Fable left the bathroom and opened her wardrobe to put something on. She thought a new outfit was a good idea. She was sure today was going to be full of adventures. Then she found herself pulling on her tightest jeans instead of her casual dress. "Phew," she said. "I guess I feel feisty today," she told Pickwick, who shook his shoulders and curved his lips.
Fable put the jeans on then went for a plain white t-shirt, followed by a badass belt with silver buttons, which originally belonged to Axel. Dressed up, she looked at the wardrobe's mirror and was impressed. "I think this look suits me," she told Pickwick, who definitely wasn't sure about the look. Fable was too tiny to dress up like that. "I feel ya," she told the parrot. "I'm too small for this look, but guess what?" She dipped into her never-ending wardrobe, which was mainly a place to stack up books, not clothes, and pulled out a pair of heavy boots. "How about those?" She put them on, and felt a bit taller. "These are also Axel's boots," she said. "Now, all I need is a weapon." She strolled back to her drawer and pulled out a magic wand. Pickwick shook his head. "You're right," she said. "A wand doesn't fit. I need a gun." Pickwick nodded, pointing his wings like a cowboy shooting bullets. "But I don't have a gun. Maybe I could borrow Loki's Alicorn when we get down to the kitchen."
Fable scanned her look one more time in the mirror, and then pulled her glasses off and let them dangle from the chain on her chest. "No badass ever wears glasses," she commented. "Although I'm afraid I'd shoot the wrong guys this way." She snickered. "How about the pigtails?" she asked Pickwick. He seemed to like them. "Yeah, me too. If I let my hair loose will I be still girly. Pigtails make me look girly, but like a maniac." She posed like a gunslinger one last time and said, "My name is Gretel, and I will kick your ass!"
Pickwick almost choked. His eyes met Fable's. Hers darted up and to the left, and she looked at a light bulb of her own thoughts, hanging like a cloud in the air. "Did I say Gretel?" she asked Pickwick.
The parrot nodded, looking more worried and confused.
"Why would I say Gretel?" She had her hands on her waist.
Pickwick didn't say anything, but he seemed to know more than she did.
"Oh, silly me." Fable waved her hand. "It's just all those fairy tale stories that surround me." She turned back in the mirror and said, "My name is Fable Crumblewood, and I'm going to kick your ass," then shot imaginary bullets from the imaginary gun in her hands. "Crumblewood doesn't sound right," she remarked. Pickwick agreed. "You can't be scared of a girl named Crumblewood." She folded her hands. "Look," she told Pickwick. "I don't need to tell anyone that I will kick their asses." Pickwick cocked his head. "If I'm really badass, why would I tell someone I'd kick their ass when I can just go and kick their ass?"
Pickwick took a moment, as if trying to solve a puzzle. A curvy smiled shaped his face, and then he agreed.
Fable pulled the parrot up. "Just because I feel so feisty and manly today, that doesn't mean I will not make you breakfast," she said. "You need to eat to grow stronger." She opened the door and walked out, still wondering about that unusual feisty feeling, as if she wasn't quite herself today. As she stepped down the stairs, a strange tinge of pain hit her eyes momentarily. She wondered what it was; maybe it was because she took off her glasses. Her eyes itched again as she reached the open kitchen downstairs.
2
Down in the kitchen, Fable was surprised Axel wasn't there nibbling on some food. In fact, the kitchen had been cleaned and dusted like it had never been before. Everything was organized in place, shiny and inviting, as if they had been visited by fairies. Even the alphabet magnets, which had previously shown Charmwill Glimmer's True Name, now read:
I cleaned the house, took out the garbage, and cooked meat and vegetables for lunch. Feel free to eat as much as you need.
Shew
Fable took a moment to grasp the fact that Shew had cooked and cleaned Candy House after all she had been through—let alone the fact that she knew how to cook and clean in the first place.
"You think she cooked and cleaned because it's in her blood?" Fable said to Pickwick. "I mean, she is the Snow White. You think this has to do with the part in the tale when she finds the dwarves' cottage in the forest and starts to clean up?"
Pickwick folded his wings with skepticism.