My great aunt Wedgewood used to say life was a mixed bouquet, each day different and in its own way beautiful. Auntie Wedge was batshit crazy because life is a sharp stick, just when you think you can handle it it pokes you in the again. These were Periwinkle’s thoughts as she slipped a high-heeled foot from her coach.

Strands of a waltz lilted towards her. Built with sweeping arches and a six-cauldron garage, WinterFell Manor loomed. A well-to-do couple walked around her giggling.

“Look it’s a wingless pixie. Now, I’ve seen everything.”

“Well you’re old enough to have seen plenty,” Periwinkle muttered as she mounted the marble stairs.

Luxury coaches and high-end broomsticks idled. Sounds of an orchestra surged. She lifted the satiny train of her black tie gown. With massive stone walls and soaring arches, WinterSpike Manor loomed. Marble statues dotted the landscaped grounds. Looking around, she thought Harlow didn’t have a chance with all of these fancy-schmancy crap. Snorting Periwinkle paused at the massive front door.

The Midnight Ball was in full effect. Periwinkle hated galas. The towering floral displays, the dried-out hors d’oeuvres, the oceans of idle chitchat, so much unnecessary fuss made her back ache. But she had to admit it was working. Harlow her fake boyfriend had pretended to love-bomb her at one after-work party and three community events. Their faux love affair was the talk of the water cooler. Her coworkers were convinced she was a hot tamale despite her lack of wings, the traditional sign of a passionate pixie. Periwinkle was sure her coworkers could see her as a lead supervisor for the Spellbound dating app. Now they just had to convince Harlow’s coven.

"Yeah right,” Periwinkle said, “in a realm of statesque shifters, top model elves, slutting pixies with wings, who is going to believe that hunk of man candy is going to chose me.”

The grand doors opened. Squaring her shoulders, Perwinkle stepped inside the foyer. With false confidence, she crossed the marble tiles. The murmuring of gentle conversation stopped. Mid waltz, the orchestra stopped. Periwinkle thought if there had been an aquarium the goldfish would have stopped mid-bubbling. Every head was turned towards her. Periwinkle checked her heels for a trail of toilet paper. Harlow hurried down the spiral staircase.

“Miss Periwinkle, woah. I mean you look woah—“

Periwinkle threw herself in his arms cutting off his comment with a kiss. Their kissing practice, which was not all together terrible, was paying off. Harlow kissed back and then pulled away.

“Wait, I have something I have to tell you,” Harlow said.

“We have an audience. Less talk, more kiss.”

Periwinkle drew Harlow into another embrace.

“So this is the little icicle you’ve chosen to replace your wife? Nice try, Harlow.”

They wrenched away from one another.

“Wife!” Periwinkle said.

“Mom!” Harlow said.

“Better luck, next time,” Selma, Harlow’s mother said as she waved and sashayed from the foyer.