Page 9 of By the Fae

“You,” I said, pointing accusatorially towards my1409print.

The cartoon girl put her thumbs on her temples, held her palms up like antlers and blew a raspberry at me.

Great, now I’m not even in control of my glamour.

It was Holly, the little girl. A self-insert. Curly brown hair, light brown skin, comically large glasses, rosy cheeks. She was even bloody wearing dungarees. Was there ever a time in that woman’s life when she didn’t consciously choose to wear plumbers’ uniforms?

I couldn’t bear to be taunted by her anymore. I lifted the frame from the wall, turned it backwards and rehung it so only the cardboard reverse was visible.

Better.

The only reason I hung the damn print was because I once thought the game quirky, cute, and fun, and unlike anything I’d choose to build myself. Now, I realised she’d used zero imagination when developing it. The game was an extension of her personality. Not quirky, cute, and fun, but annoying, annoying, and annoying.

I drank my second coffee, actually my fifth that day — might explain why relaxing was impossible — and sat at my drawing board. I pulled a sketchpad close.

Make a game that appealed to humans. Two months. I could do that. Sure, of course I could do that, I just needed . . .

To get this gods-damned human out of my head.

What’s your problem with me?

Why does everyone treat me like I’m invisible?

Why do you hate me so much?

Fuck’s sake. I glanced down at my sketchpad and noticed I’d glamoured Holly onto the paper. There she was, smiling up at me from my desk. Purple streaks in her short curls, those infuriating rosebud lips, those fucking dungarees. She must have a body underneath all that fabric, but she might as well be walking around in a one-man-tent for all I could see of it.

I tore the page off, balled it up and threw it at the bin. Why was she taking up so much space in my thoughts?

I like my dungarees.

“Just chill out,” I told myself. Any minute now Holly would be bouncing into Seth’s office for her ‘trial’ with him. He’d lay on the smarm. She’d choose him. Dilemma over.

I breathed a sigh of relief. She’d choose Seth. Of course she’d choose him. She was probably already halfway to falling in love with him.

Holly would choose him, whole-way fall in love with him, and then he’d break her heart. Destroy it like Taur in an Ichor.

Not my problem.

“Fucking hell!”

I jumped to my feet. I’d glamoured her again onto the next page of my sketchpad. I had to get out of there.

August was in her office when I passed by. I knocked and pushed the door open.

“I’m gonna work from home for the rest of the week—” I paused.Shewas there. Perched on the empty desk in the corner of August’s office, writing something into a ring-binder. Her purple curls bounced as she lifted her head, her face turned flame red when she saw me, and she immediately returned to her work.

“Okay, Goldie,” said August, apparently completely unaware of the awkwardness between Holly and I. “Make sure you file it properly on the system.”

Holly had obviously not said anything about the finger-banging comment. Not that I could picture those words coming out of her mouth. That’s why I'd said what I said. I knew she wouldn’t repeat it and get me in trouble. She was what I considered a ‘good girl’. A rule follower. A pacifist. Too afraid of upsetting the boat. A.k.a boring.

Desperation had made me say it. I regretted it as soon as the words left my lips, but I needed something that was A, true, and B, shocking enough for Holly to realise I was a straight up prick. We couldn’t work together. I couldn’t spend the next eight weeks with her on my sofa. Batting those lashes that barely fit behind her glasses. Leaving her fluffy, candy-land human clothes about the place.

She couldn’t choose me, and I made sure of that. I nodded to August and made to shut the door.

“Oh, Goldie, team meeting Friday at three. Your presence is mandatory.”

“Sure.” The word came out squeaky. What the hell was up with me?

---