Popcorn Reviews // Five Enchanted Roses

I've had this book around the top of my TBR for a while and finally decided to read it. Unfortunately, it took me longer than I had hoped since, well, it was a bit of  letdown.

Five Enchanted Roses is a collection of Beauty and the Beast short story retellings.

I went into this book pretty excited. Beauty and the Beast is one of my favorite fairytales, but what I wasn't expecting was the meh writing. Not all the authors wrote the same. But most of them wrote in that style that always makes me suspect the writer believes he or she must write in this manner to be considered a writer. It's that style that's akin to stuffy, old literature that moves slowly and contemplatively, tells after it shows, or just tells and forgets about showing.

Don't get me wrong. I like some classics, but when I pick one up, I expect the style to be a bit long-winded. Occasionally, I find a modern author who does know how to pull off the classical style properly, but not often. [In fact, I beta-read for a friend whose style is YA and classical mixed, and it's done well]. The writing is good, just not my taste.

Also, and this was on me, each story was doused with romance tropes [so annoying]. But since this was a fairytale retelling, I should've expected to see a lot of modern romance tropes. I don't know why I didn't realize this.


 


So if you like romance/romance tropes, you'll probably love this book.

Although some of the stories renamed the "Beast" or "Belle/Beauty," for the sake of avoiding confusion, I'll call them after whom they represent.

Esprit De La Rose

The first story placed our beloved B&B on a pirate ship? And in an alternate universe of where the Fee punish and banish sailors. The character development didn't seem very realistic for the Beast. But I think that's because his change of heart was a little rushed. The characters were ok. The ships and pirates idea was interesting, but for me that was its redeeming factor.

Wither

This story was by far my favorite of all five! Again, the style was not exactly my taste, but the story was good. And I enjoyed the characters. I loved the idea of it, and I definitely want to know more about the world of the story. The Spooks seemed to be people who would protect the townspeople from the evil spirits that lurked in the forest. Also the Beast was different and why he was a beast. The CASTLE was alive! And all the Lonely were like the invisible spirits, I guess, that served in the castle. Even the ending was different and interesting. The world-building made this story stick out.

Stone Curse

This story was also interesting. It varied more in plot, and Belle's origin was different than the traditional Belle/Beauty. The Beast was written well too. It did get rather sappy though, mostly at the end. This could be in part because the ending was rushed. I wish the author would've taken more time with the romance twist at the end because it would've been more believable. I kinda left this one with some dissatisfaction because the ending was wrapped up just so. But that's ok, right? It's a fairytale.

Rosara and the Jungle King

This was probably my least favorite even though it was the most different. The plot was loosely based on B&B. I did like how it took place in the jungle, how the curse came about, and that the Beast was actually a jaguar. Buuuut the whole plot seemed to hang on the second plot event which just so happened to be an attempted rape which the Beast saves Belle from [enter romance trope]. 

The romance made me wince, but considering that it is romance genre, it's probably done well then? [Don't look at me; I haven't the faintest.] Despite the different setting, the plot and events were a little predictable.

The Wulver's Rose

The Scottish setting was enjoyable as well as the obvious Scottish accent in the dialogue. There were a few other tiny differences. This particular retelling made me realized that in B&B story, the Beast is technically very old, like hundreds of years older than Belle. Sure, he is kept from physically aging and in most stories part of the curse keeps him from mental intelligence. But still, he's had the experience of hundreds of years. And, honestly, that's a little disturbing. I know there's going to be a huge age gap, but a hundred years is a bit much, don't you think?

So yeah, this book was not exactly my cup of tea [except Wither, Wither was great!]. But maybe you might like it? And if you're a Beauty and the Beast fan [as I am], it's at least worth a try!


 

What's your favorite fairytale retelling, B&B or otherwise? What's your least favorite and why? I'd love some recs!

Pudding in Half an Hour // SS: Nursery Rhymes, Jack Frost, and the Snow Queen

 

I was supposed to write something based on a nursery rhyme and I had no idea what to write about. But somehow I smashed a bunch of them together, and I thought I'd speculate on the origins of Jack Frost and the Snow Queen while I was at it. So I hope you like it. Because I have no idea what's going on.

The Children of Olden Years

or 

The Wee Ones

or 

I Don't Know How to Title

Pudding in Half an Hour

Willie rapped on the window. 

Jill rolled her eyes and snapped her book shut. What was he rapping on her window for? It wasn't like she needed him to anymore. Anyone who'd answered Willie's call and gone street-playing for as long as she had, no longer had need of sleep. Maybe she wished she did.

No, she just wished she could grow up. Or leave longevity behind and die already.

Jill turned the lantern down and opened the door. She had to deliver something tonight anyhow. And while the street-play was going on. She hated that she wanted to join the other kids. To jump rope. And eat pudding. And run around the mulberry bushes as if the mulberry patch were their castle and they were the adult royals who ruled instead of the wee ones who served.

Wee ones. Ha! As if some of them weren't older than their masters.

Outside, Willie's pale blue form zigzagged across the snowy, wet street. He knocked on all the houses although not everyone would be called to remain a child servant all their lives. Still, only those who were meant to be called would hear and answer.

Whoever was in charge of deciding fate ought to be overthrown.

 Jill pinched her lips together and stuffed her hand in her skirt pocket. The letter was still there. Her mistress' lover lived clear across town. She wouldn't be going to the street-playing tonight; that's for sure. Around her, children opened their doors and rubbed their eyes groggily. Some squealed and chased each other around. One boy dumped snow down his brother's shirt. But they all made for the same place, as if some instinct led them to the  street-play.

Jill passed one who was still crawling. They were being called rather young these days, weren't they? Nobody but those who were called could see the children street-playing. It was as if they lived in a different world at night. A world of their own, free from the duties adult masters put on them.

Well, except for her. Because Jill's mistress was thoughtless enough to give her a task in the middle of the night. The silly woman! Not even above fifteen yet. Jill gritted her teeth. Jill had lived thousands of years longer, and yet Miss Tasket had been called as an eternal adult so deference as one she received. 

What had Miss Tasket seen? What did the call of adulthood sound like? Certainly, some fairy spirit hadn't called her to come play in the streets at night.

It was not fair! Jill had been born to adult masters. Why couldn't she have been one of them too? She wanted to stamp her feet and throw down the letter. But that would be childish. So she suppressed the impulse. 

At least, Miss Tasket hadn't been called to be a royal. That would've been unbearable.

Her breath made puffs of smoke in the bright moonlight. But that was the only thing that told her how chilly it was. She took the letter out of her pocket to distract herself. She hadn't once noticed the lover's name.

The paper was dry and the greasy wax seal was an absurd green and yellow.

The music of the street-play grew louder as she came closer. Everyone would be there. Except for her.

To Tisket was written with frivolous curls at the end of each letter. Tisket. Tasket. What a fine pair they'd make.

She tried to ignore the music. She had to deliver this dumb letter to a dumb crush. If she hurried, she might catch the street-play before dawn. Her feet padded on the cobblestones. It seemed louder than the music. Much more definite and. . . not half as fun.

Oh, stop that! She was three thousand years old! She didn't have time for fun and games. She shouldn't care about--

"Jill girl!" Willie ran into her, or rather through her.

She turned to face him. He shivered. Apparently, spirits could feel cold.

"Sorry about that." He tried to keep his teeth from chattering. "I was about to make a second round to be sure I've gotten everyone." He glanced at the street-play by the town wall. "Aren't you going?"

"I've a message to deliver. Under orders."

Willie floated backward a bit and frowned. "You can't grow up. Doesn't your mistress know it? She can't deny you--"

"Well, I don't have to attend anymore to keep my childhood."

"Of course not. You passed that. . . I don't remember how many years ago. But you at least have to keep your strength up. After all, you can't sleep--"

"I know."

"Doesn't she realize the street-play is vital to your energy? And--"

"I know, Wee Winkie!"

He winced at his other name.

She breathed. "I'm sorry."

"And I." Willie sighed. "You could disobey her. She can't hold you to it if you protest. Take it up with the royals. The new ones uphold the laws."

She glared at him. "You know how I feel about going to the palace."

"Uh. . . Oh!" He finally caught on. Certainly being eight thousand years immortal did make one's memory slip. Jill was glad she hadn't reached that yet. "Right, of course." Then he got that fatherly look which was strange coming from someone who looked four years old. "But she's sent you out for the past two nights. A third's too much. She doesn't feed you, I know it."

Jill lifted her eyes to the sky. The moonlight was as bright as the soaring sun. She loved the moon. Adults couldn't see her under the its light.

"Your nose is red. Aren't you cold?"

"I've not noticed."

"We've a halfpenny roll to share. Can't you stop for just a little while? And pudding shall be done within half an hour! You like pudding."

"Everyone likes pudding." She tried not to smile. Now that she actually listened to the music it drew her in. Closer. Calling her. Wanting her to dance.

"Come on then!" Willie fluttered around her.

Jill sighed. "Fine, but I can't stay all night."

"Good girl!"

She sneaked a peek at the palace spires. Maybe she could find someone who'd play royals with her, and she could be the queen.

____________________________

Jill kept away from the fire even though other children danced around it. She huddled near the wall next to another girl. The roll was much too warm for her, so Jill offered it to the girl beside her. The girl devoured it right off. Jill ate a spoonful pudding.

She turned back to the girl. "Mary, right?"

The girl nodded.

A mere, but effortless guess. Half the girls here went by Mary.

"What've you got up to lately?"

The girl just shivered and blinked at her.

"What is it?"

"Is it colder here to you?"

Jill took another spoonful of pudding to think on her answer. What did she know of the cold? "Well," she said carefully, "I suppose it would be colder since we're not near the fire."

"You look familiar."

 

Jill squinted at the girl. Uh, oh. She was the servant of Miss Tasket's next door neighbor. The neighbor who always quarreled with Tasket.

"I don't see why." Jill tried not to snap. But her breath turned into a froth of fog.

The girl coughed and shivered. "You're the one!" She coughed again. "You froze my mistress' garden and she had me whipped!"

"I did not!"

"You did too!"

"I don't recall." And she really didn't.

"Well, I do! I'm the one who got the whipping."

"I-- I didn't mean to." Jill poked her spoon at the rest of her pudding. "If I did, I didn't know it."

"Just stay away from me." The girl moved off.

Jill wrinkled her nose. Who needs another Mary anyway?

 Some kids stood off to the side. They shouted, "Higher! Higher! Faster! Faster!"

Oh, great. She shoved her way to the front of the group. Two tall candlesticks stood lit, and the kids had cleared a path. A track for Jack and a taller boy to run down.

Jack smirked from the starting line. The other boy spat an insult at him and crowd of kids crowed. Someone marked the two off, and they raced toward the candlesticks.

Jack couldn't get ahead of the taller boy, but when they reached the candlesticks, Jack nimbly took to the air. He cleared the flame at least by a foot. The other boy trampled through his candlestick by comparison.

The crowd cheered. Some kids snowballed the loser to beat the flames from his clothes. Jill pushed her way to Jack.

"What are you thinking?" She wouldn't let on that she was pleased at the other boy's obvious defeat. Nobody could beat Jack. "You know how bad off you were the last time you burnt yourself."

"Chill Jill." Jack then laughed. "Did you hear that? A rhyme and an irony all in one! I am good today." He put his hands on his hips and beamed.

Jill rolled her eyes. "Jack, seriously."

"We're eternal children and you call me to be serious?" He laughed again. "Please do, tell another!" He grinned at her like the starry-eyed child that he unfortunately was. Then he sprang up, caught her in his arms and laughed around in circles.

"Put me down!"

"Of course, your frosty majesty." He set her down and mocked a bow.

A couple tittering girls came over.

"Excuse me. My fans await." He stepped over to the girls, said something that made them giggle even more, then kissed them each on the nose. When he did, they turned silent. Their noses and cheeks turned red, and tears welled in their eyes. They still grinned at him though. He gave a jolly laugh and clapped one of them on the shoulder.

It was a silly game of the girls. It was said that Jack's touch [and Jill's if anyone cared to know] was so cold nearly no one could withstand it. Some of the wee girls had made a game wherein the winner was the one who didn't cry from the cold when he kissed her.

No one had ever won.

Jill crossed her arms when Jack walked back to her.

"And my work here is done." He grinned.

"Well, mine's not."

"Jill, you're face is all red." He took his scarf off. "You ought to be careful of the cold."

"And why should I?" She refused to let him wind his scarf around her neck. "It's not like I feel it."

Jack touched her face and spoke quieter, "That fall really did something to us, didn't it?"

She bit her lip. She didn't want to think about that. 

"I want to go home." He sounded like a kid, and she wished she hadn't been thinking the same thing.

"But we can't. Home was three thousand years ago."

"I know, but. . ." He looked back at the palace.

She turned his chin to face her again. "They aren't there anymore. Remember?"

He winced. She shouldn't have said that. The war before the last was terrible. Worse off, their parents hadn't even known them.

"I know."

She caught a tear of his with her finger before anyone notice it. He always acted so happy. Sometimes she thought he did it for her, because he had to be just as frustrated as she was. Wasn't he?

"I wish we could've been adults. Royals. Like them," she said.

Jack nodded.

"What if we ran off? We don't have to do what they say anymore. Nobody would have to tell us what to do."

Jack stepped back. "Jill, what are you thinking? If we leave, we become--" He shuddered. "Outcasts? Spirits of dismay."

"What are we now, Jack? Even among the wee ones."

"I try not to think about that."

"And if it's not the other wee ones, my mistress sends me in the night to deliver petty love notes." She showed him the letter. "And I refuse to deliver it tonight."

"Nice color coordination." Jack tapped the green and yellow seal. "Wait a second." He frowned. "That's the letter my mistress told me to steal tonight."

They stared at each other a moment.

"Well, take it." Jill shoved it toward him. "I already said I wouldn't deliver it."

"No." He stepped back so the letter fluttered to the ground. "I don't care about his crossed-love. And you'll get in trouble."

"You'll get in trouble too! Besides, I can always accuse my mistress for sending me on night duties."

"Then so can I."

Jill touched a hand to her forehead and leaned against the town wall. "Well, this is a fine mess. Setting up a brother and sister after each other."

"There ought to be some law against that."

Jill sighed.

"I suppose we can't very well blame them," Jack spoke quieter. "It's not as if they know we're siblings. I'm sure nobody remembers. It's been so long."

"Don't make allowances for them!"

"We're not supposed to remember either, you know."

Jill gritted her teeth. She glared at the letter on the ground. What did it matter? What did any of it matter?

"I don't care anymore!" She pushed past him and marched to the far corner of town.

"Where are you going?"

 She turned back. "I can't stand it anymore, Jack. I going over the wall."

His jaw dropped.

She stared at the ground. "You don't have to come. Actually, don't. People like you, Jack. And you get along with them." She didn't want him to, but she said it anyhow. "You should stay. But I can't." She stepped closer to hug him. His arm rested limply on her back. He still wasn't believing this, was he?

She stepped into the darkest part of town. She swallowed. She was doing this. She had to. It was the only way out. She just wished that Jack would-- but no, that was selfish.

"Wait!"

She jumped and jerked around.

Jack ran to her. "I'm, I'm coming."

"No. Jack. You'll do better--"

"No." He held his hand up. "I don't care about the others. They don't really see me. If you leave, then I will be alone."

She knew what he meant. He was the only home she had left, so maybe she was the only home he had left too.

They climbed the ladder on silent feet. Beneath their hands, frost cracked and spread down the rungs. The wall turned slick with ice when they stood atop it. Hand in hand, they stepped into the white woods. The moon shone bright as day, and the stars guided their way. To where, they did not know.

How many nursery rhymes did you spot? Have you joined Starting Sparks?

An Odd Tale // Part the Last

Yep, we have finally come to the end of this madness. I hope you've enjoyed it. I adored writing it. My favorites parts are coming up. (Who am I kidding, all of it was my favorite part!) Oh, and here is Part the First and Part the Sequel if you want to read that.

An Odd Tale

Part the Last

Oddball scrambles up the beanstalk. He looks more human than wolf while climbing, if you want to know. He sighs and glances at me. 

I’m sitting on a beanstalk branch high, high above the earth, if you must know. I swing my legs and grin at him. “Yes?”

“This is getting ridiculous.” Oddball continues to climb.

“I think that’s rather the point.”

Oddball scrunches his nose. “I will never understand you.”

“I don’t expect many people will.”

“At least tell me if it’s almost over.”

“Nearly. Just keep climbing.”

Oddball does, his head now in the clouds. He almost climbs right over Rocky. Well, more like he almost gets kicked in the head. 

“Are we there yet?” Oddball asks. (Beastie Wolves clearly are not known for their patience.)

“I wish,” Rocky says. “I hope we’re not too late.”

“This friend of yours, why was she taken?”

“Because. . . because she’s small.” Rocky almost chokes on his words. “She’s very, very small.”

“I don’t get it,” Oddball says. 

“You don’t have to.” Rocky is thinking about how he met Skyler. A fairy without wings. The most stupid thing he ever heard of. And she told him she flies a dragon? What?! She’s far too small to be flying on dragons. But she was determined to save her said dragon, and so he decided to help, and then she was captured. And all because she was small. 

Rocky had let her down. He should’ve been big enough for it. To face off this giant for her. And okay, he did. But nobody told him the giant was working with flying wolves, and so Skyler was captured anyways.

He clambers up on hard ground. 

Oddball follows. “Solid ground floating in the clouds?” he says. “This is making less and less sense.” 

There’s a mansion not far off. It seems as if there’s statue garden surrounding it? So, giants grow statues? At the rate of this story, Oddball wouldn’t put it past me, er, the giants. 

Skyler stands again, stronger this time. “As nice as it would be to make a dramatic exit, I’m much better now, and rather bored of sitting around.”

Peril twirls her knife. “So I might agree with you on that.”

“The plan,” Skyler says, “is to get the keys. Now I can slip through the bars while. . .”

“And conduct a wind to fly you up to the key ring?” Peril says.

Skyler looks at her tiny hands. “I- I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean?” Peril gives her a startled look. “You’ve got this.”

“Well, there isn’t that much wind in here. And ever since Bolt hasn’t been around—“

“But you still have some of your powers.”

“It’s not that easy. It’s harder to focus them. To disentangle the forces of the wind from the—“

“Okay, okay.” Peril holds a hand up. “I don’t care for all the details. But can’t you at least try?”

“Fine,” she says to appease her friend. “But if it doesn’t work, would you. . .” She gestures to Peril’s knife. 

Peril sighs. “Just do what you do, Skyler.”

Skyler sprints between the dungeon bars. She stops underneath the nail in the wall from which the keys dangle. Perhaps it would be easier for her to force the keys off the nail instead of flying herself up to the keys? 

She can’t remember. 

Her heart races. She cannot remember. How can she just forget the level of difficulty each act would require?  

No, she’s got to pull it together. Think rationally. 

She has to try. The fairy closes her eyes. She feels the wind. There is no wind. Just stale, stagnant air. Skyler teases it into action. A small gust ruffles her hair. Well, that’s a start. Come now. Wake up. Don’t rot down here in the dungeon. 

She coaxes the air up. To the keys. To the keys. She hears the metal jangle together. Another good sign. Push it. She feels the force as if she herself is pushing the keys. As if her hands are on the cold key ring, her feet braced against the wall propelling her forward. 

The keys inch toward the edge of the nail. Closer, closer. She can see it. Come now. She feels her arms weakening. The small gust growing faint. No, no. Closer now. If only she were bigger, stronger.

The air sucks away, taking her breath. She falls to her knees and gasps. She hears Peril call her name with concern. She’s too weak. From staying in this dungeon. From being so far from her dragon. 

Or she’s too small.

The key ring totters half on and half off the nail head. So very close. 

She takes a deep breath and stands again. She closes her eyes and tries to summon the air back. Please return. Their task is not finished yet. But all she can think about is when she tried to show Rocky that she truly was a Fairy that Commandeth All the Winds. All she did was make a few dead leaves droop to the ground. 

She needs her dragon. All fairies do. 

Skyler turns to Peril and shakes her head. 

Peril has been chewing on her lower lip. She glances over her shoulder before aiming her knife. Skyler steps back. The knife sails through the air. It nudges the bottom end of the key ring. The ring jumps up and over the edge of the nail. It falls with a clatter that shakes the ground under Skyler’s feet. She freezes. 

Peril seems unconcerned with the tremor though. Skyler relaxes some. She was the only one who detected the vibration. 

Somehow she manages to drag the keys into Peril’s reach.

Rocky and Oddball have tiptoed through the garden and all the sleeping dogs. They’ve also found the same hole in the wall that our hero Peril found earlier. Now they step through the hole. 

They are a bit luckier than Peril. Nobody’s in the room.

“Where do we start looking?” Oddball sniffs at the cauldron.

“Oh, how about the dungeon maybe?” Rocky says.

“I’m sorry, mansions have dungeons?” He scratches behind his ear.

Rocky sighs with exasperation. “Wherever a giant lives, there’s always a dungeon.”

A humming comes from the door. Oddball stops mid-scratch. Actually it sounds more like a droning, if you want to know.

“Hide!” Oddball says. 

But the room is near empty, except for the ladder by the cauldron and a giant bear skin rug on the floor. Rocky scrambles under the rug and Oddball follows. They lie flat and hold their breath. 

The witch enters. She sings some sort of spell casting song. It’s the kind of song that witch school teaches their students to remind them of a particular spell with a lengthy list of ingredients. The witch doesn’t actually remember what the spell is for, but the tune is catchy. 

They hear the plop, plop of something being dropped into the cauldron and finally the retreating steps of the witch. 

“Well, that was unexpectedly effective,” Oddball mutters. 

“Yes.” Rocky lifts the bear’s head as he is at the front.

“Wait.” Oddball grabs his arm. “We could use this as cover.”

“Oh.” Rocky slips back under the rug. “Good thinking.”

So with the bear skin over them, the two crawl on hands and knees out the door. From room to room, the bear rug trots along. Occasionally it slams into things and you can hear words like, 

“Ouch! Would you stop pushing me from behind?!”

“I’m sorry I thought we were in a hurry, okay?” 

 “Shut up! Someone’s coming.”

At which point, the bear rug falls flat on the ground. It does appear a little lumpy. But the FTG has difficulty spotting details like that, as they are very small details to him. Besides, his eyes are often spinning round in their sockets. How he manages to read Pektiller or any of the other poets is beyond me. The point is, he passes by the rug.

A couple rooms later, the bear rug is at it again. 

“What is that thumping?”

“Oh, apologies.”

“Stop scratching! We’re in a hurry, right?”

“Ow! Do you mind informing me when you want to back up?”

“I’m sorry. Did I step on your wittle toesy?”

A snarl comes from the bear rug. 

Now the rug, er, the boys hear something. 

A small voice, “Did that rug just growl?”

A brasher voice, “Let us pass, or I’ll make sure you die this time!”

Rocky lifts the bear head. “Skyler?”

The little fairy stands beside another girl with her knife pointed menacingly at, well, at Rocky.

Skyler grins and Rocky scoops her up. “I can’t believe you’re—“ A cold blade rests against his neck.

“Hey now!” This is Peril. “You can’t just pick my friend up like that.”

Skyler leans over Rocky’s shoulder. “It’s okay. He—“

Oddball tosses the bearskin away and sneezes. He looks more Beastie Wolf than human or wolf when sneezing.  

Peril opens her mouth, grins, then frowns again. All in three seconds. (I’m telling you, she knows how to act.)

“I thought you were a Beastie Wolf? Now you’re a bear too?” she says.

“Half a bear.” Oddball shoots a glare at Rocky and stifles another sneeze. (The rug has affected his allergies.)

Skyler has shoved Peril’s blade away. 

“And who’s this simpleton?” Peril turns back to Rocky. She figures he’s okay, since Skyler seems relaxed, but she keeps the knife out just in case. 

“This is Rocky,” Skyler says. “He was going to help me find Bolt.”

“Yes,” Rocky says, “And I’m sorry they captured—“

“It wasn’t your fault,” Skyler says. 

“I know but. . . you’re so small. I just want to put you in a pocket and keep you safe.”

Oddball stares. “What in the world is wrong with you?”

“What?” Rocky frowns at him.

“You don’t ever act like that. Aaah—” Oddball half chokes on another sneeze. “You especially don’t treat Skyler like that.” He snuffles. “Just the opposite you’re—“

Something jerks his head. Oddball whirls to Peril.

She turns the bur between her fingers. “You’re always scratching at it, and it’s so annoying.” She makes a face.

Oddball rolls his eyes and hopes the narrator will stop making him sneeze.

Rocky and Skyler hug. And then they are. . . kissing. Somehow. It’s weird since Skyler is much smaller.

Oddball and Peril stand very awkwardly to the side.

“We came to save you two.” Oddball almost looks at Peril. “In case you want to know,” he says with underlying meaning that I choose to ignore.

Peril just watches him. She’s already figured where this story is going.

“But it seems,” he rubs the back of his neck, “you kind of saved yourself.” Then he murmurs with a smile, “Not much of a surprise.”

I sigh and try not to remind him of the script.

“We’re not out of the woods yet.” Peril elbows him and grins. He grins back, and the awkwardness falls away. Peril coughs loudly and turns to the other pair. “Speaking of leaving.”

“Right of course.” Rocky says. “But first we’ve got to break the curse.” He does remember what he promised Corn-what’s-his-name.

“And save Bolt.” Skyler climbs onto Rocky’s shoulder.

“How do we do that?” Oddball asks.

Rocky shrugs. “Don’t know. Maybe if we nose around a little longer we’ll figure it out.” He grins and reaches for the door.

Before his hand lands on the door knob, the door swings wide.

The wicked witch and the FTG seem almost as startled as our heroes. There’s a comic moment with everyone just staring at each other wondering what they ought to do next.

First, the FTG’s tongue grabs a fly.

Then Peril’s knife comes out. 

Oddball might involuntarily bare his teeth. 

Rocky sets Skyler on the ground. 

The wicked witch grins. “More visitors. FTG, please tell me the stars are aligned now.”

“As a matter of fact, madam Jack,” the FTG’s eyes stop rolling in his head, “they are.” He looks straight at Rocky. 

Rocky jumps away and the back wall turns to stone.

“No!” the witch shrieks. “Get the Peril! The Peril!”

The FTG now aims his. . . uh, eyes, at Peril’s feet. Well, after his tongue snags fly on the wall.

Peril hurls her knife at him. He dodges and gets Rocky instead. 

“Rocky!” This is comes all our heroes. 

Well, excluding Skyler. During the rush of feet and trying not to get trampled, she’s fallen through a hole in the floor. 

“Her feet, you bumbling fly-eater!” This is the witch.

Peril is running and weaving. The FTG aims again. Oddball tries to jump between them, trips and falls. (Beastie Wolves aren’t known to be graceful, okay?) The FTG misses and gets Oddball’s eyes. Yeah, his eyes turn to stone. 

“What happened?” Oddball says. “Why can’t I see? Ashley?!”

(Hang in there, Oddball.)

“Hey!” Peril is getting angrier by the second. (Skyler never got through to her with the whole rational thinking thing.) “What is your problem? Turning people to stone, and their eyes, and locking people in towers? Why—“

Peril’s feet are turned to stone.

“Because it’s what we do,” the wicked witch says. 

The villains rejoice at their good fortune. But soon they squabble over who gets the stone victims for whose collection. 

Meanwhile, Skyler is still down in that hole.

She’s tried climbing out, but it’s of little use. The only way out is to fly out and that’s not going to happen. There’s got to be another way. As she inspects the hole she’s fallen in, there’s a glint of something off in the corner. 

It’s a. . . horn. 

A horn? Down here in this hole under the floor? Very strange. With the dim light available, Skyler reads the words engraved on the side of it:

“With one blow, all of the killed shall be whole, all of the killers shall be stone.”

(It’s not exactly Pektiller, but it’ll have to do.) 

Yes, that makes more sense. Why would the giant want this lying out in the open? In fact, that hole up in the floorboards does seem to be horn-shaped. As if someone smashed the. . .

(This is irrelevant.)

How is Skyler going to blow a giant-sized horn? She walks around the horn. She stands inside the horn. She clenches her fists and huffs. She is thinking that the narrator is poking fun at her and short people all over the world. 

Her? Blow this horn? This is absurd! Sure, she might be the Fairy that Commandeth All the Wind, but. . . 

She steps out of the horn. Wind. Blow. All she needs is a good wind to blow through. 

But where is she supposed to find wind in a HOLE UNDER THE FLOOR?! 

Okay, fine. Fine! She gets it now. Moral of the story: little people can do big things too. Whatever. She’ll be obliging. 

Skyler closes her eyes. Feels the still air. It’s different than in the dungeon where the air was rotting. Here the air is just waiting, holding its breath. 

She pretends that it’s been waiting for her. And in a way, hasn’t it?

(She is not mentally smirking at the narrator at this moment.)

She’s done this before. Lots of times. This is what she tells herself as she whispers to the air, Let’s play chase. The air is so willing. It’s been lonesome down here. In her mind, the wind chases her in and out of the horn. 

Come on, now. Faster! Stronger! It’s got to be faster if it wants to catch her. In and out of the horn. 

But it’s not strong enough. She has done this many times, but never without Bolt. It makes her sadder to realize that Bolt is in fact nearby. He’s out in that stone garden, as a statue. 

Poor Bolt. Turned to stone. She’s got to do this. For Bolt. For her friends. 

Faster now. Come on! 

They stop playing chase. You are a strong wind, Skyler tells the air. 

It doesn’t believe her. It’s been left here under the floor. How can it be a strong wind? 

But it wants to be. 

And that’s all it needs. Just put the effort into. 

The air blows and it blows. It’s a breeze. Yes! Keep going. It can do this. Skyler’s hair whips wildly around. She hovers over the ground. 

The horn blows a long, loud blast. 

Skyler, with the air from under the floor, flies out into the open. Something weird happens. 

The whole world is awash in sparkles. Inside the mansion, outside the mansion. (Skyler thinks the sparkles overdo it, but she’s not the one writing this story.)

The garden comes to life. Her friends are no longer stone. The back wall is wood again. The sparkles finally disappear.

The witch and FTG are stone statues in the middle of an argument.

And our heroes ride to the Misfit Lands on Bolt’s back.

(Somewhere in there Peril *might* have kissed Oddball on the cheek, wherein he looked much more human than wolf. BUT I was ordered not mention this under penalty of certain and immediate writers block. Sooo I did not mention this. You didn’t hear it from me; it’s your own speculation.)

Our heroes now stand at the gate of the Misfit Lands. They ring the buzzer to ask if they’re allowed entrance. (Yes, there is a buzzer on the gate; the Master of the Misfits Lands is very classy like that.) 

He says no. 

They insist that they have pastries to trade for their passage. 

The Master of the Misfit Lands says something like, “There’s no vacancy. And there won’t be one for another, oh, maybe two years? So please kindly go away.”

Our heroes (especially those with tempers and less rational thoughts) say something like, “We traveled so far and refrained from eating ALL of the pastries so we could finally find a home! And you still won’t let us it?! We just want a home to belong to.”

There is a static-y pause on the buzzer (honest, I don’t actually know what it’s called, I just see it on TV). This pause gives our heroes hope. Any moment now, the gate shall swing open because of their rousing argument. Everything they’ve done hinges on this moment. Open gate. Would it just open!?

The gate doesn’t open, if you need me to tell you.

The Master says something to the effect of, “Oh dears, you’ve already found a home. You belong with each other.”

He doesn’t say it in those exact words of course, because that is way too blunt and rather sappy romantic (not to mention poor writing). And there’s no room for anything like that in this story. 

All the same, our heroes agree. (They do not in any way find this anticlimactic and slapdash.) 

So they ride off into the warming sunrise—

“Ashley, just say it, already!” Oddball is having trouble balancing on his horse. 

(Yes, I pulled the horses out of my hat. That’s where I keep them in case there’s need for a clichéd exit.)

The End

Side Notes:

1) The real Oddball Trilogy does not actually read this way. Thank God!

2) Oddball is right. Rocky does not treat Skyler like that. At all. No. Just ick. 

3) Skyler isn't actually a POV character. 

4) The wicked witch who locked Peril in a tower and who trapped Oddball in the North Enchanted Wood, is the same witch. Her name is Society. 

5) This whole thing is a war between my realistic, harsh, sarcastic editor side and my idealistic, hopeless romantic side. My latter side makes me gag and want to smother it. (Picture me growling, "Not you again!" grabbing a pillow, and lunging at a fluffy double of me.)  This piece shows the battle that ensues between these two sides every time I sit to write. An Odd Tale is more about that battle than it is about Oddball.

6) I've never used the strike-through text button before. So tell me if it irks you, otherwise you might see more of it.

7) You ought to view this picture, which is too enormous to post. But you'll love it.

Do you keep horses under your hat for dramatic exits? Okay, probably not. So do you at least talk to your characters? Are they respectfully little munchkins? Or do they argue and spread chaos?