--

Joy is in big, big trouble.

Oh no, oh no, oh no, she thinks, as she paces around her room. The beds are unmade, spell books and quills lay strewn all over, tufts of fur and feathers floating around, and a pot of odd-looking liquid is boiling over by the fireplace.

Joy clutches her red hair desperately, as she crawls all over the floor, stacking books in haphazard piles—opening a few to peek into and mercilessly shake open, and turning over throw pillows and quilts, as if she were looking for something hidden.

“Irene?” Joy tentatively calls out, daring to peek within the dust-mote infested area that is the bottom of her bed. She reaches an arm out, sweeping it back and forth within the unwarranted darkness, before taking it back out to no avail but to have her skin covered in dust and tufts, and a teensy daddy longlegs crawling over her arm.

And then she hears it.

It’s a small thump, but it’s audible to Joy’s ears, and enough to set her off. She perks up and freezes, listening closely.

And for a moment, nothing could be heard but the sound of liquid boiling and flowing over the cauldron—she’s certain the color must be a dangerous shade of green by now, the cheerful flicker of the fire, and a gale of wind knocking and pressing constantly against their room’s windows (whoosh, whoosh, WHOOSH!).

Thu-thump.

It’s coming from beneath the wooden dresser. A knock, and then a scritch-scratch, and then Joy smiles in relief.

She crawls over someone’s—her unfortunate roommate’s—discarded robes (definitely Irene’s if the simple ebony, devoid of any patterns or inscriptions, is any indication), presses her cheek against the smooth oak surface of the dresser, and reaches out beneath.

“Ow!”

Joy pulls back her hand as quick as lightning when she feels something small, soft, and warm—definitely with sharp teeth—bite her.

 

XX

 

Finding your true love, much more someone else’s, is extremely difficult. To the point of near impossibility, and for the first time, Joy sees what all the fuss is about.

Such is the difficulty of finding love that certain spells and potions were invented to imitate nature’s most powerful magic. Love potions, infatuation spells, and the extremely difficult to master, high-leveled forecast spells that could detect where and who your fate lies with.

Curses that deal with love and its intangible nature are also the hardest to execute—such, as the nature of love itself, everything it deals with has to be properly handled with utmost care and delicacy.  

“You—what!?” Hands fly to in shock, as Wendy processes the news.

Immediately Joy shushes her. Eyes nervously scanning the expanse of the student body milling around them, hoping that no one heard. It seems unlikely with the tests coming up, that even the air-headed Royals have actually taken up a significant chunk of the library’s space during the past few weeks, their noses buried in textbooks of all kind, and oh my God, Irene is totally going to kill Joy for this.

(A slow painful death, and perhaps a curse to send her to the deepest of hells during her afterlife.)

“I can’t believe it—you turned your roommate into a rabbit?” Wendy whispers harshly, eyes blown open in shock. With her glasses perched precariously off the tip of her nose, and hair set in a messy bun, she looks half-crazed. Joy cautiously leans backward.

“A bunny, technically. You should see how tiny she is.“ Joy meekly replies.

“How did this happen?” Wendy’s tone is sending Joy’s heart to the bottommost pits of her stomach with dread and imminent guilt.

She her lips and confesses. “Well, when I was doing the incantation, she walked into our room and—“

A soft wail escapes Wendy’s lips, and Joy watches partly in horror and fascination, as a look of fear swirls behind Wendy’s eyes. (Inwardly, she thinks of the damage she’s done, and prepares for the worst. On the bright side, expulsion means she probably won’t be seeing Irene ever again. Unless she somehow manages to channel magic through that tiny body of hers.)

“We aren’t supposed to do the incantation yet!”

Joy wants to slam her head in self-pity. She had been so intent in marking down and listing the correct ingredients and instructions for the potion, that she had completely overlooked Professor Moon’s added directions.

And there goes her semester. Potions was ever the only mar in her otherwise perfect grade sheet.(In Joy’s defense, she still can’t make sense how turning her finger counter clock-wise over a boiling pot negates the effect of a basic sleep potion, and turning it clockwise makes it potent enough for the effects to be near-permanent. She blames the summer she had spent with the Normals.)

Instead, Joy cautiously sweeps her eyes around, back and forth, in the midst of Wendy’s tirade. And then, she discreetly tucks her right hand—the one with a bandaged index finger—inside her robes, much to Wendy’s curiosity and concern; because Joy is known for having a reputation of getting kicked out of establishments pretty well.

She leans down and hunches over the table, hulking over the parchments Wendy had been poring over, and crooking her free hand in a come tither motion. Wendy wiggles forward apprehensively.

Joy deposits something on the table, and Wendy nearly falls off her chair when it suddenly moves and hops.

There, right on top of her History of Witches and Warlocks paper, stands—crouches, whatever—a small, pure white, adorably tiny bunny. It’s ears perk up at the scraping sound Wendy’s chair makes when she tries to steady it, and then it looks up at her with its unnaturally—familiar—purple eyes. Blinking slowly, in a manner that points glaringly to someone Wendy knows very well.

“I-Irene?” Wendy’s voice is filled with awe.

The bunny wiggles its rump and fluffs its fur, and Wendy takes this as confirmation.

 

XX

 

“So, what’s the plan?”

“It’s obvious isn’t it?” Wendy glances at Joy irately, all the while scribbling something down on a spare piece of parchment, and then placing the nub of her quill in her inkwell. Irene scratches her nose.

“Only true love’s kiss will break the spell.”

And at that, Joy bursts out in a fit of laughter—much to Irene and Wendy’s chagrin. Because if the Royals have a difficult enough time finding the one, what more with an evil sorceress-in-training?

 

XX

 

Her dreams of flying on high-speed broomsticks in breakneck speed whilst dodging a forest of dead twisted trees and cackling and howling to the full, smiling moon are broken with the sound of two sharp raps.

Knock, knock.

Joy is a light sleeper, but she has long since become used to the thunder claps, the ominous moans of wind that rush around their tower, and even the howls the werewolves make at the outskirts of the Enchanted Garden, that ignoring it becomes second-nature to her.

An anomaly in a cacophony of sounds that Joy normally hears, she blinks her eyes open at the third knock, and immediately sits up, drowsily frowning. After contemplating for a second, she gets off her bed, puts on her robe, and trundles off to the door; weighing the possibility that it might be Wendy coming over.

She passes Irene’s four-poster bed; a white ball of fur curled up smack-dab in the middle, inhaling and exhaling peacefully. (A contrast to what she’s like when awake: all fluffy fur, sharp teeth and claws. Condensed into a weapon for Joy’s imminent destruction, if the multiplying bandages on her arms are of any indication. In the guise of a seemingly harmless bunny.)

The mahogany grandfather clock indicates that it is half-past ten, and grumbling under her breath, Joy holds out her hand in front of the door and flexes her fingers, undoing all eight locks at once. The knocking starts again, but is cut off when Joy pulls the door open.

“Why on earth are you even awake at this hour…oh.”

Her statement abruptly ends when she stares at an unfamiliar face.

It’s a girl. A pretty one, at that. Well composed, well dressed: definitely not Wendy. Her right hand is retracted in a fist, just right above her shoulder—she’s the one knocking, Joy immediately realizes—and her free hand is laid calmly over her navy blue, school-issued messenger bag. The lack of dark robes indicate that she isn’t from around here, and when the girl moves to adjust the strap of her bag, Joy sees why.

Their school’s logo—a coat of arms with an emblem of a raven and a dove coming together, the tips of their beaks touching—is stitched over her left pocket. Joy narrows her eyes when she sees the dandelion-yellow background of the crest, a contrast to the one on the robe she wears, where the birds fly in a sky of lavender.

She schools her features into a bored glare, and crosses her arms. “A Royal,” she drawls, adding a little venom behind her statement. “What brings you to our humble abode?”

Undeterred by her words, the girl just smiles, and extends her hand forward. “Hi! I’m Seulgi Kang, and uh,” she wiggles her fingers, but Joy’s stoic façade doesn’t give. She chuckles awkwardly instead, and lowers her hand.

“Is—is Irene around?”

This does nearly break her mask, yet Joy quickly composes herself with a well-placed cough. A series of wild thoughts run through her head: What is going on? What does Irene have to do with this Royal? Does anyone know? Did Wendy rat me out? No, she wouldn’t. Would she?

“W-what business do you have with her?” Joy asks, and she sees the girl frown at the formalities, no doubt wondering why, in her spoon-fed addled mind, her simple question wasn’t answered thereon.

Thankfully, Seulgi doesn’t press on, and Joy watches apprehensively as she zips open her bag, and rifles through its contents. Finally producing a folded piece of parchment, in which a thin string of rope is wrapped, and presenting it proudly to Joy. Seulgi smiles widely, and it looks so painfully cheery and sparkly that Joy has to look away.

“She missed two sessions of our Warding class, and uh, I took the liberty to bring her her homework.”

Joy snatches the parchment from her grasp. She then tucks it beneath her robe, and nods gruffly to the girl. “I see.” And with another nod of finality, she shuts the door in front of Seulgi, who looked like she had something else to say.

The locks automatically shut as Joy charms the door noise-proof. (She makes sure it is set to wear off two hours from now, to guarantee that there would be no unwanted visits from any stray Royals.)

 Joy sees that Irene is awake when she walks back to her bed, those huge ears must have picked up on the noise coming from their front door, and she stares curiously as Joy gently tosses the parchment onto her quilted sheets.

“You had a visitor.” Joy replies, in response to the quizzical tilt of Irene’s head. She reaches her own bed, and falls back spread-eagle on the mattress, a contented sigh coming out from her lips.

“I didn’t know you actually bothered with those gnats, ‘rene.” She lifts her head up slightly to look over, “I mean, I even dread going over to shared lessons with them if it means having to deal with obnoxious fitness freaks, and—“

Joy stops because Irene isn’t listening. Too busy nosing over to open the folded parchment to spare her even a cute wide-eyed glance.

 

XX

 

In a Magical Concepts class, back when they were freshmen, Professor Song had explained what the concept of true love really is. (An oversimplification to a series of thirteen-year olds, but it’s the idea that counts.)

“True love, in our world’s terms, is one of the purest, most potent magical force that any magical creature can garner. Hence, a true love’s kiss simply isn’t a touch of one’s lips out of lust or pure admiration. It is an act that cements the consensual intimate bond—the communion—between two individuals. In our next lesson, we will dissect the fallacies of the myths of Sleeping Beauty and Snow White—Miss Park, I do not tolerate the use of magic in my classroom without my consent. See me in detention.”

Joy remembers dropping the toad she had been levitating to the floor, causing the Royals to move in a frenzy of panic as the reptile hopped all over the classroom.

She snickers quietly to herself at that memory, as she hunches over Wendy’s shoulder. This causes Irene to perk up and look at her curiously from her perch on Wendy’s lap. Joy merely shakes her head.

It’s a ridiculous memory. And Joy can’t help but think, as she watches Wendy talk to Irene while pictures shift and change on the screen of her laptop, that what they are doing right now is even more so.

“How about him? Yes? No.” Wendy murmurs to the bunny on her lap.

“This is ridiculous.” Joy finally voices out. Wendy looks up and glares at her, glasses flashing.

“Well, what you did to Irene is ridiculous!”

According to Wendy’s plan, starting small is the idea. They would have to scour the school for Irene’s true love, first, and if things eventually don’t work out and the plan fails that’s when they report this incident to the Headmaster.

“Why can’t we just let a bunch of guys kiss Irene?” Joy had asked, after Wendy had deviced and given the run-through.

“That’s because doing that would draw attention; and we can’t have you getting expelled, can we?” Wendy explained, “We have to start small. True love’s kiss would not take effect if a bond between both parties—a positive, romantic bond—has not been established. Therefore, we should look for guys that our Irene has encountered before, and is possibly interested in.”

The kissing? Well, we’ll get to that later.”

Joy sighs, as she crosses out another name from her scroll. She gives it a once-over, seeing the scribbles and scratches gradually taking up more space than the names of the Warlocks.

  (Technically speaking, the different-colored logos symbolize the towers where the students reside. Oddly enough, most, if not all, Royals—or the students who come from noble ancestry, as they are so commonly called—live in the sunny Eastern Tower. While the warlocks and witches slept in the stormy Western Tower.)

“No? Hm. Okay.”

Wendy exhales, and pinches her brows, and Joy crosses out another name.

(What if—just maybe—Merlin forbid Irene’s one true love to be a resident of the Eastern Tower.)

Unmatched beauty for miles and miles around was something that everyone—and admittedly, Joy, on occasion—has always envied Irene for. But true love, she knows goes beyond throngs of admirers, beyond pale snow white skin and red, red lips.

(“True love goes to where the eyes can’t see but where the heart can follow, and that is what makes it the most terrifying force of all.” Irene reads the words written in pretty cursive, a remnant of Professor Song’s previous lesson from the class before theirs, before it is spelled to vanish. Someone screams. A stray toad is found in the room.)

XX

 

It’s Monday evening, and Joy opens their door to a series of knocks.

“Hi! It’s me again! Um, Irene wasn’t at class today and—“

Joy yanks the door close. It locks. She casts a sound-cancelling spell on the oaken surface once the knocking doesn’t cease to an end after a few minutes.

This seems to bother Irene, because when Joy passes by her, she is looking at her with that glare she wears when particularly displeased with something. (Over recent times, Joy has learned to be wary of this look, for fear of being bitten. Or worse. Her homework could disappear behind those sharp teeth!)

“What? We can’t risk anyone knowing about your condition, you know that Irene—what are you doing—No!”

She makes a lunge for the rabbit, in whose teeth her Merlin’s Early Childhood paper is in. But it’s too late, and Irene skedaddles off to the bottom of their wooden wardrobe, with Joy left behind to meekly crawl after her. (Whilst valiantly making wild promises to herself: In the name of Merlin, I will never perform difficult acts of magic unsupervised. And I will never leave my valuables near Irene Bae. Never, ever.)

She wants to cry when she hears the faint sound of teeth crunching on parchment. But she stops herself.

Irene has always had a short temper. And certain unfortunate circumstances have certainly tested the borders of her meager patience. Joy thinks hard, as she lays on her stomach on the cold, hard floor, remorse and self-pity eating at her sorry state.

She is eager to point fingers at who is to blame for this horrible turn of events, and sadly she thinks of three people.

Herself, a bunny with anger issues, and a Royal with horrible timing. (The latter she supposes was the catalyst to Irene’s burst of anger, because let’s face it—everyone knows witches hate Royals.)

 

XX

 

It’s Thursday evening, and Wendy is over having dinner in their room when Joy hears it again.

Knock, knock. A brief pause and then: Knock.

It’s loud enough to be audible throughout the whole room, yet soft enough for Joy to completely ignore it, much too immersed in her browsing for any effect-reversing potions to remember she had forgotten to enchant the door with a sound-cancelling spell to ward off unwanted visitors.

Wendy is busy too. Alternating between ingesting forkfuls of spaghetti, and typing on her laptop. She only gets up when Irene jumps on her lap, noses her way to Wendy’s palm to get her attention, and with her head, points and directs to the unopened door.

When Joy looks up to actually register what is happening, it’s too late, and her jaw drops to the floor when she sees a Seulgi Kang, standing in their threshold, smiling idiotically as if she belonged.

Joy storms over to the party in indignation. Wendy, that traitor! Letting the enemy in! She thinks quietly as she seethes to herself. However, her footsteps soften when she nears them, and actual shock goes through her system when she hears the civilized conversation between the two taking place. Her shock increases by a two-fold when she sees Irene on Wendy’s palm, cradled close to her chest, and looking as meek as a well, rabbit.

“—I tried to come as often as I could, afterwards. But it seemed as if no one was here. And—oh! Hello! It’s me!” Seulgi tapers off to a polite greeting when she sees Joy approaching, to which Joy frostily nods back to, upon feeling Wendy’s probing gaze upon her.

“Thanks for bringing along Irene’s homework, Seulgi.” Wendy says, smiling gratefully—Really, Joy has always thought Wendy to be too friendly for her own good. “I’m sure Irene would appreciate it.” Joy sees that a thick manila envelope is tucked under her arm. Her gaze moves to Irene and once again she marvels at her docile state, and the lack of frothing and biting.

(Because if there’s someone Irene should hate, it should be those annoyingly sparkly Royals, and definitely not her own roommate. But then again, they weren’t the ones who turned her into a domestic animal.)

Seulgi grins widely, but in the few enough times Joy has seen her (And avoided, but Wendy doesn’t need to know that.) she senses the lack of pure happiness, that Royals seem to have an excess of, in that smile.

 “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to Irene?”

At this, Wendy and Joy exchange a brief look, with Joy ready to spit out fire and poison to get the girl clad in designer-clothes from head to toe to back off.

Irene scrunches her nose.

Before Joy does something that she might regret, Wendy miraculously cuts in, quelling the worry in the girl’s face by a fraction.

“She just has some things to take care of. Irene’s fine—Ow!” She yelps out that last bit because Irene had just nibbled on her finger. Joy winces in sympathy, and she gently reaches out to take the bunny in her care. It must be terrible knowing that help is right there, yet being unable to get it in the expense of certain trouble-making friends. (Friend. Singular. But Joy is glad that Wendy’s got her back in this.)

“Oh. I see.” Seulgi mutters, a hint of dissatisfaction in her tone. Joy tilts her head quizzically when she sees corners of her lip move downwards, the beginnings of a pout forming. She feels Irene squirm restlessly against her.

They kick Seulgi out without a hitch, with Wendy making some excuse of being busy turning inanimate objects evil for the evening (if the circumstances were different, Joy would have laughed seeing how fast she paled), and soon, the door is slammed in her annoyingly adorable face.

They walk back, and Joy deposits Irene on the coffee table—where pieces of half-eaten lettuce serving as Irene’s supper lay on a couple of pages of Witch Weekly. She plops back on the sofa, propping her feet up on one end, and placing her laptop back on her lap.

Wendy follows, unceremoniously pushing Joy’s legs off their end to enable herself to sit comfortably on the couch. Her own research forgotten, Joy looks over her screen to see Wendy rifling through the paper envelope.

“Warding of Magical Curses, History of Evil Spells, Enchanting Magical Creatures… seems like she just about covered everything,” Wendy informs. Irene squeaks happily, and bounds to the edge of the coffee table, where she stands on her hind legs with her nose twitching. Joy raises a brow at Irene’s excited state—although, admittedly cute.

She scoffs quietly to herself and goes back to work, as Wendy empties the envelope on the table, and Irene eagerly circles it in excitement. (Oh, Irene. You and Wendy are ever the nerds, Joy thinks.)

A note on a lavender-scented stationary parchment floats out, missing Irene’s attention—too busy rejoicing over the parchments of school work. Joy’s eyes are back on her laptop, and no one sees the hand Wendy curiously reaches out to catch it.

She reads it, a series of expressions flashing through her face:  curiosity, surprise, and then suspicion.

Wendy secretly tucks the note in her sleeve. She leaves their room for her own later that night, bidding Joy and Irene a good night.

Irene sits on her haunches as soon as the door is slammed. Nose quivering at the vague yet sweet lavender scent that drifts around.

(It’s gone when a gust of wind blows their window open. The scent of rain and leaves blowing in and lingering even as Joy slams and charms the windows shut.)

 

XX

 

To: Irene Bae, Sorceress-in-Training of the Forbidden Wood, Resident of the Western Tower

Warding of Magical Curses aside, I think I just about covered all of your classes. I’m sorry if I missed anything, I mean, we only share one class together so I had to resort to asking around to know about your schedule.

I could have given this to you sooner but your roommate doesn’t seem to like me Royals. Doves and messenger pigeons can’t seem to brave the storm that’s constantly brewing by your tower, and I feel wary leaving this package outside your door; even more so when it seems like your roommate appears to be agoraphobic.

Anyways, what happened? I’m We’re all worried about you. Professor Seo has been looking for you and your perfect essays. Hope to see you soon!

From: Princess Seulgi Kang of Bear Mountain, Resident of the Eastern Tower

PS: I

PS: Do you want

PS: Will you be there for

 

XX

 

Two days pass, and Joy comes into their room to the sight of Seulgi and Wendy chatting amiably.

It’s a short time to get over her animosity over the Royals, but Seulgi’s been coming over every evening to deliver Irene’s schoolwork, and Wendy—who seems to have taken permanent residency in their room—is always more than happy to see to her each and every time.

Wendy has always been a strange witch—Joy thinks it has something to do with growing up with Normals—but that doesn’t mean she tolerates everything she does. Joy has to resort to coming home and casting a barrier enchantment around her bed, after the customary series of awkward and forced greetings between her, Wendy, and Seulgi, after it became apparent that kicking out the unwanted house guest was an impossible task.

Today, Seulgi smiles and tosses a cheery greeting her way, to which Joy can only reply with a grunt and a stiff nod of her head. She is sat comfortably on their plush armchair (Irene’s chair, to be exact), a couple of parchments of what she presumes is for Irene is placed on the table. She walks past a chatty Wendy, dodges cups of floating tea and crumpets, and is about to toss her book bag onto her bed, when she sees Irene’s empty four-poster.

Joy frowns, and turns around, opening to ask Wendy if she’s seen Irene.

“Wendy, where’s—“

Her words die in her lips as her jaw practically unhinges and drops to the floor.

Because there Irene lay, in all her white-furred, purple-eyed glory, curled up snug on Seulgi’s lap, ears twitching. And Joy tries not to gasp when Irene quivers in contentment, as soon as Seulgi drops a hand to pet her gently.

Joy watches this odd scene in a rapture. It isn’t until she sees Seulgi reach out to pluck a carrot stick from a bowl on the table, and Irene in turn meekly nibbling it from her hand, that she takes the chance to steal Wendy away from them.

“W-what’s going on? Are you crazy?” Joy whispers. She glances quickly at Seulgi cooing at Irene. Frazzled, she turns to Wendy. ”Why is Irene—“

Wendy smiles and winks, effectively shutting Joy up. Inadvertent fear turns to solid confusion as Wendy leans in and whispers to Joy, that she’ll explain it all later, and then sauntering off to attend to the two—Joy tries not to gape at the sight of Irene full on cuddling Seulgi’s hand.

And then it hits her.

No way.

No witching way.

Irene isn’t—is she? A memory of long nights poring over scrolls of names of male students flashes through Joy’s mind. She shakes her head. Nevertheless, this notion is absurd.

Wendy can’t possibly think that Seulgi could be the one.

The same girl who associates with people who believe clothes that aren’t made in Rumpelstiltskin’s golden threads aren’t clothes at all. The girl who radiates positivity and cheer all around. The girl who gets up at an ungodly hour of seven in the morning just to run around in circles around the Enchanted Garden. (Joy only knows this because she was forced to roll out of her bed, at the said ungodly hour, and into Professor Moon’s office today to see to her grade in Potions just this morning. Along the way, she had encountered a bunch of their country’s promising young monarchs—Seulgi included—accomplishing the dreaded task of exercising.)

The girl, who, quite possibly, has a prince and a golden destiny waiting for her as soon as she steps out of this school’s iron-wrought gates.

Joy forces herself to calmly think through the situation as she sits on the couch, opposite Seulgi and Irene. Her eyes bulge when Irene leaps happily on Seulgi’s lap, chasing a piece of celery, all while the girl giggles as she plays with the rabbit. Joy knows that Royals are known for forging close relationships with woodland creatures, but this—no, she refuses to believe that no amount of magic has voluntarily turned Irene, a promising sorceress, into a true-blue cute domestic bunny, if even for a second.

Joy has to endure several minutes of troubling and confusing thoughts boiling and toiling in her brain as she watches, in a trance, a far-out sight that she had never thought she would see in her entire life.

A hovering teapot brushes past her hair, and saucers and plates fly to and fro, the speed and pace increasing in tune to Wendy’s excitement. (And judging from the spray of crumbs and splash of warm tea on Joy, she must be absolutely b—and spilling—with it.)

A moment of clarity unfolds when Joy soon observes and hears bits of conversation between Seulgi and Wendy. The girl being under the notion that the rabbit in her arms belongs to Irene.

Several sugar cubes drop into her cup before Joy waves the porcelain container off. A floating teaspoon flies into her cup, and mixes the tea with vigor, as Joy stares at Irene, right across her, munching on one end of the celery stick that she had successfully caught from Seulgi’s grasp.

“I didn’t know Irene liked animals,” Seulgi offhandedly comments as she the rabbit on her lap. At this, Joy looks up to raise a curious brow, and promptly gets bonked by several tea cups that are now moving to swirl around Wendy in a quivering frenzy of nervous energy. The bespectacled girl obviously surprised (pleasantly, Joy hopes) at the sudden tidbit.

Joy sighs and sips her tea. She grimaces.

Too sweet.

With a resigned exhale, she sets her cup on the table and massages her brows. She wonders if this was how Alice felt when she was in Wonderland.

(An image of Wendy in a top hat fills her mind; cackling and bouncing around and spilling cups and cups of tea.)

 

XX

 

Irene’s behavior reverts back when Seulgi leaves. Joy finds out the hard way when her hand gets nearly bitten off trying to move the bowl of vegetable sticks away.

“I told you so,” Wendy whispers in sing-song to her ear when Joy moves away from Irene warily, but she doesn’t elaborate, because Seulgi’s gone and Irene’s ears can pick up even the softest of sounds in a clinking, tea-set infested setting.

“For all we know, she could have addled her mind with some secret Royal voodoo. You know the kind that makes animals love them,” Joy whispers back. Torn between wanting to laugh at the flimsy proof, and getting (irrationally) angry.

Wendy shoots her a look.

“Royals don’t have magic, Joy. Everyone knows that.” She stops, and contemplates for a while, a strange sappy smile overcoming her face. “They’re just really nice.”

 

XX

 

Even though Joy thinks Wendy’s theory is completely stupid, she doesn’t tell her that. It’s Wendy who has a plan to fix this problem, and as cheesy and heart-fluttering as it sounds, Joy completely believes and trusts in her.

 They eventually compromise and agree to tell neither Seulgi or Irene. For one, evil sorcerers and princesses mix together as well as rats and humans and the Bubonic plague. Irene doesn’t tell—how could she in that state?—but Joy supposes that she would not fare well if up and about, she’d inform her, that her first, true, and only love might be the person all the stories tell she is meant to abhor. (Even if it’s blatantly obvious Irene is taken with her.)

And though Seulgi seems to have a sappy crush on Irene, one can never be too sure.

(That and there’s also a plethora of rules regarding true love and it’s fickle nature; such that Wendy decides it would be best not to rush into it. Lest something go wrong. Apparently, there is such a thing as “proper timing” in love.)

The following day, Seulgi’s inside their room chatting it up with Wendy, Irene in her lap, and Joy is safe behind the purple shimmering barrier of her bed. Seulgi is Irene’s fur, when Wendy says it, and despite the garbled conversation coming from outside, Joy still hears the words being said—causing her to sit up and leave the comforts of feathered pillows in shock and, admittedly, worry.

“Do you want to take care of it?”

Seulgi’s eyes widen and Joy doesn’t know whether to bonk Wendy on the head for her brilliance, or for her utter rashness. Irene taps her foot excitedly on Seulgi’s thigh, and looks up at the girl, to scrunch her nose.

“Oh, I can’t—“

“It’s okay, really!” Wendy barrels on, at full force, eyes shining and entirely too desperate for a miracle to happen. “She likes you, and—and I’m sure Irene wouldn’t mind—!”

But to Joy’s utter relief Seulgi shakes her head. She scratches a white ear, and then Irene’s chin. And then, she smiles an apologetic smile, dimple showing. (For a minute, Joy thinks she can see what Irene sees. She is entirely attractive, though she does smile too much.)

“I really can’t. My roommate, Yerim. She hates animals.”

 

XX

 

 

Eventually, things reach to a surprising turn of events sooner than they had expected.

Though before that stood a lull, with an overtly worried Seulgi, and a panicky Wendy—and Irene, Joy is sure, because a few days pass and absolutely nothing happens. No progress. Joy has half a mind to revert back to their original plan, the other half gathers courage in the final resort to tell the Headmaster.

Winter nears and Joy is walking sullenly along the open-aired walkways, gloved hands stuffed deep within her robes. The absence of students is apparent, and the few that appear are huddled in tightly knit groups.

Joy shivers.

Her heeled boots clack against cobblestones, and she draws a shaky breath as a cool, biting wind gusts through. It is loud, and she almost does not hear the call of her name over the deafening din.

A shoulder shoves hers playfully, taking Joy by surprise (‘Oof!’). Seulgi jogs to a stand beside her, all smiley and pretty, clad in a pale blue jacket and sweatpants. Her hair is tied up in a ponytail, and stray strands curl and wisp around her face. Her appearance is disheveled.

“Wat’cha doing?”

Walking. Joy ignores her. Talking to Seulgi is Wendy’s job. All Joy ever does is tolerate her. Yet, the silence does not put a damper Seulgi’s mood, and much to Joy’s dismay, the girl starts to walk alongside her. When it becomes evident that she shows no signs of going away, with a sigh of resignation, Joy halts in her steps and turns to Seulgi.

“What do you want?”

This does put Seulgi off, and Joy sees the break in her façade. Her smile faltering and eyes flickering, to and fro, nervously, showing her hesitance for a second. However, she tries to hide it by staring haughtily up at her: pretty brown eyes full of warmth, and jaw set. Joy can picture a crown set on her head, and she squares her shoulders and coolly looks down, which wasn’t hard with her height, at the girl.

“If you should know, I am headed in the same direction as you are.” Seulgi gestures to the end of the walkway, sleeve flapping idly in the breeze. She tries to say this line as stoically as possible, but the innocent glimmer in her eyes, and the pure niceness that oozes from her isn’t fooling Joy. The witch, in turn, just blinks slowly at her—and in seconds, Seulgi eventually reverts back to her pleasant self.

“Fine. Um.” Seulgi scratches the back of her neck. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Joy frowns in confusion. “Me?” And not Wendy? She nearly, stupidly, adds, but catches herself in the nick of time. Feelings of mystification increase when she sees a flood of red invade Seulgi’s cheeks, and all of a sudden, the girl could not seem to look her straight in the eye.

Joy catches movement in her periphery. She glimpses long, elegant fingers twiddling. A tongue darts out to parched lips, before Seulgi inhales, and breathes out an exhale.

“Yeah. You see, before Irene’s absence, she kind of promised that she’d come to this weekend’s pep rally.”

“She did?” Surprise seeps in Joy’s voice, and Seulgi nods earnestly.

(Because she knows Irene absolutely hates going to places that involve loud noise, the heat of the sun, throngs of people, and catcalls and stares.)

“She did. But, I haven’t heard from her in days, and she hasn’t been responding to my messages—“ Seulgi squeaks and abruptly stops. The red crawls down to her neck and up her ears upon realizing that she has divulged past civil matters.

Realization dawns on Joy, though she forces her face to remain expressionless. (That explains why, for some odd reason, Wendy insists on receiving the envelope of Irene’s parchments from Seulgi each and every time the girl comes to visit. At the time, Joy had pegged it to be Wendy’s overt kindness—uncharacteristic of being a witch—but hey, she wasn’t complaining if it meant that she did not have to deal with Seulgi.)

“I—I just wanted to know from you, as her roommate, if maybe she…I don’t know…changed her mind?” Seulgi hesitantly meets her eyes and Joy sees the vulnerability that her one-sided correspondence must have brought on. And for the first time, she feels something akin to pity for the girl.

Joy swallows and stares back at her.

She forces her lips to twitch upwards, her eyes to crinkle, and then, Joy lies. (’Yes! I mean, no! Irene will definitely be there.’)

Later on, as she sits staring at Irene chewing off a slice of cucumber viciously, she reaches out to pat her head. Irene stops and blinks at her slowly, purple eyes dazzling even in her current state.

An image of Seulgi staring up at her with wide eyes and parted lips surfaces. Joy scratches Irene’s ear.

Joy remembers the dazzling smile Seulgi gave, as if she had just been overcome with overwhelming dizzying happiness, and with that it is apparent.

Joy is certain that she has found the one.

 

XX

 

The crowds jostle them and Joy tries her hardest not to scream at a pock-marked Warlock who nearly knocks her off her feet with his rowdiness. The bleachers are packed, and excitement is building up by the second. Her skin practically tingles with the feeling of Magic in the air.

She takes a few more steps, winces because she can feel Irene desperately pawing from inside her robe, and desperately s a hand out.

Someone grasps her arm, and she feels a strong pull—strong enough for Joy to break past the throng and nearly fall on top of Wendy. For a moment, they stare at each other, Joy red-faced and panting, and Wendy smiling with relief, until a squeak emanates from within Joy’s robes: Irene voicing out her discomfort from being squished between the bodies of her two friends.

Wendy shouts something, but Joy cannot hear her. She holds Joy’s hand and they make their way up the bleachers, where a less adrenaline-filled crowd awaits. Joy casts a light protection spell over their party. She feels Irene quivering against her chest, intimidated by the blasting amounts of noise everywhere.

They push their way to the front, ensuring a clear view of the field, and surprising a line of blue-blooded Royals. Obviously not expecting a couple of witches to show up. Joy sees a girl with a shock of blonde hair among them, and remembers her to be Yerim Kim—Seulgi’s roommate.

Wendy pulls her close, and she shouts in her ear. “IS SHE OKAY?” and gestures to the front of Joy’s robe.

Joy peeks inside, and yells back. “SHE’S SHAKEN UP. DO YOU HAVE A CALMING DRAUGHT?”

Woefully, Wendy shakes her head. Joy reaches inside and pats the trembling Irene in an attempt of comfort.

And then the noise rises and the crowd swells as the cheers begin.

 

XX

 

The cheerleaders perform without a hitch, and Joy is notably impressed with the stunts. Gasping and applauding at all the right moments. Irene even burrows her head out, just to see, and Joy thinks it is entirely too adorable when she scurries back inside her robes whenever Seulgi performs a particularly daring flip.

And then the show ends, and as the Headmaster begins his speech somewhere in the top box, Joy catches sight of Seulgi squinting up in their direction—eyes wandering, desperately searching back and forth for someone. She visibly deflates when she spots Wendy and Joy—Irene’s absence obviously noted—and she allows herself to get swept up within the crowd.

Joy feels a tug on her hand. She turns and follows Wendy through the amassing bodies, arms cradling protectively over her chest.

 

XX

 

Seulgi turns in surprise when she hears her name being called, about to enter the locker room. She sees who it is and excuses herself from Yura who was excitedly telling her about someone selling fairy sparklers at one of the booths.

Joy and Wendy, to say the least, are like crows in a snow-white field. Their dreary robes set them apart from the milling Royals, who, Seulgi thinks, flock about anywhere and everywhere in events like this. It is as if it is Snow White Day in Apple Town; wherever you look, you would not encounter someone who isn’t holding on to an apple of some kind. (A strange practice, given that the apple was what almost—apparently, according to some forward-minded people who have cause to doubt the elusive legend that is Snow White—killed the fabled princess.)

Yura wrinkles her nose in distaste. She bids Seulgi farewell, and quickly latches on to conversation with a couple of passing cheerleaders. Joy and Wendy stop before her. Seulgi forces a smile.

“Wendy. Joy.” She acknowledges. Joy gives her a tight-lipped grimace and Wendy happily greets back, though, Seulgi notices that she is unusually subdued for today. Irene isn’t with them and Seulgi feels a mixture of emotions, as she decides on what to say.

The fact that Irene had not been responding to her letters was cause enough to quell her hope that she would come, yet, the promise her object of affections (though she would not admit that to anyone just yet, convinced that it is pure admiration for ethereal beauty she has for her) had made to her only weeks ago, as they conversed unnoticed in class, remain in her heart head.

“Great job back there, Seulgi!” Wendy compliments warmly. Seulgi cannot help but blush.

She beams out a reply, “Thanks.” It is one of the most sought-after and meticulously-planned events throughout the year, and she prides herself for admittedly doing a job well done. Her sadness disappointment at being unable to see Irene is quelled, if only for a little bit.

An awkward silence ensues, and just when Seulgi is about to excuse herself (truthfully, she really wants to ask about Irene, but she is afraid that it may be too pathetic even for her), Wendy opens to say something. But Joy beats her to it.

She steps forward, invading Seulgi’s personal space. Seulgi is too surprised to move away when Joy grabs her wrist; normally dull eyes shining with emotion and scarlet hair whipping in the breeze: a scary sight indeed.

“We have something to tell you. Come.”

And with that, she drags Seulgi along; dark robes billowing in the breeze. Seulgi’s palms are clammy, but she swallows audibly and follows anyway. Wendy walks behind them.

They walk deeper and deeper within the halls, past walkways, past groups of students, past the excitement, and into the school building. They draw nearer to the Western Tower, and despite her numerous visits here, a strike of fear (that she hides well) runs through Seulgi when she looks up and gazes at the darkness and lightning that surrounds the building.

She hid her fear well back then, chanting a silent mantra to herself that was always the prospect of seeing Irene and that thought gave her courage each and every time. But, it is different now, when you have two witches practically dragging you along against your will. Silence enshrouds them like a cloak when their feet step on the velveteen carpet, and ominous portraits of witches and warlocks stare down at them. This is enemy territory, Seulgi automatically thinks, and nervousness slithers its way up .

She sees the dark stone stairwell leading up the witches’ lair dormitory. Fear nearly manifests its way into a scream, but Seulgi catches ahold of herself in the nick of time, and valiantly breaks free from Joy’s tight grip. (Never mind if her hands are incredibly clammy.) Seulgi her lips and backs away from a confused Joy, and she jumps when she feels Wendy’s gentle hands reaching out to steady her.

She feels a draft and it does not help ease her nervousness. “W-where are you taking me?”

“Seulgi, relax.”

“To our tower. Duh.”

The simultaneous responses heighten her bewilderment. Wendy shoots Joy a reprimanding glare, to which Joy can only reply with a roll of her eyes. Gooseflesh rise on the skin of her bare thighs and Seulgi’s stomach churns.

“I’m n-not going a-a-anywhere with you unless you tell me what’s going on.” Seulgi demands, using her haughtiest tone. She crosses her arms and sticks her nose upwards: a pose many of her friends—particularly her roommate, Yerim—uses often.

Soothingly, Wendy begins. “We’ll explain when—“ 

She stops when Joy waves, cutting her off. “Oh, to Morgana with it, Wendy.”

Joy rounds on Seulgi, eyes shining; Seulgi gulps. She draws nearer to her, and before Seulgi can scream and call for help—a classic damsel-in-distress move—Joy reaches within her cloak. She brings something out—Seulgi expecting a wand, or a magical weapon of some sort, as she assesses Wendy’s shocked expression.

She’s surprised when Joy extends her arm out to her, and lo and behold, there, clutching feebly onto Joy’s hand, sat a white rabbit. More specifically, Seulgi recognizes it to be Irene’s bunny.

She blinks. “Irene’s pet?”

Surprisingly, it is Wendy who replies this time. “No. It isn’t.”

More relaxed, Seulgi frowns. She takes the rabbit in her arms, smiling slightly at the little fluff ball squeaking in happiness. She combs through its fur, and its purple (Irene-like) eyes shine. “You mean she isn’t Irene’s?”

Wendy takes a deep breath, and then, “It’s Irene.”

Nearly a half-minute of silence ensues. “What?” Seulgi asks, forehead wrinkling in askance. The rabbit in her arms squeaks out—almost in surprise—and then it sits, unmoving. Joy is staring at the rabbit, and oddly, she nods solemnly to it, as if conveying an important message of some kind.

“That rabbit you’re holding. It’s Irene,” Wendy slowly repeats.

Seulgi looks at Joy—who has considerably calmed down. She looks at Wendy who doesn’t say anything else. She looks at the Irene in her arms, who stares up at her unblinking—in a manner that is so, so familiar.

A distant memory of a story tickles the corners of her mind, The Frog Prince. How that book, in contrast to how it was often brought out on a weekly basis to be read to her, now lay forgotten in the recesses of her expansive closet back home, gathering dust.

And then it hits her, and Seulgi’s mouth falls open, gasping. “You mean,” she gestures wildly with her free arm, “this—this rabbit is Irene?”

Shock runs through her body, and she doesn’t know whether to set or Irene on the ground or to cradle her close. Wendy and Joy nod slowly, and a look of remorse and embarrassment passes through Joy, coloring her pale cheeks pink.

“It was an accident, I didn’t mean for her to—“Seugi jolts at the bunny shifting in her hands; suddenly hyperaware that she is practically holding all of Irene, that she misses out on a chunk of Joy’s explanation. It doesn’t matter, though. All that matters is that she’s finally seen Irene (not counting the times she’s visited their room because she didn’t know back then), and despite her predicament, a small smile graces Seulgi’s lips.

She snaps out of her thoughts when Wendy touches her shoulder. She looks to see dark austere eyes staring at her behind her spectacles. “Seulgi. We need you.”

“Me? What for?”

Joy approaches them. Eyes pleading. “You’re the one who can reverse the spell. You—“ she continues, glancing down at Irene, then up at Seulgi. “—you are Irene’s true love.”

It is as if she has been doused in a bucket of cold water. Those words send another shock to Seulgi’s system; a good kind: heart beating, cheeks warm, chest tingling, and stomach amass with warmth. Irene squirms in her hand, eyes flashing—is it strange how her eyes can project so much?—and another wave of giddiness goes to Seulgi’s heart.

But, she catches herself, “You—how can you say that?”

It is Wendy who speaks. She explains with a hint of embarrassment how she has read Seulgi’s letters to Irene—at that her cheeks instantly flame up—and with that, she traced and hypothesized Irene’s behavior in regards to Seulgi. (‘She never jumps up like that and acts cute for anyone.’ Joy supplies.)

Seulgi has to sit. She feels her legs giving way, and she kneels down on the floor. Wendy and Joy follow. And Irene hops off her, only to patter around, sniffing her knee, and looking up at her in worry.

“How can you be so sure?” Seulgi quietly asks. “Does she even like me back?”

Wendy gazes softly at them. Irene hears the question, and her heart nearly melts, when she places her paws up on Seulgi’s knee and makes an attempt to consolingly nod at her.

It’s Joy who voices it out. “I’m pretty sure she does.”

A variety of worries push to be voiced out. The thought, But what if I’m not ‘the one’? jumping over and over, longing to be heard. But Seulgi sets those thoughts aside when she sees Irene’s wide eyes, the longing to be human again apparent. Her worries of the possible heartbreak and disappointment of finding out she isn’t Irene’s ignored, when she realizes that her problems were as trivial as compared to Irene’s.

And with a breath of bravery, she cups her hands, allowing Irene to hop onto her palms. She brings her closer, and whole heartedly, Seulgi pecks the top of Irene’s furry head.

One.

Two.

Three.

Nothing happens.

Seulgi gazes helplessly at Wendy and Joy. Joy shouts, “The mouth! Kiss her on the mouth—“

Poof!

Loud noise emits, and a cloud of white fur appears—as if Irene has just exploded. The smell of lavender is eminent, along with, for some reason, grass. Seulgi’s eyes are scrunched shut, and she doesn’t hear the gasps of surprise of Wendy and Joy—ears still ringing from the sudden pop!

Seulgi feels something warm on her cheek, and as she gradually opens her eyes—tufts of fur still drifting about, as if it were snow—she sees it.

Her one true love.

Irene Bae.

“Seulgi. Thank you.” Irene, five feet tall and very much human, says. Joy and Wendy watch as Irene boldly moves forward to hug Seulgi, her purple eyes fluttering shut in contentment, pale cheeks rosy with color, and smiling brilliantly wide.

Seulgi flushes bright red. Torn between hugging her back, and pushing her away because Irene is stark .

Wendy sniffles, and discreetly dabs her eyes.

And Joy? Well…

If it weren’t for the piece of lettuce stuck in between Irene’s front teeth, it would’ve been the most romantic sight Joy has ever seen.

--

Author’s note:

Yes, I low-key ship Wenjoy.

I really, really like writing humor. It’s so fun! Case in point: I had to stop myself from describing Irene as a “sentient ball of fluff” when I was making this after mulling it over and deciding that it would sound too weird.

This fic is the aftermath of watching the first season of Ever After High in one sitting. (AND I was going nowhere with my Sky High AU fic, so there’s that, too. HAHA*cries*) One of these days, I really should make a fic where Yeri plays a bigger part.

Peek-a-Boo IS AMAZING!