The streets outside the House of the Hearth were warm with sunlight, the kind of day that seemed blessed by summer itself. Father Hearth and Mother Goose had decided to take a walk—a rare moment of peace carved out of their chaotic lives. Back at the house, Gunther and Gideon had been left to "hold down the fort," which was a polite way of saying they were doomed to endure the children's chaos.
Mother Goose was in high spirits—or rather, her usual expressive mix of animated frustration and exasperated joy. She waved her arms as she walked, ranting dramatically about an incident just a few days prior.
"And then—then, if you can believe it—Zephyrion cartwheels into the room, throws a handful of leaves into my face, and manages to spill a barrel of glitter all over me! Glitter, Hearth! Do you know how long it takes to wash glitter out of feathers? Out of hair? I'm still sparkling in the moonlight like some enchanted disco ball!"
Father Hearth, hands clasped behind his back as always, gave a stoic nod. "I can imagine."
"You cannot! You weren't the one scrubbing leaves out of places leaves should never be!"
Unbeknownst to her, while she stomped down the dirt path and gestured wildly to emphasize her point, a pack of monstrous beasts had appeared on the road ahead. Their snarls echoed through the trees, sharp teeth bared, claws ready to strike.
Mother Goose didn't miss a beat. She swung her hand in an exasperated flourish and backhanded one creature straight into a tree. Another lunged, only to be punted twenty feet into the air by the casual stomp of her heel as she groaned about Zephyrion's antics.
"I mean, really—who cartwheels into someone else's home? Who thinks, 'Ah yes, this room needs MORE glitter'?!"
A monster the size of a cart lunged from the side. Without glancing, she jabbed her elbow backward, shattering its jaw and sending it spinning into a bush. Another tried to pounce, but with a dismissive flick of her wrist, she conjured a burst of force that flattened it into the ground.
Father Hearth, walking calmly at her side, adjusted his sleeve and sidestepped the bits of monster raining down like grotesque confetti. His expression remained serene, as though nothing unusual were happening. "He is the Fairy King," he said quietly. "One should expect… unpredictability."
"Unpredictable, yes," Mother Goose continued, throwing her hands in the air, which conveniently sent another creature flying down the road. "But glitter? It's been DAYS and I swear I still sparkle when I sneeze!"
Behind them, a group of adventurers had frozen mid-step. They had been preparing for battle the moment the monsters appeared, blades drawn, spells at the ready—but by the time they arrived, the "battle" was over.
The ground was littered with groaning beasts, some embedded in trees, others flattened into the dirt. And all of it had been done casually, without even a pause in conversation.
The adventurers stood slack-jawed, their weapons lowering slowly. One muttered, "…We trained for years. Years. And she—she wasn't even looking."
Another rubbed his eyes, certain he was hallucinating. "She's… just talking about glitter… and—did she just elbow that thing into dust?!"
The youngest of the group whispered, half in awe, half in despair: "Are we… bad adventurers?"
Mother Goose finally paused mid-rant, smoothing her skirts and taking a dramatic breath. "Anyway, that's why I've banned cartwheels, barrels, and leaves inside the house for the next month."
Father Hearth simply hummed. "Prudent."
They walked on, leaving behind a trail of destruction and a band of bewildered adventurers who questioned not just their own skill—but their entire career choice.
One finally said, "…Let's go back to the guild. I need to… rethink my life."
And with that, the "monster encounter" was over before it had ever truly begun—buried under Mother Goose's fury at glitter.