Oneshots and Short Stories

On The Other Side of the Wall

It had been months now, months where the feathers had fallen and the snow had thawed and the sprouts, delicate and green, of birthing flowers poked through the dirt.

You had done it. You had taken the golden scissors and snipped at your wings until they shattered like spun sugar, and you had been a human again. It had been hard to do it to yourself, but you managed.

Then came your family, and the glassy shards of wings exploded in the winter light with a fluttering of tiny blue feathers. Your mother, and father, and all of your brothers and sisters, and they had embraced you and cried with happiness.

Your old house in the woods wasn't that unchanged, and even your dog- good old Russy- was still around. Together, you and your family had fixed up the cracks and laughed your way through blizzards.

You had done it.

But spring changed into summer, and summer into autumn, and before you knew it, two years had flown by and you were sixteen.
And for every moment of it, you regretted letting him go.

A friend, a pushover boy who had a hat and a cape and his poetry. Him and his little brother, wandering through the woods with their frog, had saved you- and become more important to you than you could have imagined.

It was winter when you made the choice, the time when your family would need you the least and they all huddled, eating what food they had, around a roaring fire. You snuck out, bundled in five layers, a little pack on your back, and trekked out through the snow.

Over the river and through the woods you went, your boots crunching snow under your feet and the hem of your dress getting soaked. You huddled in the hollows of trees for shelter at night, shivering in the chill, and you thought of turning around more than once.

Then, you saw it through the trees- a high, mossy stone wall. It was edged with frost, piled high with snow, but you crossed the train tracks buried under the drifts and climbed it as if your life depended on it.

Trembling in the bitter cold, your hands turning white, you straddled the top of the wall and looked out.

Before you lay a graveyard, the crooked headstones hidden under huge poufs of white, and another wall, and a gate. Beyond that, a town poked its wintry roofs against the grey sky.

And then, underneath you, you saw him.

He wasn't wearing his hat, or his cloak, but you knew it was him, even bundled up in the thickest coat you had ever seen. He looked taller, now, and leaner, squatting to read the faded text on one of the gravestones.

You called out his name, just as your frostbitten hands lost their grip and you began to tumble down. He cried out and ran, and just when you were expecting to hit the icy earth, strong arms caught you instead.

You blinked open your eyes, edged with frost, and smiled at him.

"Y-you wonderful freak of nature," you murmured through your chattering teeth. His eyes widened in shock and realization.

"Beatrice?" he asked.

"Wirt." you whispered. He smiled in glee and pulled you close, and you wrapped your arms around him, feeling cold, joyful teardrops form in the corner of your eyes.

You had found what you wanted on the other side of the wall.

AN: I'M SORRY GUYS BUT BEATRICE AND WIRT. BEATRICE AND WIRT YOU GUYS. BEATRICE AND WIRT.
IT'S TOO PERFECT I CAN'T.
So have some happy lil Infinite Eyerolls stuff. And watch Over the Garden Wall because HOT DAMN WHAT A SHOW.