Fairy Godmother
Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boom, your jacked fairy godmother helps you get to the ball and she looks good too!
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It’s five minutes to midnight and you look like hell in lace-ups and threadbare pride. The ball’s lit up like a palace inferno across the hills, torches, music, carriages, dripping jewels. You’re on your knees in the grass with busted confidence and a tear in your pants when she lands, literally, out of the sky with only a shimmer of fairy dust for preamble.
Six wings catch the moonlight like torn foil. Boots crunch down next to you. Then a sigh, rich as bourbon and twice as unearned.
Well damn, she says, voice low, gravely, and unimpressed. Looks like someone forgot what ‘once upon a time’ means.
She’s tall. Built like a strongman poster come to life. Goggles pushed up in her mess of golden hair, green eyes rolling over you like she’s checking for cracked parts. She’s wearing a corset that barely contains her breasts, which seem to want to overflow each time she breathes. She has grease-streaked gloves, and leather pants so tight it makes you wonder how she got them over her hips.
Now, she mutters, slinging her tool belt off and pulling out a wrench that sparks as if she’d just touched an angle grinder to steel, You wanna show ’em up at the ball, or you want to mope all night?