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Fairytales aren’t real. But if they are real — if young girls really do turn frogs into princes with a kiss or meet their one true love from glass slippers — then Elli wonders if Doctor Trent is the kind of man who would save a princess from a burning tower.
The thought crosses her mind as she draws her attention to the book on top of the stack the librarian, Mary, hands to her. A tidy doodle graces its cover: a princess and a female knight gazing into each others’ eyes on horseback as a castle burns in the background. At the bottom, in capital serif letters, Elli catches the name ‘Mary LeConte’.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” Mary tells Elli from behind the counter. “I’m more than happy to help.”
Elli nods, sorts through each book. Fresh from nursing school, her original intent in visiting the library was to read Basil LeConte’s work about the local flora in hopes of curing her grandmother’s ailments. But when she met his daughter and discovered her mutual love of medicinal herbs and flowers, Elli made visiting the library a regular habit. The fact that the novella on top is written by the woman before her makes her visit all the more worthwhile.
“Ah, I-I hope you don’t mind,” Mary says, combing her fingers through her long black braid when she notices Elli’s curiosity. She’s pretty in a whimsical and bookish sort of way, with thick glasses framing her gentle grey eyes and pale porcelain skin. “I remembered you mentioned you liked to read fairytales growing up, so... I thought m-maybe you’d enjoy reading mine.”
“Oh, shameless self-promotion?” Elli teases. “Now I’ve got no choice.”
Mary laughs, delivers her a hopeful smile. Elli shifts her eyes away, back to the picture on the book. The resemblance Mary bears to the knight on the cover is striking. Its imagery and beauty coils around her brain and never leaves Elli’s mind as she heads back to the hospital for the rest of her shift.
“Elli,” Saibara says, “I believe my arm is sufficiently wrapped now.”
His words pull her away from her fantasy world — knights with long black hair saving princesses from burning buildings — back into reality, into the hospital room with its white walls and medicine cabinets. She focuses her attention on the excess bandage wrapped around Saibara’s wrist.
“Oh!” She stops, flustered. “Sorry, Saibara.”
She throws an embarrassed glance over her shoulder to Doctor Trent, Mineral Town’s very own ‘knight in shining armor’. With his lab coat, stoic demeanor, and untamed black hair, he looks less the part of a heroic knight and more the image of grueling hard work. When he doesn’t look over, still examining the papers on his desk, she relaxes her shoulders and sighs.
To say she admires him is an understatement. She was thirteen when she lost her parents, ten days shy of fourteen when she met him at the funeral — a family friend of a friend. Inspired by her tragedy and his wealth of knowledge and desire to help others, she made the decision to follow in her mother’s footsteps and attend medical school — a dream that turned to reality at eighteen. Now, as she helps Saibara to his feet and out of the hospital doors, she feels a sense of gratitude toward Trent for saving her from despair and onto the path to healing, rather than spiraling downward, unable to save herself.
When Trent escorts her home at the end of the work day with his coat over her shoulders, her grandmother and little brother greet her from the living room with eager anticipation.
“Ooh,” Stu, ever the annoying pest, cuts in from the couch, his fingers tap-tap-tapping away at the handheld console in his hand. “Elli and Tre-ent, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I—”
“That’s enough, Stu,” Elli scolds. He clams up, cheeks ballooning from sputtering giggles.
“Doctor Trent does seem to have taken a liking to you, dear,” Ellen says as Elli closes the door. She’s in her rocking chair, knitting the beginnings of a blanket. “Perhaps I’ll live to see you two get married after all.”
Elli frowns. She hates the expectations and mindless gossip, and this is no exception. Ever since childhood friends Rick and Karen began dating last Winter, the townsfolk have begun speculating about her and Trent — but if Trent has given her any other sign of his affection than basic chivalry, she has yet to see it.
Elli thinks back to the funeral, the nostalgic feelings of misery pricking at her heart. It seems like just yesterday she met Trent. He’d wrapped an arm around her, told her he understood what it was like to lose a parent. Life is no fairytale — she’d learned this all too well as a child. She knew better. She still knows better.
The book waits for her by the open windowsill, where she’s placed it.
Outside her room, the view looks like something straight out of a fairytale itself. In the season where everything is blooming, there’s a certain beauty in Mineral Town at sunset with its pink and purple clouds against the navy blue sky, a perfect scenery for a good nighttime read.
Her eyes scan Mary LeConte’s story. Something about the book grabs her, reminds her of the days her mother used to read to her when she was young. It’s been too long since she’s read anything for recreational purposes, let alone fairytales. But as she tucks herself into bed, she traces her fingers over the cover for a moment and flips to the first chapter.
- - -
“...but it was when the knight removed his helmet that Princess Irene discovered he was no man — no, no man at all — but a woman. A stunningly handsome woman with long flowing raven locks cascading beautifully down her broad shoulders and porcelain skin that gleamed in the sunlight. The sight of her beauty was enough to take the fair princess back by surprise.
‘Oh! You’re— you— I thought…’ she gazed at the knight with her face now unsheathed. The knight only stared back, a mischievous grin upon her ruddy face.
‘Pardon me,’ Princess Irene went on as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I’m not usually so tongue-twisted. It’s just... all this time, I thought you were—’
‘A man?’ the knight finished. A soft chuckle escaped her lips, causing the princess’s heart to pace at an unthinkable tempo.
‘Well... y-yes…’
‘Does it bother you that I’m not?’
Princess Irene bowed her head and smiled; it was the miracle she always dreamed of. ‘No. Not at all.’”
- - -
⁕⁕⁕
As a child, Mary loved fairytales. She loved the happily-ever-afters, the beautiful princesses, the magic. Before bedtime, her father would read to her as she drifted off to sleep, his voice morphing with each character, her dreams filling in the blanks. When she learned to read and write, she concocted story after story in the school library, the sidelines of her notebooks filled with doodles and the loveliest words she knew. Books were her closest friend, her source of companionship and comfort when the girls in school mocked her, when her mother criticized her frumpy appearance.
She and her parents renovated the abandoned house into a small library after moving to Mineral Town. To Mary, it was her chance to start over and fulfill her dreams — to become a librarian, and publish her stories. Within a matter of days, she had settled into things, becoming acquainted with the townsfolk.
But still, something was missing.
She thinks about Elli. A new nurse in town, one who knows and cares about the medicinal herbs and flowers as much as she does. It’s new and exciting, this fresh face in town with so many shared interests. She can only hope and wish the book she lent her will bring her back, and they can grow closer.
But a girl can dream.
“Gray?”
Gray, Mary’s closest friend and confidant in town, sits at the table closest to the counter as he always does. As though he’s anticipated this conversation, he peeks his eyes over the book he’s reading. “Mm?”
“I’m curious... What do you think about Elli?”
He shoots her a knowing look. She knows what he’s thinking, and why. It’s no secret to most of the town, but to him she’s divulged it all — from the posters of Star Lily Bandit Girl and Sally Girl Detective that adorned her bedroom walls and the terrible poetry scribbled in her notebook about girls in her class; to the whispers and titters in the hallways, the exchanged glances and judgmental eyes.
“Why...?” he asks finally.
“Well, I— I’ve never met anyone else who loves reading and flowers like I do...”
“Uh-huh. And?"
“And you know as well as I do how difficult it is to make friends here.”
He snorts. “Friends?”
Thoughts of Elli flash in Mary’s mind again — her cherubic face, her doe-like brown eyes. She imagines spending every night with her as they talk until slivers of sunlight sneak through the clouds, their eyes weary, their hearts full.
“Yes.” She narrows her eyes. “Friends.”
Elli returns two days later with Mary’s book, singing its praises.
“What an incredible book, Mary,” Elli exclaims with a newfound childlike wonder before perusing the FICTION section of the library. “Have you written anything else?”
“I’m afraid not yet,” Mary responds. “At least, nothing ready to read. I am working on the sequel, though.”
“You’re going to let me read it, right?”
Mary chuckles. “You’ll be the first to know.”
Over the next few weeks, Elli checks out and returns two more short stories, then two more. Mary soon begins to anticipate her visits, memorizing her schedule. Wednesdays become her least favorite day — the one day Elli consistently fails to show up.
It’s not until one Summer afternoon that Mary notices what she’s doing and how she’s been feeling when Elli’s around. Shafts of sunlight spill from the rooftop window, illuminating the center of the room in a warm golden glow where Elli stands. She’s radiant, and Mary’s eyes linger an extra second longer, taking in the beauty of the scenery before her. When Elli pulls one of Basil’s books from the shelf — the one adorned with a crown of violets as tribute to one of Mary’s favorite flowers — she feels something bloom inside her, like a budding flower taking root in her heart.
(“What about this one, Papa?” a nine-year-old Mary asked with the wide-eyed curiosity many children have at that age, when every answer is a new world of possibilities.
“Ah. Viola odorata,” Basil recited, holding the flower. “A beautiful specimen rich with symbolism. Some people say violets represent good fortune, and humility.” He twirled the stem before placing it back in Mary’s hand. “In other cultures, the violet symbolizes love, from one woman to another.”)
“Oh my Goddess,” Elli says, her face glowing as she picks a book off the shelf. “‘The Fairy And Me’? I used to watch this show all the time as a little girl!”
Mary smiles as Elli thumbs through the pages. It’s one of her favorites — a book she owns the copy to and had, in fact, finished reading the day before she met Elli. “Me too! The novel is even better, though, if you can believe that.”
“Do you believe in that old legend? That it grants wishes to whoever reads it?”
Mary reflects on this, pauses. The book’s magical abilities were something of a legend around these parts — a legend she hopes, however naïve, is true. “I guess we’ll see. What would you wish for?”
“I’d wish to live a life my parents would be proud of. What about you?”
Elli’s eyes gaze into Mary’s soul, and her heart lodges in her throat. She’d wished all that time ago to find true love, hoping and praying for its magic to work. Was this the answer to her prayers? “I’d wish to publish my novels. I want to tell the world that fairytale endings are possible. That it’s possible for me. I really do believe it. Is that silly?”
“Not at all.” Elli places a hand on Mary’s shoulder. An electrical current thrums throughout her body. “I think that’s beautiful.”
⁕⁕⁕
Before she moved to Mineral Town, before either of them had stepped foot outside their high school campuses, Elli considered Trent the most brilliant person she knew.
On this warm Fall afternoon, as Mary launches into the rich symbolism of various local flowers — moondrops, pink cats, blue and red magic grass — Elli is taken aback by her knowledge and passion. Mary speaks about moondrops, how historians believe the name originates from the glow of the moon on early morning dew.
Elli listens, in awe. For all her years of research on medicinal herbs, she had never known about the rich history of these flowers, their individual stories. It’s clear she’s put such love and care into her research, so much so that it catches Elli’s breath.
“You’re brilliant,” she interrupts without thinking. Mary peers up at her with raised eyebrows and she backtracks. “Ah— I mean, have you considered a side job at the clinic?”
This prompts Mary to laugh, really laugh. “Goodness, no. I couldn’t do what you do.”
“Really?”
She shakes her head. “I’m not brave like you. You save people. I— well... I just like to write.”
“Brave?” Elli questions. She wants to argue it, say, Your writing saved me, but it feels intense, overbearing. “I may not know much about writing. But I do know it takes a certain amount of bravery to be so vulnerable. You never know how many people you have touched with your writing.”
And when Mary looks away and blushes, Elli swears her heart is on fire.
Gray stops Elli as she leaves the library, seconds before she reaches home.
“Hey.”
She catches his eye, confused. On any other day, he doesn’t give her so much as a passing glance. “Yeah, you. Elli, right?”
“Yes...?”
“Alright.” He scratches his neck. “Um. Not to be nosy, but... why do you spend so much time at the library?”
She jerks her head back. “Excuse me?”
“I just mean... is there, like, something goin’ on between you two? Are you interested in Mary or something?”
The question leaves her nauseated, like she’s on a slowly rocking boat. Suddenly, she doesn’t want to have this conversation. What is the world coming to when she can’t even take a simple trip to the library without people gossiping behind her back? To accuse her of such a thing — absurd, preposterous! Mary is her friend, just a friend. And who is he to talk? He’s at the library more than she is.
“Where do you get off throwing around those kinds of accusations?” Elli snaps. “What does it matter that I visit the library all the time?”
He puts up a hand to ward off the blow. “Don’t mean to offend. It’s just a question.”
She ends the conversation by storming off, not bothering to glance back at him. “Next time, keep your questions to yourself.”
“You’re awfully jumpy today,” Trent comments that afternoon as he turns the corner, startling her. “Is everything alright? You seem more distracted than usual.”
The interaction with Gray hasn’t yet left her brain. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine,” she mutters, batting away the thoughts floating around in her brain. A nervous energy emanates from him, and she says, “Um, did you need something?”
He shifts on his feet, clears his throat. “I was wondering if you had a date for the Moonlight Night Festival, actually.”
She blinks, stunned at her response, or lack thereof. As teenagers, she followed him around like a schoolgirl, hoping he’d take notice of her. But confronted with the proposal, she’s surprisingly conflicted. Where are the giddy butterflies? Why isn’t she jumping at the opportunity?
“Can I get back to you?” She frowns at herself, hardly believing the words coming out of her mouth. “I, I mean, I just need to see if Carter is going to be able to babysit Stu. Grandma won’t be awake then, you see, and…”
“No rush,” he says, and to her surprise, he’s smiling. “Take your time. I understand.” Then he walks off, undeterred. It only leaves Elli more confused, unable to pinpoint her own emotions.
⁕⁕⁕
“Did you know Mary is so well-versed in botany?”
Elli sits at the center of the dinner table as she says this, mindlessly twirling strands of buckwheat noodles around her chopsticks, when their guest, Saibara, squints at her over his bowl. It occurs to her then, for reasons unknown to her, that she’s blurted this out in the middle of an otherwise quiet dinner.
“I did,” Ellen answers. “Her father is a botanist from France. He’s got multiple published books which have sold copies all over the world. And I hear young Mary is quite something herself. Multilingual, beautiful, well-read... quite a remarkable family.”
“Certainly,” Saibara chimes in. “Whomever she chooses to marry will be a lucky man indeed.”
“Ah, but haven’t you heard?” Ellen brings a cup of hot cocoa to her lips, then sets the drink down. “Mary doesn’t prefer the company of men.”
One sentence, seven words. That’s all it takes for something akin to several shots of caffeine to pump Elli’s heart rate to anxiety-inducing levels.
“Is that so?” Saibara clears his throat. “She’s a lesbian, then.”
“Mhmm.”
Saibara and Ellen continue chattering away, but Elli’s no longer invested, her thoughts drowning out their conversation.
Lesbian. Mary is a lesbian.
When she thinks back, it all makes sense. The way Mary’s hand floats over hers when handing her a book for that extra indiscernible second, the way she jumps and brightens up when Elli enters the library, the novel about the princess and the knight. How had she never noticed? Is this what Gray meant when he ran into her that day, when he asked her why she was spending so much time at the—
“So, Elli,” Saibara says, breaking her out of her reverie, “has Trent asked you to the Moonlight Night Festival yet?”
“I, um,” Elli stammers. She can’t do this. Not here. She throws her napkin on the table and stands, pushing her chair in and excusing herself. “I think I’m getting full.”
Lesbian.
The word stains her tongue like an ink-blot. She examines her face in the full-frontal mirror of her room. Why does the word frighten her so much? Why, better yet, does it excite her so much to know that Mary is a lesbian?
Is it because, she wonders, she’s a lesbian?
No, of course not. She’s had crushes on boys before. And she’s in love with Trent. She’s admired him since she was a teen, his otherworldly intelligence. She’s always known he was destined for a life of success and opportunity, and that any woman he set his eye on would be lucky to have him.
So... why does the idea of Mary make her question everything she’s thought she’s ever known?
- - -
“‘It’s just…’ Princess Irene started, trailing off. Her fair face fell. What would the world think of her secret? What would her father say?
‘What is it?’ Viola asked.
‘...I am to take the hand of a prince as my beloved.’
‘And what shall the king and queen do if you are to marry a knight? A knight who is a woman?’
Princess Irene glanced at the woman she loved. Viola’s face — the soft lips she’d kissed a hundred times, the scar under her right eye from a duel to the death — stared back at her, concern etched in her features.
‘I don’t know.’”
- - -
⁕⁕⁕
Mary's perched at the counter, hunched over the notebook she’s been scribbling in for the past few hours, when Elli walks in.
“I’ve been working on the sequel to my novel,” Mary says. “I was hoping you could read this passage for me and let me know what you think?”
“Of course. I’m honored you asked.” Elli nudges Mary, and goosebumps prick her arms. “I was beginning to think this story was just talk.”
“W-well, it’s not quite finished,” she stutters as she takes a seat on the floor behind the counter. “And it needs to be edited.”
“Don’t worry, Mary.” Elli takes her place on the floor next to her, mere inches away. Mary breathes in the faint scent of her shampoo, never knowing toy flowers could smell so intoxicating. “I’m going to love it.”
For the next fifteen painstaking minutes, Elli’s eyes scan through like a typewriter, page by page. All the while, Mary agonizes. She attempts to decipher the changes in expression: the way Elli’s eyebrows raise ever-so-slightly, the subtle curve of her lips, and her soft giggles between page turns. What if she has misinterpreted the signs from Elli and has been making an utter fool of herself this whole time? But the feeling fades once Elli peeks up at her from the pages.
“This is beautiful, Mary. I expected no less from you,” Elli says.
“Th-thank you,” Mary manages. “I worked really hard on it.”
“Although,” Elli continues with a glimmer to her eye, that precious dimple forming in her cheek, “I do have one small comment.”
“Oh?”
She points to a section in the text. “Did you mean to write this?”
And never was there a maiden so fair, so beautiful, as Elli, Dame Viola thought to herself.
The humiliation of the words staring at Mary crawls up her skin. “Oh Goddess,” she utters. Never again can she show Elli her stories, her face. “I’m— I’m so sorry. I’m not sure how that made it in there. Really, I—”
But before Mary can process her thoughts, Elli mashes her lips onto hers, just as Princess Irene kissed Dame Viola in the secret garden, in the field of violets.
Mary sinks into Elli’s touch, her soft hair between her fingers, the salty-sweet taste of her lips. She can barely believe it’s happening — this moment she’s dreamed of for so many seasons. When Elli pulls back, she appears as stunned as Mary feels, with parted lips and glassy eyes.
“Mary...” she breathes, but Mary giggles, places her hand on Elli’s cheek.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” she replies, and they kiss again and again. She’s Viola, on horseback, with the woman of her dreams. “It’s like a dream come true.”
12:15 PM. Its memory plays over and over again in Mary’s head, like a well-loved record.
She remembers it all so clearly — how her fingers laced around Elli’s, her soft lips, the sweet, faint smell of her floral shampoo. The moment had come so suddenly, yet so slowly, that Mary still can’t believe it actually happened, and it leaves her stunned.
Love. It feels so right. She collapses onto her bed, hugging herself as if to cling onto the memory. If this is what love is, it’s unlike any book she’s ever read before, any feeling she’s ever felt. She doesn’t want to forget it. She loves her. She loves her.
The rumors about The Fairy and Me were true, Mary speculates. It really does make wishes come true.
Why did I do that? What’s happening to me?
Elli stares at the ceiling from her bed, consumed in thought. No matter how hard she fights it, she can’t get it out of her head.
She becomes so lost in thought, she doesn’t hear Stu come home. She notices him when he opens the fridge, rummaging the shelves for a carton of apple juice.
“How was Carter today?” she asks in a tone she hopes masks the anxiety in her head.
“Good. We had PB&J sandwiches today. But then May wanted to play House and made me be her husband...”
He continues talking but Elli barely pays him any mind. She’s still trapped in the memories of that afternoon: Mary’s soft lips pressed against hers over and over again, her gentle hands cradling her face, the smell of old books and the fields of violets...
“Hey, Elli?”
She sighs over his barely-contained giggles. “Yes, Stu?”
“What’s a less-bee-in?”
Her blood hardens to stone as vivid memories of her diary entries loop in her brain. It’s like all I can think about is her, all I can see is her, and all I can feel is that everything feels right. But that can’t be right, can it? All my life, I’ve pictured my own wedding, and in those fantasies, I was always wed to a man. So why is it that all I see now when I picture the future is Mary?
I’m not a lesbian... am I?
“You—you read my diary,” Elli breathes. It’s more than she can handle. She could shake him, could smack him across the face.
“Don’t get so mad,” Stu says between snickers. This only makes Elli feel more enraged, more violated.
“You have no right!” The room is spinning, her mind is turning. “No right!”
Her breathing quickens, and he takes a step back, cowering from the sound of her voice.
“Go to your room.” Elli jabs a shaking finger out the door. “Right now.”
Stu unleashes a howl, wailing as he stampedes off to his room. But Elli’s in no mood to offer him solace and comfort. At the moment, the only thing on her mind is that her secret is safe with no one, no thing.
Later that night, before the family gathers before the fire for a night of board games, she tears the pages from the diary, shredding them to crumpled bits. Once a steady fire is running in the hearth, she scatters them and watches the edges — and the tattered secrets within them — blacken to a crisp. Nobody, she vows, can ever know the questions, the inner turmoils, that have plagued her like a bad cold.
And now, nobody ever will.
⁕⁕⁕
The library towers menacingly before her like an all-knowing, all-seeing omnipresent being. Otherwise small and unassuming — more of a large house than a building meant for a library — its stature intimidates Elli as she stares at the door, her hand trembling in front of her as she lets herself in.
“Elli! You’re just in time. I found the perfect book.”
Her mind screams at her to rip the band aid off now before she sinks in any further, but Mary’s voice is so warm and full of love that she’s powerless. “I, um... okay.”
Mary guides her behind the counter to the floor where they sat those days ago, when she kissed her. “It’s a story about a nurse,” she begins, eyes twinkling as they land on Elli. “A nurse who moves to a small town, to escape her home life.”
Guilt consumes her. Mary’s never looked so joyful. Despite herself, Elli returns a weak smile.
“Through the magic of flowers,” Mary continues, her fingers now gently grazing Elli’s, “she learns about the power of lo—”
“Stop,” Elli chokes. She slides her hand away.
“What?”
“Stop!” Elli echoes. “I can’t do this.”
Mary pauses, her face faltering. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, I just...” Elli darts her eyes over to the window. Stu dashes by, emoting a triumphant squeal before calling out to May and Pastor Carter, and she envies him in the moment. “I-I think... maybe you got the wrong idea.”
Mary scans Elli like a novel she’s editing, as though looking for plot holes. The uncomfortable, chilling silence that accompanies it swallows Elli whole.
“The wrong idea,” Mary repeats slowly. “So am I to believe all the lunchtime visits, the shameless flirting, the time you kissed me — that was all simply ‘the wrong idea’?”
“It was a one-time mistake,” Elli responds. “People have been talking about me spending time at the library, and-and... well, Trent asked me to the Moonlight Night Festival...”
“Oh. I get it.” Mary slams the notebook closed, and Elli jumps, despite herself. “You’re a coward. You’re too preoccupied caring about the opinions of small-minded townsfolk and can’t handle the fact that people might find out you have feelings for another woman. Is that it?”
“Feelings —?” Elli rises to her feet in outrage, shakes her head. “Look. I don’t know what fantasies you have floating around in your head, but whatever you think I feel for you is just that — a fantasy. A fairytale story.”
A barely detectable twitch of the lower lip flashes across Mary’s face, but in an instant, it’s gone. Her stone-cold glare cuts clean through Elli’s soul, enough to make her almost regret her words.
“If that’s how you feel about it, then I suppose you have somewhere else to be. There’s no need to waste your time in this library with all these fantasies you hate so much.”
“Don’t worry.” Elli whirls on her heel away from Mary, fighting the overwhelming ache in her chest. “I won’t.”
The tears don’t stop falling that night. It gets so bad that Basil taps on her door, quietly letting himself in. She collapses onto his lap with gasping, shaking sobs.
He says the things all fathers say to their daughters when they experience heartbreak — there are other flowers in the field, someday you’ll find the right girl and this will all be a distant memory — but the words do little to comfort her. He’s never experienced this pain — her mother was his first love. It’s not the same. It will never be the same.
“You two make such a wonderful couple,” Ellen states once Trent and Elli reach the front door of her house, hand in hand, after Elli announces the big news. “I’m so delighted you’ve finally come to your senses.”
This is the way things have to be. Elli’s wanted this all her life. She’s happy.
“Me too, Grandma.”
⁕⁕⁕
- - -
“In the weeks following her marriage to Prince Cerulean, peace had been restored to the village for all but fair Princess Irene.
She knew it was not a marriage of love, but convenience. She had fulfilled her parents’ duty to marry a prince. Yet he was kind to her. Furthermore, the town was thriving.
So why, when she heard the news of how Dame Viola had slain the dragon and freed the princess of the castle to the East, had she wept in her pillow that night beside her sleeping husband? Why, when she heard Viola had sent a dozen roses to said princess, had she barely picked at the food her royal chefs had prepared for her the following week?
Why, most of all, could she not stop thinking about Viola?
Viola’s letters burned a hole in the vanity by Princess Irene’s bedside. She hadn’t dared to read them, knowing the feelings it would invoke within her. But she wondered if the price to pay for her parents’ happiness was worth sacrificing her own.”
- - -
Elli peers out the window at Colopockle Island, a tropical paradise an hour away from town by boat ride. Luxury cars whip past in a blur against the wispy palm trees and sandy beaches in the background as the taxi pulls up to the sprawling resort; its modern-day, rectangular architecture providing a clear view to an indoor swimming pool.
She settles next to Trent out on the pool deck the following morning, enjoying the view of the beach. The cloudless blue sky surrounds milky white shores; beautiful people dash across in bathing suits, build intricate sandcastles. It’s soothing and peaceful, the tension in her body begins to evaporate, until she’s taken out of the moment from a voice in the distance.
“Mary!”
Elli’s heart throbs in her ears and her throat like a death knell at the sound of that name. But when she looks down, she spots a little redheaded girl with blue eyes — nothing like the Mineral Town librarian at all — and heaves a sigh of relief.
“Mary! Get over here!” the woman shouts. Flustered, the little girl dashes over, her legs kicking up waves of sand as she sprints over to her mother.
“This is the life, isn’t it?” Trent says.
Elli looks out again, taking in the beauty of the clear blue ocean. A family of four cuts the view, erasing any indication of the girl and her mother.
“Yes.” Through her relief, she beams toward Trent. “It certainly is.”
⁕⁕⁕
The first year is the hardest.
The romantic festivals in town, which once brought Mary a sense of sweet hope, become soured by bitter feelings. At the Fireworks Festival, she spots Karen and Rick on the pier and turns away in disgust when he leans in to kiss her, hating herself for projecting her negative feelings onto them. Even Popuri’s girlish giggles, once sweet and endearing, sound like nails on a chalkboard.
An hour later, Gray takes her to the inn to console her, and she cries on his bed after one too many glasses of wine. He pats her on the back as an attempt to comfort her, but she knows he’s not good with these things, that he’s doing it because he doesn’t know what to say. Most of all, she’s annoyed that she let herself partake so much, that she ruined Gray’s evening, that she’s so pathetic that she still — after three seasons — can’t let go of something she barely had in the first place.
So she tries to take her mind off it all by honing her craft. Within a season, she writes a new novel. And then, two short stories. For a while, it feels good to distract herself — writing and storytelling has always been therapeutic for her. But when the stories hit shelves and her inspiration runs dry, the loneliness finds her again, consuming her raw.
On the second Spring Thanksgiving Festival without Elli, Mary’s father sneaks a sympathy box of chocolates into her room — the second one she receives, after Gray’s.
“I just think you should put yourself out there again,” Basil says when she confronts him. “I hear the new farmer, Claire, had a girlfriend or two back in the city.”
So, she tries. And while Claire is nice, there’s little common ground. They go their separate ways after their third date.
By the time the second Summer rolls around, more of the town bachelors and bachelorettes pair up. First, it’s Karen and Rick’s wedding announcement in Summer. Then Kai decides to make things official with Popuri. By Fall, even Claire, as new to town as she is, starts a relationship with Gray. When Gray gets the courage to tell her, she encourages him, says it’s okay. Because it is.
At least, she hopes it’s going to be.
“...on today’s program, we’re going to be discussing the agapanthus selene — or, as you may commonly know it as, the moondrop flower.”
Trent pulls Elli close as Basil’s familiar face floods the screen, and Elli stiffens up. It’s an involuntary response — knowing what he must know about her, what he must think. Trent takes notice of it, squeezes her hand.
“Everything okay, dear?”
“Yes. I just—” she pauses, collects her thoughts; she hates how her body gives her thoughts so easily. “Um, I was just thinking about how the moondrop got its name. Did you know the name comes from the reflection of the moon on dewdrops?”
Trent sits back, furrows his brow. “Really.”
Elli registers his response. She feels ridiculous for having brought it up, doesn’t even know why she mentioned it. “That’s what historians believe.”
“Where did you learn that?” His eyes are glued to the TV, as if he couldn’t be less interested. “Surely not at school.”
She tries to recall, but can’t. Still, she purses her lips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he clarifies, caressing her cheek. “I just never knew you cared so much about the meaning behind the name of a flower. It’s sweet. That’s all.”
As Trent turns his focus back to the show, she listens to Basil’s voice. The inflections of his speech, his way of speaking, floods Elli with memories of Mary, of the day she learned about moondrops. There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, her mind retaliates. She’s horrified by the thought, but she keeps her eyes glued to the screen, ready to put the whole conversation behind her.
⁕⁕⁕
Mary runs into Elli at the Supermarket on her day off.
Her silhouette passes by the window and adrenaline stuns Mary's whole body. Aside from the festivals, she’s done her best to avoid her, clinging close to the library and her house, not bothering to get out and about. These days, it’s easier to isolate herself than ever before.
She strategizes the best way to leave without making a scene, but she hears the chime of the bell and Karen’s cheery voice calling “Hey, Elli! Come on in!”
Mary always hoped once she saw Elli, it would clear everything up. She expected to see the painful truth — Elli doesn’t love her, never did and never will — so she could finally move on. Instead, a flicker of sadness gleams in Elli’s eye. But the moment is fleeting, and she turns away to examine the bags of flour on stock, walking off without a second thought.
What frustrates Mary most, however, is the realization that there’s no Princess Charming coming to whisk her off her feet, nor fairy godmother coming to her rescue. The painful reality is that moving to Mineral Town, even in all its beauty, even with all its magnificent flora, hadn’t been such a good idea after all. It’s the knowledge that her irrational fears are a reality that hurt her the most, that make her want to leave town forever, back to the city.
If she had stayed in the city, she thinks about where she could have been, what kind of name she could have made for herself. She envisions her name on every bookshelf, with a wife by her side...
She rubs her eyes, lets the thought fade away as tears stain her face. Elli was right. Maybe her fairytale ending is just a silly, pathetic little fantasy. Maybe she isn’t meant to have a love story like the ones she’s written about.
But sometimes, when she lays in bed at night awake, reading herself to sleep, she imagines herself back in the city, in that fantasy world. Sometimes she can pretend she never left.
“On your lunch break, dear?”
Elli snaps her head up, slamming the book shut and removing her feet from the desk in a less-than-ladylike fashion. “Yes, just catching up on some reading.”
Trent examines the book. “The... Fairy And Me.”
“It was my favorite TV show growing up. I had no idea it originated from the books.” She chuckles. “They say anyone who possesses this book and reads to the end gets granted one wish.”
Trent retains his stone-faced expression. “Do you honestly believe in that stuff? That books can grant wishes?”
“Uh... w-well,” she stammers, “I guess it does sound a bit silly. But there’s nothing wrong with having an active imagination and a bit of hope, right?”
“I suppose.”
A wave of confusing emotions — frustration? Irritability? Humiliation? — washes over her. The book she had been enjoying mere minutes ago now appears to her in a new, unflattering light.
“But,” he continues, “what does any of that matter? Even if these silly little stories held any truth, I’d grant you any wish in the world you’d want. You know that, right?”
He pulls her in for a kiss. His lips brush against hers, but when his stubble grazes her chin, she’s drawn out of the moment. It’s jarring, rough to the touch. Even his hands cupping her face feel coarse and hard, not gentle and tender like Mary’s.
Mary...
When it hits her, a wave of panic churns her stomach. This whole time, she’s been imagining Mary in his place. It’s been Mary all along.
“R-right.” Elli manages a smile, hoping he doesn’t sense her guilt. “I know.”
She devours the rest of The Fairy And Me into early next morning. At the final word, she squeezes her eyes shut, praying for the book’s magic to do its work. But when she opens them again, she finds nothing’s changed, her room is still the same, she’s still sleeping beside Trent and not Mary.
Forced with this realization, she slams the book shut, short of tossing it across the room. This was stupid, pointless. What was she thinking? Fairytales aren’t real, she knew this all along. She never should have put her trust in a book, a silly little book.
⁕⁕⁕
It’s early evening in the dead of Winter when Elli walks the stairs behind the clinic. When she reaches the living room, it’s eerily still, with only the light from the fireplace to bring it to life.
Most days, after checking up on her grandmother and Stu, Trent’s at the desk in the corner to the left, still hard at work, the desk lamp’s dim light to reflect his presence. Tonight, she finds Trent standing before the fireplace. His stare is firm, like he’s thinking about something difficult, a topic he doesn’t want to approach.
“Trent? Is something wrong?”
He doesn’t budge, his hands clasped behind his back. “Have a seat, please.”
His unusually blunt tone chills Elli’s blood. Hesitating at first, she steps over to the fireplace, taking her seat at the sofa they bought together. As though he fears her eyes will divulge inner secrets he’s not prepared to hear, Trent continues staring intently into the fire.
“I’ve known you for many years,” he begins. “I’ve watched you grow from a hardworking and honest young lady to the beautiful woman you are today. So I know enough about you to know something is wrong... and has been for some time now.”
He doesn’t have to state it for her to know what this is about, what he means. Some part of her knew it was only a matter of time.
“What do you mean?” Her voice betrays her, trembling as she speaks. “Everything is fine. I’m f—”
“Enough.”
He faces her with bloodshot, teary eyes. In all the years she’s known him, it’s the first time she’s seen him this way. It’s enough to make her stomach sink to the bottom of the winter mines.
“I married you with every intention to love you ’till death do us part. No matter what happens today, I will never stop loving you. But I need you to be honest with me.”
“O-Okay.”
A brief pause. “Have you been seeing someone else?”
“What—” she sputters, “n-no! Of course not! Trent, how could you—”
“Then you love someone else.”
“I...” His full force bluntness trips Elli up, an honest statement that demands an honest answer. “I don’t think—”
“Elli.” His voice quavers. “Answer the question.”
She’s avoided this discussion for so long that to lie now would be nothing short of ridiculous. Defeated, she resigns herself to her fate, barely recognizing the hoarse, choked voice that escapes her:
“Yes.”
She can almost feel the immediate jolt of pain that surges through Trent as he heaves a long, wavering sigh. “Who?”
“I-I—” She trembles. She can’t bring herself to answer him. She won’t. “I can’t tell you that.”
“I deserve an answer, Elli. You owe me at least that much.”
“I can’t!” She places both hands over her face, concealing her humiliation. “Please, you have to understand.”
“Who is it,” he says this time with more force, sounding more like a statement than a question.
She doesn’t respond. Unsatisfied, he looks toward the stack of books next to the couch. He keeps his sight there, then states, “Gray.”
“Wh...what—”
“It’s Gray, isn’t it?” He snatches two of the books as if he’s expecting to find embedded love notes. “Isn’t it? That’s why you’ve got all these library books—”
He freezes, scanning both books before eyeing the rest on the counter, each one written by Mary LeConte. It’s then that Elli wishes she’d been less foolish, that despite all this time, Mary is still in every nook and cranny of her house, of her heart. Almost by some divine realization, Trent picks up on this cue, and the look in his eyes flashes from fury to one of pure clarity.
“Mary?”
It’s been three years — three years — since that fateful day in the library, and the sound of her name still takes Elli by chokehold, threatening to shatter her heart again and again and again. There’s no point in hiding it, no turning back now. Heart-wrenching sobs emerge from her chest, the heavy weight of the secret that had burdened her for all these years finally coming undone, like untying a balloon and setting it free.
Closing time passes by like a snail’s crawl, the seconds slugging by as Elli keeps out of Trent’s way.
The workday ends, and she locks the door behind her as she does every day before she trudges out into the freezing Winter cold. There’s no trace of Trent to walk her to her old home, no coat over her shoulders to keep her warm as a light snowfall flutters down from the sky. Tonight, she takes the short trek home alone, shivering as she makes it to her grandmother’s doorstep, kicking her damp snow shoes off in the corner.
As usual, Ellen is in her rocking chair, novel in hand. “Oh? It’s not Wednesday,” she says. “Why aren’t you at home?”
Elli hesitates, staring at the tapestry on the wall Ellen had sewn for her mother so many years ago. She hasn’t prepared for this. After drawing in a shaky breath, she brings it within herself to say, “Trent and I are getting a divorce.”
Ellen’s hand flies to her heart. “What?”
“We talked for hours last night,” she continues. She wrings the apron of her dress in her hands. “He confronted me. It must have been dawn when we finally decided what to do. What... I decided we should do. He tried to talk me out of it. But I can’t keep running away from my problems.”
Ellen remains still. It’s evident from the look of shock on her face this was the last thing she expected to hear. She wedges a bookmark between the pages, closing it shut. “But I don’t understand. You adore Trent. You always have.”
“I... yes. I thought I did. But then... I met someone else.”
“Who?” Ellen asks.
Her grandmother’s words on her wedding day ring in her ears. I could not be more proud to call you my granddaughter, and I know your parents would say the same thing if they could be here today. She doesn’t want to shatter that image, that pride she’s earned. “What if it’s another woman?”
The words tumble out of Elli’s lips before she can process them, lingering heavy and thick in the air like early morning fog. It’s only when she catches a glimpse of her reflection and registers the sniffles around her that she notices the tears falling down her face.
“Oh, my dear Elli,” Ellen says at last.
“Please don’t hate me,” she whimpers with shuddering breaths, covering her face with her hands.
“Hate you?” Ellen’s comforting hand rests on her shoulder. “You’re a wonderful, compassionate, intelligent young lady. I’ve loved you ever since I first laid eyes on you. You were a feisty little thing with big brown eyes, and I knew you were going to grow up to do wonderful things. How could I hate you?”
“But I’ve lied for so long. To myself. To everyone,” Elli whispers. “Mary’s right. I’m a coward.”
“You’re human. You might be my perfect granddaughter, but you’ll still make mistakes. But what’s important is you’re owning up to it. That’s not cowardice. That’s bravery.”
Tears stream down Elli’s face, the kindness of her grandmother’s words like a comforting blanket on a cold winter day.
“I know it took you a lot of courage to tell me that. But nothing has changed. No matter who you love, you will always be my darling, beautiful Elli.”
⁕⁕⁕
A single violet waits for Mary at the library doorstep, coupled with a note. 1:30 at Rose Square is all it says, leaving Mary with more questions than answers. She can’t decipher who the handwriting belongs to, although it isn’t unlike her father to leave a flower he found that morning with a little note telling her he hopes she has a wonderful day.
A cold chill brushes past her as she enters the square. It’s snowing, despite Spring’s arrival around the corner, bringing with it a sense of peace.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Dame Viola.”
It’s an all too familiar voice, soft and feminine and soothing. The very sound of it melts her heart as she turns toward the sound, toward the girl in the crown of violets.
“Elli?”
“I didn’t know if you’d come,” Elli recites, holding the copy of Mary’s book in front of her. “Honestly... I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t.”
Mary’s throat tightens. Even after all these years, Elli is still so beautiful, if not more beautiful than before. “But here I am,” Mary whispers from memory.
Princess Irene trembled before Dame Viola. The fate of the future rested in this moment. No longer would she keep her innermost desires in the secret garden. Out in the town square, in front of whoever chose to pass by, she was finally ready to let the world know.
“As you know, Prince Cerulean and I have separated. He rules his kingdom alone now. And I, mine.”
“Do you say this to garner sympathy?” Viola said, her face hardened. “To try and win me back?”
“No,” Princess Irene stated. “I say this because I no longer wish to live a life against my own desires. I put the wants of the King and Queen above what was most important to me. That wasn’t right. And I wish to apologize for everything I’ve put you through.”
Viola didn’t budge, but through the mask, Irene noticed the unmistakable glistening in her eyes. Those eyes, which once gazed upon her so tenderly, now fell to the side.
“The truth is, in all those years, I’ve never stopped loving you. When you saved me that day... you changed me. It terrified me to bits. I’ve never felt so afraid in my life for what this might mean for myself and the kingdom. But I don’t care about that anymore.”
Elli then draws out a long breath and concludes with, “I’m tired of running away.”
When Mary was a little girl, her father once told her, When a flower dies, another is born in its place. The cycle of life. It hadn’t made much sense to her then — he’d said it after one of Mary’s friends turned their back on her, joining the crowd of girls who tormented her— but from seeing Elli again, hearing her words, she understands.
“I remember when you told me your biggest wish — to tell the world fairytale endings do exist. Before I met you... I didn’t believe in it myself. Not for many years.” Elli closes the book. “But you changed all that for me. I’ve never experienced those feelings before, not for anyone. Not even... not even for Trent. And I was so afraid of what people would think that I chose to do what I thought would make everyone happy. But instead, it made me miserable.”
“How do you think I felt?” Mary interjects. “I went to your wedding. You married someone else, while I sat back and watched.”
“I know. And I’m aware there’s nothing I can say to truly convince you I’ve changed. But... I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. Even if it takes the rest of my life.”
Mary allows a silence to fall between them as she gathers her thoughts. By now, Manna and Sasha had gathered by the other side of the square, both leaning in toward the other as they look in Elli’s direction, whispering, gossiping. But Elli’s determination is unwavering as she waits for Mary’s response, her face falling with every second that passes.
Finally, Mary hides her face and whimpers, “You really hurt me, Elli.”
“I know, Mary,” Elli says, barely audible. “Believe me, I—”
Mary rushes into Elli’s arms at the sound of Elli’s voice, feeling the weight of the world off her shoulders in her embrace.
“I’m so sorry,” Elli whispers. Her face is blotted with tears. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Even through all this time, she drives Mary wild, just as wild as she was all those years ago. The built up desperation pours out of her, and suddenly, she’s pulling Elli in, her hands around her face, salty tears on her tongue, on their lips.
She breathes in her kiss. The memories come rushing back, back to the day she’d fallen in love with her. “It’s like a dream come true” , she’d said. If anything, it feels more real now. It’s as if her fairytale dream has finally become a reality.
- - -
EPILOGUE
"Do I look okay, Grandma?"
The spitting image of Elli’s late mother stares at her in the reflection. Her old wedding gown, with its blue ribbon sash and delicate purple and green flowers, hugs her curves. A crown of violets to top it off rests on her head.
“You look beautiful, dear,” Ellen says. “If only your mother could see you. She’d be so proud.”
Her eyes well with tears. For all the life lessons she’s learned, for all the times she’s tripped and fallen and gotten back up again, she hopes her parents are smiling down on her. Because maybe fairytales aren’t real. But if they are real, then she’s never been more sure she’s living in one.
“I really hope so.”
“We gather here today to witness, and to celebrate, the marriage of Mary LeConte and Elli Tanaka,” Pastor Carter’s booming voice echoes through the walls of the church, through the bouquets of white roses and baby’s breath and violets adorning every pew. “Today begins the start of this new chapter together, onto the journey of their shared lives together. And it is here, in witness of the holy Harvest Goddess, and all of you — dear friends and family of the united — where they will write this chapter together, and future chapters, until the end of their story.”
From the corner of her eye, Mary looks out at the gatherers. Anna and Basil sit in the front left pew, the latter making subtle attempts to dab at his eyes. Next to them, Ellen looks on with her hands clasped in front of her, her warm, proud smile. Even her brother appears full of joy, swinging his feet under the pews.
When word about Elli and Trent’s divorce had traveled through town, and the reasons behind it, Mary had helped Elli prepare for the worst, as she had done with her own parents as a teenager. But despite it all, Mineral Town, when it comes down to it, is a big family. Every seat is filled, every villager — including Trent, who sits behind Ellen with his arm around a brunette girl — in attendance.
“Do you, Mary, take Elli to be your lawfully wedded partner, to love and to cherish in sickness and health, for as long as you both shall live?”
Mary gazes lovingly into Elli’s eyes, takes her hand. Maybe it was the storybook that granted the wish. Maybe it was pure luck, or destiny, or fate. But one thing Mary knows for sure now is that sometimes, fairytales and happily-ever-afters do come true.
“I do.”
- - -
“And so, with all the residents of Ingot Village gathered together in the chapel, with every seat filled and not a dry eye in the house, Princess Irene and Viola exchanged wedding vows.
‘You may now kiss the bride.’
The congregates applauded with splendor as Princesses Irene and Viola sealed their fate with the kiss of true love.
Princess Irene took the hand of her newly wedded lover and escorted her down the aisle.
‘You saved my life,’ she said gratefully. Tears pooled in her eyes. ‘I owe you everything.’
‘Your eternal happiness is all I desire from you,’ Viola responded, taking her beloved’s hand in hers. ‘My only wish is to make you as happy as you make me.’
And the two women lived happily ever after.