~Peregrine Storke~
“You’re beautiful,” I told myself, my voice deep, mimicking the way I thought King Happenstance would sound. My pencil scratched the paper in front of me, my finger pausing occasionally to smudge a line or trace a feature. The king was smiling, his eyes watching me. There were words in his gaze. Simple words. Three words. “I love you.”
“Damn it, Perri!” My father’s yells enveloped me, the words terrible even from a room away. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” he asked. “Can’t you try to be normal?”
While Dad yelled, King Happenstance grew, his features becoming more prominent, the look in his eyes growing deeper. There was understanding in his gaze. I gave him a flowing robe and a regal nose. Christmas lights from the house next door threw a glow into my room, the multicolored illumination transforming the king into something magical.
“Damn it, Perri! Do you hear me?” Dad yelled. “Don’t you have friends? Can you manage that much at least?”
The freckle on King Happenstance’s nose was born from those words, the imperfection suddenly beautiful to me. Like a human version of Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer, a perfect king with an imperfection that helped rather than hindered him. Happenstance was the father of a princess who wore spectacles and was obsessed with birds. He was proud of her. He cared about her. He encouraged her. He embraced her. I named him Happenstance because it was chance that chose my parents. Chance chose my father, and I chose to create another …
The memory washed over me as we stood outside of the palace, early morning light creating a halo around everything. Songbirds surrounded us, their lilting tunes filling the air as King Happenstance and Queen Norma embraced Princess Elspeth. Her spectacles were askew, sparkling tears glistening on her cheeks. For the first time since I drew them, I felt like an outsider.
“It’s going to be okay,” the king told his daughter.
Too many times in my life, I’d wanted to hear that from my parents. Instead, I’d heard things like, “Buck up!” or, “You won’t make it in life if you don’t develop a tough skin.”
Nimble flew back and forth above me, her presence leaving that omnipresent taste of watermelon, her eyes glistening. I couldn’t help but wonder what fairy tears tasted like. What flavor would I give them? My tears tasted like salt, but a fairy …
King Happenstance pulled Elspeth into a brutal embrace, hard enough to make her both laugh and cough. I felt it all the way to my bones.
“You were supposed to be Elspeth, weren’t you?” Foster’s voice asked from beside me.
Shrugging felt the only safe thing to do.
Foster grew silent, his gaze on the group before us. Weasel lifted his top hat. It was a crooked hat with a wilted sunflower on the brim. The hat was too small for the troll’s head, but it never fell off. It wasn’t supposed to fall off. The buttons on his brown jacket were strained, his belly dangerously close to forcing them open. But no matter how big his stomach grew, his clothes would accommodate him. Everything in Awkward was accommodating. Except Perfection.
I'd drawn a world I would die in. It seemed ironic really, an awkward world becoming an awkward coffin for an awkward girl. Even Foster wasn't laughing now. This wasn't just a fairytale anymore; it was a dangerous story with real consequences.
The sad part was neither Foster nor I believed we were capable of winning. Perfection could not be defeated. It was impossible to defeat something that was perfect. I was convinced I could never be flawless, and Foster saw nothing wrong with wanting to be perfect. It was a lose-lose situation.
And yet, I wasn't ready to let go. This was my world, my people. The captain of a ship always went down with his crew if his vessel sank, and he went down fighting.
King Happenstance’s eyes met mine over Elspeth’s head. “Remember, the way we perceive ourselves is often nothing like what we really are,” he said.
His lips brushed his daughter’s forehead before he stepped away, his hands clasped behind his back. Even as silly as Foster thought this world was, there was no missing the overwhelming emotion and sense of desperation that filled the air. The songbirds circled us, their wings fluttering, their beautiful tune becoming shrill. Two of them landed on Elspeth’s shoulders. A faint breeze tugged at her honey-colored hair, the strands pulled across her face. Light danced off of her spectacles. I’d once seen glasses as something to be ashamed of. Why I ever thought they made her awkward was beyond me. She was beautiful.
Queen Norma sniffled, her hands patting a pocket in her elaborate rose-hued gown. It made her look slightly larger than what she was, like an over ripe tomato, and yet she glowed.
“Now what did I do with my kerchief?” she murmured.
King Happenstance tugged a folded scrap of fabric from his robe and offered it to his wife. She blew into it noisily.
“Be safe, my dear,” Norma sobbed. She clutched Elspeth’s hand.
Foster began to move, but I stopped him, my fingers twisted in his tunic. “Let them be.”
He ignored me, his jaw tight. “The princess doesn’t have to go. None of you do,” he insisted.
Elspeth stiffened. “We may not know a lot about danger in Awkward, but there is one thing we know well.” With her arms crossed, she glared at him. “Love,” she announced proudly. “We know love.”
She walked away then, her head held high, her loyal songbirds trailing after her. Weasel ambled in her wake, Herman the bookworm peeking out from under the troll’s hat. A pack full of food and water bobbed up and down on Weasel’s back. Nimble flew above them.
“Don’t forget to draw,” King Happenstance said, his gaze on my belt.
I’d refastened the leather girdle I’d found in the armoire around the blue tunic I wore and rigged it to carry the sketchbook the king had given me. Patting it, I smiled. Happenstance inclined his head, something akin to pride in his gaze. It was a new emotion for me, pride.
A hand at my elbow prompted me to move, and I pursued the group ahead, Foster at my side. His fingers played along a belt similar to mine, the strap stretching from his shoulder to his waist. He’d left me after Nimble’s dire announcement earlier that morning, returning maybe twenty minutes later with a pouch attached to a rigged leather belt, the strings pulled closed. By the shape of the object within, I knew it held the ball Norma had given him. Opposite the pouch was a dagger, the blade covered by a plain scabbard and tucked into the belt. Where he’d found it was beyond me. His resourcefulness, however, didn’t surprise me in the least. It was Foster that suggested I rig my own belt.
“If we go through here—” Herman began.
“The swamp is this way,” Weasel cut in.
The worm scoffed. “I’m looking at the map right now, Weasel. The swamp is that way.”
The troll’s top hat lifted, revealing the book worm, and a wrinkled piece of parchment beneath.
Nimble hovered over Weasel’s bald head. “I concur with the worm simply because he’s never been wrong,” the fairy chirped.
Elspeth slowed. “Never wrong, true, but things are changing in Awkward. The land is being swallowed by Perfection. What once used to be in one place may now be in another.”
Herman slid across the page. “This is the most recent map available.”
Foster and I caught up with the group, our eyes skirting the crude drawing laid out on the troll’s head.
Recognition made me wince. “Herman, I drew that map six years ago.”
Foster plucked the page off of Weasel’s head. Herman cried out, his small arms grabbing at the troll’s skin. It was Nimble who righted him, her purple teeth flashing as she straightened his glasses.
Foster’s dubious gaze scanned the scrawled lines and rough sketches. “Recent, huh?” he asked.
My gaze went to the sky, to the rose-shaped clouds and the strange blackness pervading them. Awkward was being eaten by darkness.
“I never drew a swamp in Awkward,” I murmured.
Elspeth c
ame to stand next to me, her shoulder touching mine. The smell of honeysuckle tickled my nose. “You drew a beautiful glade full of waterfalls and shallow pools.”
I gasped. “The Glen of Gladness.”
Elspeth winced. “It was once. Many are drawn in by Perfection. She offers them the chance to be completely without fault. While it’s a nice thought, this precision she offers isn’t without sacrifice. They get perfection, but each time, part of Awkward dies.
My fingers brushed the sketchbook at my waist. “The mermaids in the glen?” I asked.
Elspeth nodded. “They are the sirens now. They are perfect, beautiful, and dangerous.”
My gaze passed over the group, my eyes meeting the downfallen expressions and wistful frowns surrounding me.
Determination filled me. “Come,” I said, “I don’t need a map.”
Elspeth started to sputter, but my sharp glance made her pause. “This is my world,” I pointed out. “No matter how many awkward people helped bring it to life, I drew it. Even if it’s changed, I know where everything is here.”
Silence answered me, their heads bowing. For the first time since waking up in Awkward, I felt like a princess. It didn’t matter that I was wearing a man’s tunic like a dress with no bra, my hair more tangled than straight. It didn’t matter that there was no makeup here, no way to hide behind beauty products. I had drawn Awkward because this was the one place I felt comfortable being me.
My feet moved, my back straight as I walked. The sun was high in the sky, but it wasn’t hot. The air was warm, a slight breeze playing over our group. Trees loomed before us, a meadow full of wildflowers between us and the forest. Small dragons and fairies danced above waist high grass. There were no dangerous insects or creatures in Awkward. Not in the parts yet untouched by darkness.
My fingers ran over the high grass, my lashes brushing my cheeks as I inhaled.
“Miniature dragons?” Foster asked. “Don’t you think that’s a little demeaning to the species?”
I glanced at him, a smile playing over my lips. “Do I detect some resentment?”
He grimaced.
I gasped. “Why, Foster Evans! Are you a fan of dragons?”
His gaze moved to my face. “The huge, fire-breathing ones,” he answered. “These,” he gestured at the small dragons flying above us, their skin a myriad of shades: blue, green, red, and gold, “are not dragons.”
I shrugged. “Do you think size makes them any less fierce?”
“These are fierce?” Foster scoffed.
Nimble giggled. “They can roast an entire bullygog alive if they wanted to,” the fairy revealed.
Foster’s eyes narrowed on the creatures. “Impossible.”
I kept pushing through the grass. “Would you like to test them?” I asked.
“Ohhhhh!” Elspeth cried. “Let me!” She sprinted ahead, her dress swirling around her ankles, her tinkling laughter surrounding us as she ran for the trees. Her songbirds soared ahead of her, their bright yellow, blue, and red wings a blur against fair, blue skies.
“So you plan to roast a bullygog then?” Foster asked.
I smirked. “Nothing so dramatic, I can assure you.”
Elspeth reached the tree line, her small arms tugging a man-sized leaf from a tree before lugging it back toward us, her cheeks flushed from the exertion.
“This should do!” she cried.
Herman clucked his tongue. “Pyrotechnics are neither anodyne nor engaging.”
Foster stared at the worm. “I’ll pretend I understood what you said after we burn something.”
My palms covered my mouth, closing in my horrendous laughter as Elspeth propped the leaf up in the grass, sweat glistening on her nose.
“Let’s do this!” she called out.
She backed away, and I glanced at the dragons. “The leaf!” I cried. “Burn the leaf!”
The dragons circled the large green foliage, their murmurs drifting on the wind.
“They really expect us to do this?” one of them asked.
“It’s for the boy,” another answered.
Foster glared. “Really, the whole boy thing is getting insulting.”
“To the man or the ego?” I teased.
He winked. “I wouldn’t be a man if I didn’t have an ego.”
The dragons chose that moment to exhale, flames darting from their small mouths, blue fire growing to envelope the leaf. In a mere second it was gone, leaving the grass around it untouched. Theirs was interesting magic, well controlled and powerful. There was nothing left of the leaf. Even ash.
Foster whistled. “Who would have thought you had a dangerous streak.”
It was my turn to wink. “Never judge a girl by her appearance.”
We’d killed enough time playing in the meadow, and I moved on, warmth blossoming in my chest. It may be a dangerous venture we undertook, but it was amongst friends. True friends.
“Awkward is full of surprises,” Weasel proclaimed, his voice bursting with pride.
Foster’s gaze was heavy on my back when he murmured, “I’m beginning to see that.”
Chapter 12
“That awkward moment when you are forced to face the thing you are most ashamed of.”