Somehow, Goldilocks lost her family. Again. The bear one— not that one of vicious sirens or the group of thieves she called hers once. Usually it was because of some grand thing, abandonment, death, or dissolution— but this time, she simply lost them. Perhaps it was abandonment, but they seemed to rather like her despite the fact she broke into their house. Lovely folks, those bears.

She supposed that she would have to return to the market again. Though, she never remembered half as many… glowy things around the place. So many hooded people, with strange, coarse-looking pants, so many shorts. Strange.

Ah well. That didn’t matter anymore— the search was what mattered most.

She scanned the crowd, but her eyes settled on a happy family of three— a rambunctious cub to replace her last one, a loving mother-bear, and a kindly papa-bear. Perfect for her.

So, as one usually does, she followed them home.

When they left, she tried the door-knob. But it didn’t budge. She tried again. Nothing.

So, giving it the good thief’s try, she filled her scarf with rocks, and swung it at the doorknob. And it gave a little, but still stayed attached. She frowned. This family must’ve been very resistant to positive change, so she decided to break in through the window to force it into their lives.

Goldilocks landed in some sort of living room with a giant black box. Disturbingly enough, their house only had one large chair for them all— some oblong, stretched out thing. She sat on it briefly, but made sure not to linger.

As she entered the kitchen, however, she couldn’t help but notice one more troubling thing: there was no porridge for her. None at all. Didn’t they know the customs of the land, to always keep a pot of porridge ready for surprise guests?

Ah, well. She would teach them those sacred customs once they returned.

She awoke from her nap to hear someone screeching above her. Groggily, she rubbed her eyes, and put on her best pout, “Oh no, I’m so sorry, I thought this house was empty.”

“No,” her new papa-bear said very evenly. “It’s very much not. Where are your parents?”

“I don’t have any.”

The adults faces dropped. They began to whisper amongst themselves, mentioning someone called See P.S., which was a remarkably strange name for a strange world. The child, the one who produced the shriek, wandered up to her, and asked her name— which, she of course obliged. At least the child knew the customs well.

All three gaped at her.

“No, honey, your real name,” her new mama-bear said.

“That is my real name,” Goldilocks glowered. “Where is your porridge? And your three chairs? And your three beds?”

This set off a new round of murmuring.

“I’m not delusional,” Goldilocks corrected. “I’m telling the truth. It’s not my fault you’re uneducated.”

“Un— what? Honey, Goldilocks is not a real story,” said papa-bear in a very stupid manner. Because he was dumb. And a dummy. Not to mention foolishly silly, and not in the good way at all.

Having enough of this hogwash, she rose up, and began to march to the door. “You are not being a very proper family at all. I am going to search for a better one— have a nice life.”

The woods would hold better opportunity for her, she decided. Bears hadn’t failed her the last time.