Euphrosyne, goddess of merriment and well-placed bedlam, had an issue.
Well, no—not an issue.
A circumstance.
She was, by temperament, a non-interferer. Mostly. Occasionally. Except where humans were vastly dull, in which case she could maybe not-swiwellingly swirl a cartwheel into muck, or swap out some important parchment for one regarding sonnets on pickles.
But Charlotte?
Charlotte was hers.
Not in the possessive, jealous-goddess kind of manner. No, no—Euphrosyne wasn't that type of deity. She'd simply… bent a few cosmic regulations for a soul who had made her laugh. Truly laugh. Enough to upset a council of stars. Enough to have Time shake his head and grumble, "Not again."
Charlotte had illuminated her realm like fireworks in a cathedral. So when Fate had attempted to douse her, Euphrosyne had snatched her from the web and settled her into another realm with a wink and a whisper.
But now?
Now the girl was dull again.
Happy, aye. Developing, mending, even scheming mildly. But Charlotte had not threatened to upset an empire or have a laugh at the duke's expense with frogspawn for months. Months!
Unacceptable.
So the goddess drifted wearily over the cottage where Charlotte now resided. Elias split wood like some sulky statue. Finn attempted to fish with bread rather than bait. Charlotte wrote inside, noting and sipping tea.
Euphrosyne cocked her head. "Tea? Quietly? Not even a magical blunder? Not even a mystical spoon assault?"
Tragic.
So she started. benevolently.
A breath of air gusts Charlotte's parchment from the table and out the window. Elias, accustomed to such by now, opened his eyes as it hit him in the face.
"Is that yours?" he shouted.
"Obviously," Charlotte growled from within. "Who else handwrites footnotes in blood and cynicism?"
Euphrosyne laughed.
Step one: success.
Step two? She clicked her fingers—and the fish Finn had been struggling to catch sprang onto dry land, flopping angrily at his feet like, "Here! Fine! Are you satisfied?"
Finn bellowed, Charlotte came running outside, and Elias let his axe fall with the quiet, spent grunt of a man who'd fought battles and somehow this proved more exhausting.
"I didn't even—!" Finn was outraged at the fish.
.This day reeks of Euphrosyne," Charlotte grumbled, hands planted on hips.
Someplace beyond the clouds, the goddess hummed contentedly.
But then she hesitated.
Because in that instant—seeing Charlotte laugh so hard she snorted, seeing Finn smile so wide his boots were covered in mud and Elias shake his head with a fond smile—she felt something stir. Not mischief. Not glee.
Grief. Old and fuzzy, but still there. Still deep.
Charlotte, with all her intelligence and spirit, had been left behind too often. And Elias, with all his power, was preparing daily for her to disappear again. Finn had visions he couldn't make sense of, and eyes that were too old for him.
They were intact. But not mended.
Euphrosyne leaned against a sunbeam, heart strangely leaden.
She spoke into the air, softly, like a lullaby shrouded in trickery:
"Let them laugh. Let them fall in love with this world.
Let the stars tarry. Let the Fates blink too late.
They've earned this."
And just in case, she snapped her fingers again.
Inside the cottage, the old pantry door swung open—and a horde of enchanted mice in wee cloaks started waltzing to unheard music.
"Really?" Charlotte asked the heavens. "Waltzing mice?"
"Better than blazing kingdoms," Elias said.
Finn applauded. "Can we keep one?"
Euphrosyne smiled.
Dull, maybe.
But safe.
And for the moment, that was sufficient.