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“Your sister has crazy eyes that give Of Mice and Men. I don’t want to be crushed to death. In contrast, your eyes are pretty, and I want to kiss the corners.”
Blushing, I look back at Alana, who is no longer smiling as she stares at me with wide hazel eyes that match mine in a slightly darker shade. I admit. They’re a little crazy. But in a totally endearing way.
Her head tilts. “Is this your maladaptive daydream era? You’re the more stable one between us, according to Mom.”
“Ollie, can you show her?”
“I’m still recovering my energy. We are simply not meant to be perceived by those who do not understand us.”
“How did you do all the videos you post on Leopard? Could she see you…through my phone?”
He cracks an eyelid, stares at me for a long moment, then sighs. “I record on a camera with a lens and speaker I had enchanted in Faerie. Then Willoughby helps me upload it to my channel.”
“…Faerie?” As in that place Willow mentioned in one of her messages?
Tone drifting and half-dazed, Alana murmurs, “Brittny?”
I turn back to her, and I have no idea what she’s seeing. Me talking to Oxford? Me talking to no one? Is the weird human figure I’m sitting on completely outside her perception? Surely I’m not floating half a foot off the bed.
I tap Ollie between the shoulder blades again. “Can you show her what you look like for just a moment, or do you need to recover more for anything to work?”
“Just a moment wouldn’t be enough to stick, and I do not have the strength right now to show her anything of substance.” He snuggles against my pillow. “Recent events have sapped me both physically and mentally.”
“When will you be done recovering?”
He pouts and returns to his canine form.
My stomach clenches. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pressure…”
Ollie crawls out from beneath the covers, sits on my lap, and lifts a paw, waving like a CGI animal in a movie—a little too human to be ignored.
Alana’s eyes go moon huge as the fog clears from them. “When did you teach him that?”
“I didn’t.”
“Because I’m supposed to believe that he’s a person?”
“A faerie.” I straighten and stammer, “Which, yes, I believe is a person. I’m still learning politically-correct terminology.” If it exists. Ollie hasn’t particularly reprimanded me on anything so far while I’ve fumbled through dozens of invasive questions. Wouldn’t it be amazing to live in a world without political correctness? Where people just understand that you’re not trying to hurt or insult other people when you say the words you can remember or that make sense to you?
Maybe that’s what Faerie is like…at least under the rule of Ollie’s prince.
Alana purses her lips. “Right.” Dropping onto the rug in front of us, she crosses her legs and nods. “So his real name is Ollie?”
“Doliver. From dolivers_not_trending. No one else can see him in his human form without help from an enchanted camera, I guess? Oh, and of course I can because we’re soulmates. I think. I know I’ve mentioned dolivers_not_trending to you before, but…as it turns out…he kind of wrote all the songs he sings for me.” I clear my throat, and I wasn’t expecting that part to be the hardest to get out so far. It feels very fanfiction, fantasy, get your head out of the clouds and stop sniffing paint.
Mother would not approve at all.
Fingers folded over her mouth, Alana stares. “To recap, you are not on any substances?”
“I can barely handle caffeine.”
“You look tired. Have you been sleeping enough?”
“No more or less than usual. Actually, I slept pretty well last night, comparatively.”
“Work stress. That big project sounds like it’s somewhat unethically resting on your shoulders.”
“I’d say work is about the same as usual. It’s always something outside of my job description.”
