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July 22 - July 28, 2024
This is a work of fiction, and while you may be tempted by now to believe that fairies exist, allow me to assure you, they don’t. However, if you happen to come across evidence of fairy mischief, please consider keeping it to yourself to protect the fairies. Not that anyone is admitting anything.
Even after all the years that had existed in the universe, men still failed to understand that the way to win a woman’s heart was to provide her with endless snacks. A hungry woman was the beginning of all life’s problems.
Could she do better? Probably. Did she want to?
So, if I catch you rolling your eyes again, Dranian Evelry, you’ll be the next thing I use the eggbeater on.”
“What sort of crossbeast feces is this?!” she heard Shayne whisper to Mor. Mor’s low, quiet voice of warning sailed to Violet’s ears. “You are going to eat that, and you are going to pretend you love it, or I’ll slay you where you sit,” he articulated to the white-haired fairy.
Violet shoved her mocha mug against her mouth to drink again so she wouldn’t laugh. If Mor would just be honest and tell her that her muffins were disgusting, she would stop making them, and he could stop forcing everyone to eat them. But as it was, Mor hadn’t admitted the truth yet, and therefore, everyone they crossed each day would continue to suffer.
“I will not sleep in that dark, infested cathedral ever again!” he promised. “Of course you won’t,” Mor said. “You’re not invited. I wouldn’t let you live with me if you paid me.” Mor took a long, slow drink of his latte without breaking eye contact with Dranian.
“The delivery note I attached to the boxes of Cress’s legendary new Unfortunate Mudslide Cupcakes is a replica of this one.” Violet read the note that said: I COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND YOUR DECISION TO DECLINE TO BE INTERVIEWED BY US AT THE FAIRY POST DUE TO YOUR BUSY SCHEDULES, AND I EMPATHIZE WITH HOW YOU MUST BE SO BACKED UP THESE DAYS. IN THESE SORTS OF SITUATIONS, I FIND CUPCAKES HELP. SINCERELY, SECRETARY OF DOOM.

