Snow ✓

FestiFae

They scuttled around in the dark like thieves, throwing on clothes. It was past high moon as Snow tied her boots up tight, hands shaking at the knots. She made Mat bring a lantern, so she could see herself in the washroom mirror. The light flickered hauntingly on the orc mask, her white hair undone, cascading wildly over her shoulders and down her crimson cloak.

Mat's curls crowned his skeleton guise like a sunburst. She wished he had picked something that looked more fantastical and not simply dead.

They made an odd pair, she thought, fit to giggle as she buzzed with a sickly excitement.

Moonlight shone through pockmarked clouds, dappling puddles, as they climbed the hill. It had rained earlier in the day and the ground squelched beneath their boots. Snow feared she might choke on her heart pumping faster than a hummingbird's wings as they crested the hill and it finally hit home what they were about to do. The town glowed with bonfires, chimneys belched smoke and patrons gathered in the road. A shadow like a great winged beast descended on the town as a cloud blotted out the moon.

The girl was suddenly very aware of every fiber of her being.

"Ready?" Mat asked.

She nodded, neck loose on a body that didn't feel quite like her own.

They descended, and when the weeds gave way to a manicured dirt road and not a single pair of eyes had yet turned her way, triumph burgeoned in her chest. It felt as if she had stepped out of a bubble and into the world--laughter pricked her ears, pretenders danced in her eyes and smoke smelling of cured meats wrinkled her nose.

Her eyes went wide at large creatures on stumpy legs with wide snouts, grunting behind a rough-hewn fence outside the first dwelling. The name of the species was on the tip of her tongue as she walked over, watching them use their noses as shovels, admiring their curly-cue tails—

"Pigs! Those are pigs," she told Mat excitedly, pointing.

"They are," he said, as if humoring a much younger child.

Heat prickled her cheeks and she was glad her face was hidden behind a mask.

With a hand on her back, Mat guided her past a horde of children playing pin the tail on the faery who happened to be the smallest boy among them.

They took in the sights and sounds, wading through a sea of masked celebrators who looked nothing akin to the single faery she had met.

Experiencing sensory overload, she struggled to keep her eyes trained on the sights Mat was telling her about: "Walt's Woodworks, you can guess what happens there; The Golden Deer, that's a leather shop and shoe store in one—here's Lamb Chops, the butcher shop," he said as they saddled up to the stone building with a sign on which was painted a merry and unsuspecting-looking lamb above the door. A cauldron was suspended over a drain in the alleyway where the cobbled stones were darker, (she suspected) stained with blood. She grimaced at the thought, which was quickly forgotten as a sweet smell coaxed her nose up into the air.

"And that's Cat's Crumble."

"The bakery with the cat."

Snow tried to peer through the slats in the shutters but could see nothing inside the dark shop.

"It smells like the kitchen when you're baking."

"My streusels aren't nearly as good as Ed's."

"Ed probably has more to work with."

Mat made a noise of acknowledgment and stuck his hands in his pockets, a sign he was on edge. He glanced over at a boisterous cluster of people passing mugs around a fire.

"You could have your own bakery."

Mat snorted. "I'd need a lot more than beets and berries for that. No, one bakery is enough for this ramshackle town."

"Yes, but you will leave someday, won't you."

She hadn't intended it as a question, but he paused much too long for the answer to be simple, and Snow found herself wishing that she could see his face.

"I don't know yet."

A hearty laugh drew their attention back to the same fire where a massive hog rotated on a spit. Snow tried not to think about the cute creatures they had seen on their way in.

"All these places are closed," she said, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

"Ed has never liked FestiFae, a 'heathen holiday' he calls it. But he always open early the day after to feed everybody. Guess hangovers make for great business.

"Holt, the butcher, is over there," he said, nodding at the circle around the hog, "the big man with the loud laugh."

Holt was easy to spot. Muscly, he towered over the rest and wore a tiny triangular hat comically too small for his head, which he threw back when he laughed loud enough for the stars to hear. Snow could not recall ever having found anything that funny as the butcher slapped the man beside him on the back, causing his drink to slop into the fire. It roared and another round of laughs erupted as the man's pantleg caught fire and he danced around, trying to slap it out.

At a sharp tug on her hair, Snow swung around. She and Mat both gaped at a man wearing a lopsided pink wig and a chipped mask that ended above a smarmy smile. He still held a tendril of her hair that he rolled between his fingers.

"Nice hair," he drawled, his eyes roving over everything but. "Feels real. Where'd ja get it?"

That familiar phantom cork stubbed up her throat. Before she could so much as sputter, Mat pulled her away toward the next building where a gust of people spilled out into the road.

The sign above the door read Mad Hare.

Bouncing off patrons as they rushed by, Mat didn't notice the rumpus in the alley between the bakery and tavern but did a double take when Snow's heels dug into the dirt. A couple went at it, both making sounds that reminded the girl of the snuffling pigs. Mat turned whiter than an ossified witch at sunup, swiftly scooped Snow up and strode past Mad Hare. With not a single secluded corner in sight, he put her down where the smooth brick gave way to rough-hewn stone, melding into what looked to be an entirely different building.

"Was he hurting her?" she asked.

She could see his jaw set behind the mask, hear it in his curt "No."

"How do you know?"

"I just do," he snapped.

He turned as if eager to leave only to move back around and lean in so close that Snow shuffled a rat's length back. "Do you know about...."—his lips kept moving, but in an effort to whisper, his voice sunk under the noise of the festival goers.

"What?"

"Sex! Do you know about sex?"

She nodded. "But sometimes it's hard to tell."

"What are you talking about?"

The noises Mother made when Snow walked past her parents' bedroom hadn't always been the same; sometimes those she made in bed were those she made when Father backhanded her or pushed her to the ground.

Unsure how to explain, she looked away to a little girl bawling in the road, her face beet-red with the effort and her mask trodden on and broken beside her in the dirt. The crowd broke and moved around her like they were the sea, she a rock sticking up out of the surf.

"Yes, sex can be done in more than one way. When it hurts—When it's forced on you, it's an evil thing." He cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable. "But it can feel good, too, if you both agree to do it and it's with someone you trust."

"Eli said with someone you love."

Mat shrugged. "Yeah, sometimes."

The matter evidently settled, he straightened with the air of an inconvenienced man.

A deep, reverberating sound cut through the noise. Hoots and hollers softened to chatter as people surged toward the sound on the outskirts of town.

Mat stood on his toes to peer over bobbingheads. "Show's starting. C'mon," he said, grabbing her by the hand.