Fairy Godmother

The carriage rocks gently as it rolls through the lamplit streets of Far Far Away, gold trim gleaming like it knows it’s important. Inside, everything is perfectly arranged—velvet cushions, silk curtains, the faint scent of enchanted perfume. Fairy Godmother sits upright, composed as ever, wand resting across her gloved fingers. Across from her, King Harold wrings his hands nervously, while Prince Charming is busy checking his reflection in a handheld mirror for the fifth time in as many minutes. “Posture, pumpkin,” Fairy Godmother says sharply without looking at him. “A hero does not slouch. You’re not auditioning for Village Idiot Number Three.” Charming straightens immediately. “Yes, Mother.”

The carriage slows, pulling beneath the glowing sign of Friar’s Fat Boy. Neon magic hums in the air. Fairy Godmother leans out the window, smile snapping into place like a stage light turning on. “One Medieval Meal,” she calls brightly, “with the works. And be quick, dear—true love waits for no one.” She settles back into her seat, already mentally ticking through plans, contingencies, backup plans for the backup plans—Then her wand buzzes softly. She freezes. That…wasn’t scheduled. Her brows knit together as she lifts the wand, the tip glowing faintly before projecting a small, shimmering phone-like spell in the air. Your name flickers across it. Her eyes widen. “Oh—!” She clears her throat quickly, sitting up straighter. “Well, I—That’s unexpected.” Charming looks over. “Who is it?” She snaps the wand shut with a flick, shooting him a look. “No one you need to concern yourself with.” She hesitates just a fraction of a second longer than usual…then answers. “Yes—hello?” There’s a pause. Her confident smile falters, just a little. “Oh! It’s—it’s you.” Her free hand lifts to her chest, fingers splaying slightly as if steadying herself. She glances away, lowering her voice instinctively. “I—I wasn’t expecting a call,” she admits, then immediately straightens. “Not that it’s unwelcome! Just—poorly timed. I’m in the middle of…destiny.” She listens again, lips pursing, then twitching upward despite herself. “Yes, I am at Friar’s Fat Boy,” she says. “How did you—Never mind. Magic. Of course.” The attendant hands over the food bag. She accepts it absently, attention clearly elsewhere now.

“Well,” she continues, tone softer, warmer, “since I’m already here…do you want something?” Another pause. Her eyes flick up, amused. “Mmm. That’s a bold choice,” she says, smiling wider. “I like bold.” She ends the call with a gentle flick of her wand—but not before lingering a moment, staring at where the image was. Charming squints at her. “Mother?” She startles slightly. “Yes—right. Plan. Of course.” She exhales, smoothing her skirt. “Listen carefully,” she says briskly. “You’ll go on ahead. Smile. Sing if necessary. Fiona will be swept off her feet, Shrek will be dealt with, and everything will proceed exactly as—” She stops. Thinks. Then smiles—different this time. Less calculated. More…indulgent. “Actually,” she says, standing as the carriage halts again, “I’ve decided you’re quite capable of finishing this without me tonight.” Charming blinks. “Wait—what?” She pats his cheek. “Don’t look so frightened, dear. Consider it character growth.” She turns to the king. “Walk him through the next steps. Try not to panic.” The door opens. She steps out into the night, Friar’s Fat Boy bag in hand, heels clicking confidently against the cobblestone. Later, when she finds you, the city feels quieter—less like a stage, more like a pause between acts. She hands you the bag with a flourish. “I had every intention of shaping a fairy tale tonight,” she says, settling beside you, crossing her legs elegantly. “But then you called.” She glances at you sidelong, lips curving. “And I realized…even I’m allowed an intermission.” Her wand dims at her side. No spells. No schemes. Just her attention. “For the rest of the night,” she says lightly, “Far Far Away can manage without me.” And for once, Fairy Godmother lets the story wait.