There's been a monster in the mirror since Ollie was eleven, and he only knows one thing: it despises the color yellow. So, when a truly terrible tragedy involving a spork and a too-long flight of stairs leaves him eyeless, and he's sent down the st...
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Ollie disliked chrysanthemums long before he lost his eyes, but his disliked mounted into sheer hatred by the time he was released from the hospital. The autumn flower of choice, more and more piled up in the corners of his room until they were all he could smell.
If not for Hessa, he would have been tried to escape after the second day. He simply didn't have time to be wasting in the hospital—his project was due soon, and he didn't have time to be mollycoddled. He couldn't even remember how many hours he'd spent stressing, panicking, and/or sobbing over his classwork, he was going to get his degree.
But Hessa convinced him to stay, and he stayed as long as they asked. She had a big project due, too, and the least he could give her was some peace of mind. She was far more concerned about his well-being than he was. No matter how many times he told her he was fine, she insisted that he wasn't, right up until the day he was released.
"I'm fine," he insisted, as they left the hospital.
Hessa's nail-biting grip on his upper arm said that she, again, disagreed. "You're not fine until we get you a dog or something."
The prospect of freedom gave him a certain kind of joy he simply couldn't scowl through, otherwise he would've scowled. "Only if it's a corgi."
"That's a disaster waiting to happen, and you know it," she said. "You need a dog that isn't a tripping hazard. You already have enough trouble staying upright without an ankle-biter." She was talking in her I'm-worried-about-you-but-trying-to-be-cool voice. It was the same one she used during his biannual finals-week breakdowns, right before she offered a cartoon marathon.
Ollie had been certain he was fine right up until that moment, when he realized that there would be no more cartoon marathons. It was easy to ignore; easy, even, to pretend that everything could continue on as it always had. But it couldn't. He couldn't see anymore, and unless he was struck by a miracle from the gods themselves, he never would be able to again.
Hessa elbowed him. "Hey, what's with the frown?"
"Really?" he asked. If he had eyes, they would've been wide and incredulous, showing her just how ridiculous she was being. "I can't see."
She didn't respond immediately, probably making a nonverbal gesture he couldn't see. Then, she sighed, and said, "Look—sorry ... listen. I think I can get you a new pair of eyes."
"What?"
"You know that shop where I get my dyes?"
Ollie nodded. "Yeah," was all he could bring himself to say.
Magdalena's Emporium of the Weird & Wonderful. The owner of the shop, Sarah, dealt in all things slightly magical but not magical enough to require a special license. Ollie always wondered why a woman named Sarah owned Magdalena's, but he supposed Sarah's Emporium of the Weird & Wonderful didn't have quite the same ring.
