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Open Features: Regarding Larkspittle Cornsutch

Fred Tidball

Twas the night of the dance at the Tweazle’s, if remembered correctly.

Septimus and Twurzle were celebrating their four hundredth anniversary and had invited family, friends, and anyone else who knew them along to their shindig.

Now, ‘tis common knowledge that a Faery shindig was a very special occasion and not to be missed, so practically everyone from The County had come along at one stage or another, shindigs tending to last for about six months or more.

Well it was the final night that started it all off with a very rare (and honoured) visit by an emissary of Her Ladyship who sees and knows all, the giant star who sits on a golden turnip. She was known for her gentleness and benevolence except to those who upset her, but they tended to get vaporised very quickly and seldom felt too much pain, so that was alright.
The emissary, one Bladgerdonewithit Verynicelythankyou (Bladger-done-with-it Very-nicely-thank-you), was a Pixie, about a foot high and quite stout. He wore a waistcoat of sapphire blue with green leggings and around his neck his chain of office glittered, as most golden chains tend to do, as he flittered about from dignitary to dignitary, silvered wings buzzing softly.

A nod nod here, a nod nod there, here, there everywhere a nod nod. Oh yes, he was an emissary alright, the way his nose stuck up you’d think he had smelled something boffy but that was just the way emissary folk are and would remain so.
Bladgerdonewithit had brought with him a very special gift from Her Ladyship to the Tweazles for services performed sometime in the past when Plague had ravaged The County, merrily slaughtering everyone he could lay his hands on. Her Ladyship had given Plague a right good seeing to that involved lots of very sharp pointed objects whereupon Plague learned a lot about not annoying Giant stars with attitude.

All the Faery folk Plague had slaughtered Septimus had buried, then, when Her Ladyship had restored them to life he dug them all back up again. There had only been the one embarrassing moment, but the sleeping fiery dragon had seen the funny side of being poked in the ribs by a shovel, and told Septimus not to worry about it as the bruising would go down in a week or so.

As a token of her gratitude Her Ladyship had sent a goblet of ‘I wish’ dust, now it sat on the mantelpiece glowing it’s pretty little self off.

One of the guests was young Larkspittle Cornsutch (Lark-spittle Corn-such) aged one hundred and seventy-four with his beloved wife Zoomzoomwheresmebroom (Zoom-zoom-wheres-my-broom), (nee Tismidnight (Tis-mid-night)). This couple had met one stormy morn just as day was breaking over the Dark Mountains. Larkspittle had had an unfortunate accident some hours before regarding a Goblin, two werewolves, a Wizard from the Green Valley, and sixteen tankards of chortleberry brandy. The result was that he had ended up with a badly torn wing.

So he made for the top of the mountain to catch the first rays of sunshine upon it. There was no finer cure for torn wings than the healing balm of sunshine. And, there he was, waiting for the sun when Zoomzoomwheresmebroom Tismidnight, who was flying home from a family knees-up, bumped into him with a crash, a bang, and a great big wallop.

Well, like all good Faery Tales, it was love at first sight and they were wed the same day of course. Now, Larkspittle had the gift to see into people’s hearts, so he took the Tweazles to one side and whispered in their ears.

A thousand leagues distant, close to The Black Plain of Broken Dreams, stood the lonely forlorn Lizzybuttann, her once beautiful petals brown and dying, their sweet scent now a rank odour.

Lizzybuttann had fallen in love with Persacktly Twosup who lived near the foothills of the Blue Mountains, and he, she knew, loved her. Knowing their love for each other would be frowned on, she had uprooted herself and left his farm, leaving behind all her love and passion in a single golden acorn. Wearily she had made her way to the Black Plain of Broken Dreams and wasted away, slowly dying of a broken heart.

Now most non-Faery folk would think trees wouldn’t have a heart just like anyone else but they’d be wrong. Anything that lives and loves has a heart of sorts.

Even the Lesser Spotted Psycho Blagwhit (known for its tendency to attack sleeping giants, well they do tend to snore rather loudly) is known for its loving tenderness towards other Blagwhits, especially during the breeding season. Mind you for all its tenderness it tends to get a bit passionate at times, link that with its tendency to short sightedness, deafness and sheer bloody mindlessness during the breeding season, courtship between Blagwhits tends to be a hazardous affair.
Back at the Tweazle’s and Persacktly Twosup was sipping a glass of gloop juice, his eyes misting over as he thought of his beloved Lizzybuttann for the millionth time, ‘I wish, I wish, I wish,’ he thought to himself as hot tears trickled down his cheeks.

The Lizzybuttann’s petals and leaves drifted to the ground as she willed herself to die, when suddenly she felt a soft breeze caress her brittle listless trunk and branches and heard a gentle whisper from far off, ‘I wish, I wish,’ it seemed to say.
Just as she was about to die she saw in her heart her beloved Persacktly’s face. ‘I wish I wish,’ she whispered softly, and then with a sigh she slipped away.

She awoke to the sound of laughter and merriment, it sounded just like the sound of a shindig but how?

‘Where am I, am I dead?’ she asked herself.

‘You are where every loving sacrificing heart deserves to be,’ said the voice of Her Ladyship, ‘Near to your beloved one, now go, be as one.’

The Lizzybuttann rose from the ground and saw to her utter delight her transformation from tree to Faery maiden. With a joyful heart she walked toward the house.

Persacktly was being gently consoled by Septimus when he smelled her unmistakeable scent, the aroma caressed his entire being, she was here, his beloved Lizzybuttann, she was here! He turned towards the doorway as she walked in her face filled with joy and love. The room fell silent as they gazed lovingly at each other, then with a whoop he swept her into his arms and love reigned supreme.

On the mantelpiece the small voice of Her Ladyship whispered, ‘I wish you every happiness beloved ones.’

And so Persacktly Twosup and his beloved Lizzybuttann were married on the Tweazle’s special day, and, guess what? Yep, they lived happily ever after too.


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