Mr. Kelt's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Mr. Kelt had one rule at the matchmaking festival: never bow. He was a small, hunched Munchkin in a patched blue coat and a lopsided top hat, and every deep bow he had ever made ended the same shameful way. A loud fart. Every time. So he stood stiff beneath the opal trees, chin up, hoping to find love before his own body ruined him. He lived alone inside a giant purple flower, its pointed petals folded shut each night. He wanted a wife to unfold those petals with. He wanted someone who might cure the curse that struck whenever he greeted a stranger. Love, he believed, could fix him. So he came to the festival with a clenched jaw and a straight back. The grove glowed around him. Golden marshmallows hung from chocolate leaves, and the opal trunks shimmered like jewels. Couples strolled below the sweet branches. Mr. Kelt kept his hands pressed to his sides and nodded at everyone. A nod was safe. A nod made no sound. Then she landed. A tiny fairy drifted down from the highest chocolate leaf. Her head was shaped like an acorn, brown and delicate, and her wings caught the opal light. She reached for a golden marshmallow, missed, and laughed at herself. Mr. Kelt forgot his rule at once. She was the most beautiful thing in the grove. "You'll never reach it standing there," she called down. "Come help a lady, sir." His heart pounded. His legs moved before his brain could stop them. He walked to her, removed his lopsided hat, and did the one thing he had sworn not to do. He bowed. Deep. Grand. The kind of bow a gentleman gives the lady he means to marry. The sound cracked through the quiet grove like a snapped branch. Long. Wet. Impossible to hide. Marshmallows trembled on their stems. A nearby couple turned and stared. Mr. Kelt froze, bent double, his face burning red beneath the sweet trees. He waited for her laugh. For her to fly away in disgust, the way he always imagined. But the acorn fairy only tilted her head. "Was that hello?" she asked. Then she grinned. "Rude of the grove not to warn me you speak so boldly." He straightened slowly. She was still smiling. She was still there. "I'm sorry," he stammered. "It happens whenever I bow. Always." "Then don't bow," she said, landing lightly on his shoulder. "Walk me through the trees instead. I'm Acorn Sprig." He had come to the festival to hide his affliction. Instead he had shown it to the loveliest lady in Shalalaland, and she had stayed. The curse was still with him. But for the first time, someone had not run. Mr. Kelt put his hat back on and walked. His secret was out now, and there was no taking it back.