seriously?”
“I missed my cousin’s wedding for this.”
“How did I get here?”
“What’s for dinner?”
Good question.
“Does anyone have a bandage? I got a blister from those nasty slippers.”
The group of women walks away from the parade and the fawning prince. Hopefully, they’ll form a new female empowerment group.
