The sun rose gently over the House of the Hearth, casting a golden glow upon its ever-busy halls and chaotic corners. Children ran amok as usual—some climbing bookshelves like mountains, others chasing a frog wearing a crown through the corridor. The smell of freshly baked bread mingled with the distant hum of enchanted teapots preparing their own brew. All in all, it was a normal day.
At least, it was supposed to be.
But then came Zephyrion.
The Fairy King—trickster, madcap, friend, and sometimes menace—descended upon the House like a sudden gust of wind, quite literally, as he cartwheeled in from the roof, did three flips mid-air, and landed directly on the dining table with a flourish.
"Ahem!" he declared, arms wide. "The moon weeps upon the silver duck, and so I bring tidings from the hill of luck!"
There was a long silence.
One of the children blinked. "...What?"
In the kitchen, Father Hearth, ever stoic and composed, slowly stirred his pot of vegetable stew. "He's still doing it."
From the sitting room, Mother Goose, currently curled up in her reading chair with spectacles on and three children in her lap, looked up with a grimace. "Still? It's been a week."
"A week and a half," Father Hearth corrected, tasting the broth.
Mother Goose sighed dramatically and stood up, gently shooing the children off her skirt. She marched toward the dining room, arms crossed, and found Zephyrion standing on the table, balancing a pear on his head and singing to it like it was a long-lost lover.
"Zephyrion," she said slowly, "Are you still rhyming?"
Zephyrion spun, posed dramatically, and proclaimed:
"Speak not harsh, O feathered dame,
For mushrooms whisper in my brain!
To speak in riddles is now my game—
Until the clouds return the rain!"
Mother Goose massaged her temple. "What clouds? What rain? What mushrooms?"
Father Hearth entered, ladle still in hand. "He found a glowing mushroom in the forest. It sparkled."
"And he ate it?"
"He said it 'sang to him.'"
Zephyrion clapped once and danced in place.
"T'was a song like bells in bloom,
In a meadow free of gloom,
So I bit the mushroom's cap,
Now I rhyme and rhyme and yap!"
A nearby chair let out a loud squeak as it tried to roll away on its own.
Mother Goose turned to Father Hearth. "Did you try to cure him?"
"I did. He spit out my herbal tea and declared me a 'serpent of steamed lies.'"
"I'm going to throw him out the window."
"I tried that too," Father Hearth muttered. "He bounced back like a rubber ball."
Zephyrion skipped toward the chandelier, which somehow lowered to meet him halfway. He dangled upside-down like a bat and pointed dramatically toward the sky.
"The stars blink thrice and then they cry,
But I, the wind, shall never die!
My wings may flutter, my sense may flee,
But riddles! Riddles! Stay with me!"
A group of children watching nearby burst into applause, thinking it was a play. One shouted, "Again! Again!"
"No!" Mother Goose snapped, throwing her arms up.
Father Hearth sighed deeply and moved to catch a falling plate before it shattered.
"Alright, that's enough," Mother Goose declared, stomping toward Zephyrion.
The Fairy King twisted out of her grasp.
"Beware the goose with burning eyes,
She plots my end 'neath honeyed lies!"
She chased him into the library.
"Get back here so I can strangle you with your own wings!"
"Strangle me not! My heart is pure,
Though my speech is quite obscure!
Feathers, forests, fog, and fate—
Why do spoons procrastinate?"
Father Hearth entered the library, leaned against the doorframe, and watched Mother Goose tackle Zephyrion into a beanbag. She sat on him to keep him still.
He sipped his tea.
"They say this will wear off."
"Who says?" she huffed.
"The mushroom. It left a note."
Mother Goose turned, squinting. "Excuse me?"
Father Hearth reached into his robe and pulled out a very tiny leaf with glowing ink.
Written in swirly letters, it said:
"Side effects include: whimsical speech, compulsive rhyming, riddle addiction, and spontaneous dance battles. Duration: one lunar cycle."
Mother Goose stared at the note, then at Zephyrion, who had not stopped grinning upside-down.
"I hear your thoughts and they are loud,
But I shall not wear a mushroom shroud!"
"Oh, by the winds and wings," she groaned.
"You love him," Father Hearth said.
"I tolerate him."
"That's love, in your case."
"Ah-ha!" Zephyrion cried, springing upright despite Mother Goose's hold. "Let the wind carry me to breakfast!"
"You already ate breakfast!"
"Then let me dance upon second toast!"
He twirled into the hallway.
The wall clock turned into a chicken in protest and walked away.
Mother Goose looked skyward. "Why?"
"Because he's your friend," Father Hearth replied.
She grumbled but didn't deny it.
From the hallway, Zephyrion's voice echoed:
"A tale of three—a flame, a feather,
And one lost deep in mushroom weather!"
The door slammed as he exited.
A moment passed.
Then—
Boom.
A distant explosion. One of the trees outside bloomed upside-down.
Mother Goose sat down on the floor and placed her face in her hands.
"...How many more days until the lunar cycle ends?"
Father Hearth checked the calendar. "Five."
A beat.
"I'll grab the wine," she muttered.
"Already chilled," he replied.
And the House of the Hearth continued—chaotic, magical, and forever unable to have a quiet week when the Fairy King Zephyrion was involved.