#fauna bee

“You’re right,” Fauna said through a quivering lip, “I ruined your night. And I hurt you. I’m sorry.” “It doesn’t matter if you’re sorry or not,” Flora replied, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. “I deserve better than immolation. Goodbye, Fauna. And good luck. You’ll need it.” 

“Fauna, I’ve been lit on fire. Our brother turns into a werewolf every month, and Raven nearly burned the school down once before. Too bad dad wasn’t there to stop you from burning it down.” “Well you’re safe now,” Fauna sneered, “you ingrate.” “Oh, am I being ungrateful? I’m sorry, I didn’t even realize! Thank you, Faun. Thank you for burning my hair off and ruining my dress. Thank you for scaring Jon off so he’ll never call me again. Thank you for these burns, too. They’re super great--my absolute favorite part of the evening,” Flora smacked her lips, mimicking a chef kiss. “Thanks to you, I’ll get to remember this night forever. There, is that enough thanks?” 

“Are you serious?” Flora’s voice broke, “You lit me on fire!” “The spell was meant for the hunter,” Fauna protested, “I miscast it. That’s all.” “It doesn’t matter who it was meant for,” Flora snapped, “Look at me, Faun--I have boy hair and burns on my arms.” “I was trying to protect you! The hunter was--” “Do you hear yourself?” Flora spat, “The hunter. Everything is so dramatic with you--hunter, witch, fairy, the netherworld, the abyss. This isn’t how normal people talk, and I can’t stand it any longer.” Fauna’s nose twitched. “This is serious. Our lives are in danger.” “No, your life is in danger. You’re the one that’s always at the center of this bullshit. I’m just the dopey, non-magical one who gets dragged into it.” “You’re not a dope--Flora, you’re my sister. You can’t leave. Please don’t leave.” 

Despite the chaos only a block away, the Bee house was empty. Thus, there was some amount of peace as Flora gathered her belongings. She had a few hundred simoleons stuffed into a sock, gathered over several years of birthday cards from her grandparents. Her twin sister had a nearly equivalent amount, hidden in an equally obvious spot. She stuffed all the money she could find in her backpack, alongside her most practical clothes.

“You’re leaving.” Flora cringed at the voice. It was like hearing herself talk. Behind her stood her twin sister, Fauna, immaculately dressed and made up. Flora’s shoulders tensed. “Yes,” she said as she turned around. “Why?” Fauna asked, “I--I don’t understand. I protected you.” 

“Wait,” Fauna slipped her wand out of her dress. “I could make you stay. I could wipe your memory.” Flora’s response was flat. “You won’t, though.” She slipped out of the door, down the stairs, and into the night. The fire was still burning, and she had a choice to make. There were two cars in front of the house. Flora opted for the vintage truck, her father’s. It would be easy for them to find the next day, easier than her mom’s nondescript SUV.

Despite her confidence, she had never driven by herself. The truck was a little harder to handle without her dad gently reminding her when to shift gears. Somehow, she managed to navigate it to the small, one terminal airport at the north end of the island. In the morning, Fauna and her father would discover his truck in the parking lot. Flora’s flight--booked under the surname Trémaux--would be long gone. 

Fauna clenches her jaw. “They’re real, and they’re magic, and they’re cats. Duh.” Vinegar Tom senses the incoming bomb, and decides he wants no part of it. He wriggles and slips out of Fauna’s arms.

“Magic is just science we don’t understand,” Fenrir says. “And one day, I’ll understand it.”

“No, magic is magic. It’s what makes you turn into a wolf and it’s why dad can cast spells and it’s why Tom is special,” her voice raises. “Right Flora?”

Flora shrugs and looks at her feet.

“Oh, c’mon--grow up,” Fenrir snorts. “Just because you’re dumb doesn’t mean everyone else is.”

“You grow up!” Her anger bubbles over. “And—and—shut up!”

Vinegar Tom purrs as he rubs against his witch’s legs.

“Good boy,” Fauna leans down and scratches him under the chin. He flicks his tail and stretches. “See? He’s not all bad.” She picks him up and nuzzles her face against his.

Flora pouts. “He only likes you ‘cause you’re magic.”

“He also likes me ‘cause I give him scritchy-scratchies.”

“And you’re magic.”

“Yup,” the witch beams, “and one day I’ll have a familiar just like Tom.”

Fenrir glances up from his book. “Familiars aren’t real.”

“Vinegar Tom is real,” Fauna frowns.

He tosses his book on the couch and stands. “Familiars aren’t real. They’re just cats.”

“Hey, Dominic interrupts, “what’s going on here?” “Fen is being a dingleberry,” Fauna says. “No, I was just saying that Tom isn’t anything more than a dumb old cat, and Fauna can’t prove me wrong.” “It sounds like both of you are pretty worked up.” The children answer simultaneously: “He’s being mean to Tom!” Fauna cries. “She’s being stupid,” Fenrir sneers. “Stop,” Dominic holds up his hand. “You’re arguing over a cat.” “Familiar,” Fauna mutters. “Tom means a lot to Fauna. You know that, Fen, and there’s no reason for you to be so cruel. And Fauna, you shouldn’t resort to name-calling.” “She’s saying he’s magical,” Fenrir scoffs. “So? What she believes doesn’t impact you. Besides, it’s your birthday. Time for cake, no time for bickering.”