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In a dry patch of savannah, near the edge of a riverbank, sits a dainty shack– oblong and rounded like a pumpkin ready for plucking. Soggy soil rounds the wooden beams, stalks of wheat whipping in the frigid winds as mud clings to her feet.
Lizzie’s taffy hair bounced joyously, picking up on the sweet fragrance of her excitement. The scent of honey fills the air as she skips closer to the house, face swallowed up by a blinding beam when she sees the lights were on inside.
Was it hard to believe that she was already mentally brainstorming over what presents she’ll receive?
Not at all. But could you blame her?
The coo of cattle brings a sense of familiarity, and surely a bout of chatter should follow soon, she could already feel it. Winding freshwater trickles serenely against the pebbled shores, foam clinging to the ridges and simmering shallowly. Her heels click as she gaits her near-weightless body towards the front door; the cherry wood of the handle already worn and bleached from use.
“I think everybody’s waiting for me!” Lizzie sing-songs, mostly to herself, unable to contain her enthusiasm of what a great night they’d have– away from qualms and disagreements, instead chewing on homemade cake and blowing out kindled candles.
“Yay!” The fae prances through the entrance, expecting a ruckus of cheers as all of her friends come into view, all of them holding sparkling drinks and sugar-coated lips—
“Hey babe, I fell asleep... I think.” Only her husband calls out to her in a groggy voice, most likely already half asleep from waiting for her arrival. He’s sprawled on his front, claiming a lower bunk bed, tail swinging sluggishly.
What?
Lizzie enters, albeit downtrodden as her shoulders have slumped in her disappointment, “...Where’s everybody else?”
“It’s just me, I’m sorry babe.” Joel’s voice melts, coated in well-meant sympathy.
“I–...”
Joel stares for a moment – at her wilted wings and dull posture, she must look a second from breaking down.
The wolf hums, pushing his torso off the bed with aid from his forearms, “Come on, then. Don’t you want to make a wish?”
And, it was just an attempt to subdue the pain in her chest, but the words make dollops of dew form a haze in her vision. Ironic, it was fall and she's a strand of grass in the middle of spring. A breeding ground for the fresh mist to deposit the runny nectar upon her cerulean eyes.
Joel swiftly shoots off from the mounds of pillows at the sight of her distress. "Aw, Lizzie. I'm sorry, I–" He begins to slew a string of apologies, quite unneccessary, and Lizzie unravels her arms to guide him into an embrace.
"It-It's okay, I'm glad you came." She sniffles into his chestnut crown, smiling gleefully as a velvet ear grazes the corner of her eye, her opaque wings fluttering in tandem with the instinctual flicks.
A half-hearted chuff fleets across her jaw as Joel nuzzles the succulent skin, a set of smooth lips following the fanning breath by pressing against the dimple engraved there. Her own pale palm reaches up to smooth across one of his canid ears.
"So, you don't want to make a wish then?" The teasing lilt in his throat is almost mild enough for it to be interceptible, but it's there, and that's enough for her to take action by pushing his warm, clinging body off of her. And, oh dear, he's already regretting that; a small noise of disapproval escaping through his gritted molars. It's as dizzyingly endearing as it is amusing. Testing his patience, that is.
"I didn't say that, did I?" The familiar bickering dulls the heart break, but the near-empty banquet had placed it's mark on her mood, as well as her day.
Joel's head angles to the cake set diligently, yet still abandoned on the table – well, it looked more like a pedestal. "Well, don't leave it hanging." It was starting to melt. Lizzie thinks it suits the mood of the failed attempt at an innocent party. She doesn't know why she was so surprised, they were in a death game. Everyone had their own issues to deal with– but still, the realization that maybe, just maybe, her birthday didn't mean so much to them as it did for her ached all the same.
Lizzie migrates towards the center of the catastrophy. The caramellized candles are standing in formation, mutilating the wet buttercream pooling around them. Strawberries scatter neatly in a field of batter, which was cold to the touch and much too sweet on her tongue. Eyeing the cutlery on the side, she doubts that she'll be able to even raise the spoon to her lips, the bitter taste of betrayal in her mouth too sour.
Leaning forward, she shuts her eyes and shoots out a seamless blow to the enriched embers. A plume of smoke follows, and not a second later, the gray swirls vanish into thin air, escaping the burden of burning with only a clogging smell of ashes left behind. Red-rimmed eyes unseal to reveal her solemn husband glued to her side. A calloused grip to her shoulder offers her enough clarity to realise she's started shaking.
Taking a deep breath, translucent wings thrumming, she straightens her back and backs away from the cloying aroma of botched cake mingled with sorrow.
"What did you wish?" Joel, having bitten his tongue for long enough, asks blankly.
"I wish everybody was here." A choked laugh escapes her before she can attempt to stop it. A small smile parts the sea of Joel's consoling expression at the sound. Her laughter – even as self-depricating – sounded like a tune of jingling bells, and with a quiet sigh of relief, his hand slides easily off the silk of her navy sweater.
–But he's suddenly tackled to a bed, swallowed by swaths of soft comforters and plush pillows as what surely must be a divine deity looms over him– adoringly.
"...But this is fine. I like it with you here, anyway." Lizzie sighs, seemingly lovestruck as tufts of apricot frames her face like elegant drapes he'd seen in costly castles.
The fae tumbles off of him in a tangle of shuffling fabric, Joel's ears curving forwards when she claims the spot beside him. He turns to face her, and she follows suit immediately. Languid limbs tangle enticingly with another, afraid to let go even as their joints ache and strain from their predicament. Set in stone.
Lizzie sinks into the lulling smell of earth paired with honeysuckles – like the ones surrounding Joel's Fairground On A Mound – and breathes a huff of wordless contentment. Ears block the lower half of her vision as Joel's nose tucks itself into the crevice of her clavicle, but she doesn't mind, fingers instead floundering to rub the fragile skin with mindless patterns. Umber hairs stand on end with disguised pleasure, but Joel can't suppress the blissful sway of his traitorous tail.
"...How about I help you next time? I can herd them in like sheep."
Lizzie ogles the ceiling, boring holes into the mold seeping through the cracks. It takes a while for her to adequately respond.
"Yeah." She hums.
"Yeah?" Joel perks up.
"That sounds perfect."