Flower Wine
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The apple pie tasted like ash on his tongue. It was a gritty, awful texture that didn’t want to pass through his throat but Wilbur still forced it down. He drank more of the herbal tea to wash it down and tried to take another bite.
He was so hungry, he felt like he was losing his mind. He missed the sourness of berries and bitterness of gruel his aunt made for him when he was a child. These days everything just made him sick.
And his mind never stopped whispering about the sweetness and heaviness of the little cake he took because of the foolishness. About the love he felt and ambrosia filling his mouth.
Wilbur never forgot his Fae.
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Or: Wilbur centric fic with Fae showing why you should never consume fae food.Series
- Part 1 of Flower Wine
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The apple pie sat on a clean, plain plate, surrounded by several other dishes. The dessert was steaming, fresh from the oven. Its smell curled in the air, promising that it was made from the sweetest, most ripe apples from the orchard and the whitest, fluffiest flour.
It even looked incredible.
(...)
And yet Wilbur had absolutely no desire to eat it.
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Or: Rewrite of Wash it down with Golden Flower wine
A good ol forewarning tale about accepting food from the FaeSeries
- Part 2 of Flower Wine