Page 115 of Velveteen vs. The Consequences of Her Actions

“Velveteen?” Tad’s voice was rough, barely louder than a croak. It wasn’t really a surprise that Vel didn’t hear it above her own sobs. “Honey, what’s going on?”

Slowly, the Princess turned. He was sitting up in the coffin, clutching the side with one hand, using the other to wipe his eyes. They couldn’t be very moist at the moment, not with as long as he’d been dead before the coffin put him into functional stasis. But those eyes were open, and he was looking at the pair of them with confusion, his chest moving easily as he breathed.

“Vel, darlin’, you should stop crying now,” said the Princess, running her hand down Velveteen’s hair. “There’s somebody who wants to talk to you.”

“It didn’t work,” wailed Velveteen. “It’s just my powers reaching out and reanimating him again.”

“Didn’t you tell me you went to Spring, and they taught you how to keep yourself contained? Try and stop animating anything your powers currently have ahold of.”

Velveteen paused in her sobbing. Then she hiccupped, pulling her face away from the Princess’s dress. “It’s done,” she said.

The Princess smiled. “Now look.”

Velveteen turned to face the coffin. Tad, still sitting up and rubbing his eyes, mustered a small smile. “Hi,” he said.

“Tad? You’re—you were—you can’t be⁠—”

“I died,” said Tad. “I remember that. I died, and you kept me moving for months before we found out. Then you brought me here, to wait for true love’s kiss. I guess I got it, because I feel like myself again. Are you all right? What happened?”

Velveteen all but launched herself from the ground into the coffin, landing on top of Tad, who let out a startled grunt of pain at the collision. Then he wrapped his arms around her and held her close while she cried, letting her tears soak into his shirt. He looked past her to the Princess. “What happened?” he repeated.

“More than I think it’s my business to tell you,” said the Princess.

“Where’s everybody else?” he asked. “Where’s Sparkle Bright? Or Jackie? Did they get hurt?”

“They’ll be along shortly,” said the Princess, trying not to show the jolt she felt when he asked for Jackie rather than Jack. “For now, I’ll let the two of you have some peace.”

She turned and left the room, glitter trailing behind her. Tad kept his arms tight around Velveteen, holding her while she cried, until finally her tears ran out and she leaned back to look at him.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he replied.

This time, he was the one to kiss her, and no one came back from the dead, but neither of them seemed to mind.

VELVETEEN vs. The Parliamentarian

Light filled the hallways of the Crystal Glitter Unicorn Cloud Castle. Bright sunlight at the moment, pure and clean and tinted with rose and gold, an eternal golden hour designed to entice photographers and flatter their subjects. The Princess stood outside the room where Tad had slept away the long hours of his death, the room she knew would cease to exist as soon as its current occupants left it behind. She just needed them to hurry up and do that, so that they could get on with the complicated legal business of bringing a man back from the dead.

But they weren’t coming out. She glanced over her shoulder to the door, trying not to let her impatience show. They deserved a reunion after everything they’d been through. No matter how badly she wanted to talk to Tad, or ask him what he’d meant when he asked for someone called Jackie. There was Jacqueline, of course, but she had only ever been Jack, never Jackie. Why, thinking back, she’d always lost her temper when someone called her Jackie, at least as far someone sweet as gumdrops and candy canes could lose her temper⁠—

And that thought ran counter to the memory of a girl with white hair that glittered like new-fallen snow in the sunlight, who’d had a temper second only to her sense of mischief. The Princess reached up and rubbed her temples with the index fingers of both hands, trying to ease away what felt like the beginnings of a migraine. Right. She wasn’t going to do anyone any good standing out here and dwelling on things she couldn’t explain. She needed to do something. She needed to talk to Tag.

The Princess looked toward a strand of climbing marigolds snaking up the wall. “How long have I been out here?” she asked.

Several of the flowers closed, leaving a few to turn toward her with petals spread wide.

“About fifteen minutes, then? Excellent. That means I’ve given them long enough. Thank you.” Turning briskly, she opened the door and stepped back into the room, heading toward the glass coffin. When she was halfway there she stopped dead in her tracks, cheeks turning an immediate shade of brilliant red.

Tag was still seated in the coffin, Velveteen wrapped around him and holding on for dear life. There wasn’t room enough between them to slide a rose petal. The Princess forcibly turned her eyes away, trying to give them a crumb of privacy, and waited for them to tire of kissing and touching one another, their hands growing more daring and their kisses getting more frantic with every passing second. She wasn’t sure they’d noticed her coming back. She wasn’t sure they’d noticed her leaving.

Neither of them was normally much for public displays of affection—the coaching they’d both received from The Super Patriots, Inc. Marketing Department had been absorbed on such a deep level that restraint was fully inculcated into them; chaste kisses played better on camera than desperate groping—and she was quite sure they’d come to their senses soon.

Soon. Any moment now, they would realize she was in the room, or that she was aware of everything that went on inside her castle, no matter how hard she tried to avert her eyes. Dear Grimm and all the godmothers, they would realize before they started removing articles of clothing. Unless⁠—

She glanced back at them, winced, and looked away. They had already removed their masks, Tag holding Vel’s, Vel holding his. For superhumans, taking off their masks was almost as intimate as taking off their undergarments. That was just one of the many reasons she had never chosen or been required to wear one: too many fashion dolls of her had been sold to too many children under the age of ten, all of whom knew what removing a superheroine’s mask meant. It was one of the places where she and her corporate sponsors had always been aligned.

The Princess risked another quick look. They were still at it, clinging to each other like letting go for even a second would result in an eternal separation. She cleared her throat. They kept making out like they were afraid the entire concept was about to be made illegal.