A Dwarf Named Pholie

A Dwarf Named Pholie: A Short Story

warnings! mentions of s/a, reader also drinks

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"―And it shall be akin to stepping into a fairytale! The whole village will be there to see the two of you off, a true dream. Excited, are you?" You're given no chance to voice any true opinion as mother flits about you. Satin garbs bunched between shaking, sun-soaked digits, she works endlessly to alter and size the ancient hand-me-down. She moves you to stand up straighter as she holds the waist to your own with a dissatisfied tut. "Once this is done you'll be looking lovely. Turn 'round for me, hon?"

You do not move, unsure if she's aware of your disobedience as she's quick to find another task, draping the outfit over her rocker.

A sharp exhale is heard throughout the room.

Having believed she poked herself with a sewing needle, you turn to help, only to instead be handed a richly wrapped, palm sized, gift box.

Mother is beaming as she shoves it into your limp hands. The tiny box is smoothed over in folded golden parchment. The paper sparkles in the dusk as you rotate it front to back, unsure what to make of it. The thing held heavy in your palm as you chose to instead leave it on an open windowsill.

You're shadowed. She grasps at the box as soon as it leaves your own, ripping into the wrapping. The shredded pieces fall to the floor, tickling at your bare toes.

Even as scraps they shine.

"Splendid!" You don't look up from the floor, blinking only once before something is being pierced through your breast pocket. It shines brighter than even the paper, but weighs down like lead against your anxious heart. "So gorgeous! You'll wear it to the ceremony! Who would've known that man had such an eye? Lucky you."

You didn't find the piece to be too inspiring. A quick peek down at the rosetted crystals and you've had your fill. Mother continues to poke at it, even with it sitting across you, and you feel yourself heat up in honest anger as you step into your own space once again.

She's ignorant to the hostility as she knocks back into her rocking chair, sewing project back in hand. You refuse to look at the fabric for too long, turning to instead find entertainment in the setting horizon.

A blanket of silence is folded over the both of you. It's like you can finally breathe again as you lean yourself out the open shutters. You squint out into the approaching night, eyes rolling back in desperately needed bliss. Your troubles disappear.

Everything disappears.

"―and the Marvicly twins said they'd bake a delicious and large seasonal cake for the―Wah! Excuse me!" Mother is behind you in an instant to snag your collar, voice shrill as she drags you back over the threshold. "What are you doing?"

"Ugh, I...! I'm sorry, momma." You keep yourself tamed, worried you may let yourself slip with emotion. "Just... Distracted. I guess."

"Oh, hon." She waddles herself back to sit herself down, project in tow. You still refuse to look at it. "I remember, as long ago as it may seem, being with your father―!"

"That's nothing like this! You and dad were in love." Tears fall quickly, unprepared for the raw topic of your deceased father. You wrestle with the clip fastened to your shirt, desperate to discard the jewelry. "In love! My opinion has been shared, yet the lot of you just laugh it off like I'm some dumb child. Like I'm somehow not capable!"