Free How I Found the Perfect Dress by Maryrose Wood Page B

and princesslike, the way it had been the last time someone called me Morganne.
    â€œWait,” I said. “In Ireland, I was either Morgan or Morganne. Right now I seem to be both. What gives?”
    â€œMorgan, Morganne, hair, no hair. You place so much importance on externals! And spelling ! Never my best subject.” He giggled, which made his feathers shake. “That little boy from the farmhouse saw you as you really are, though, never fear.” Then he frowned. “But your outfit does need—something. Would you like to wear the chicken head?”
    â€œNo, thanks.” He seemed disappointed. “Listen, Finnbar.” I tried to sound friendly. “I would love to hang out with you and catch up. First, though, I need you to tell me what’s been happening to my friend Colin.”
    â€œBut you did want a beverage, didn’t you?” said a tall, very thin woman, gliding up to us. She was dressed exactly like the milkmaid in the animatronic band at Lucky Lou’s, except with too much makeup and a serious case of scary Botox face. Kind of like Mrs. Blainsvoort. “I thought that’s why you came!”
    Before I could reply, the woman handed me a tall, steaming Lucky Lou’s to-go cup. “Your latte, my dear. Two shots, extra foam. Just the way you like it.”
    â€œOh no,” Finnbar muttered. “It’s Mum.”
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    â€œWe’ve never had a ball With a produce theme before,” the woman remarked, as she led us over to the buffet. The food was laid out on the far side of the clearing, on tables made of enormous tree stumps. “It’s so rustic ! Don’t you love it?”
    A pair of faeries dressed as cantaloupes attempted to waltz past us, but with their round melon bellies they could barely reach each other’s hands. “Granted, some of the outfits are not perfectly suitable for dancing. But don’t they look delicious? I hope you don’t mind the recorded music,” she added slyly. “This DJ leaves something to be desired, but our usual musicians were already engaged for the evening.”
    â€œI don’t care about the music,” I said. “But who are you?”
    Finnbar started to giggle again, as if I’d just said the funniest thing in the world. His mother shushed him with a glance.
    â€œSilly Morganne,” she said. “I’m—”
    â€œQueen Titania!” A pint of strawberries wearing a dangling tag marked “organic” ran over to us. “May I borrow your delightful guest for a dance?” The strawberries held out a hand to me. “Unless you’re prone to rashes? Some people find me an allergen, but it’s completely unintentional, I assure you.”
    â€œMaybe after I finish my coffee,” I said, gesturing with my cup. I had no interest in dancing; I just wanted to get the Faery Folk to lay off Colin. But I knew it was best to be diplomatic with these magical types.
    â€œYes, come back shortly, dear Berrywinkle,” said the queen. “The poor girl hasn’t even eaten yet. Finnbar, fix Morganne a plate.”
    Finnbar moved to obey, but his hands were still trapped inside his costume’s floppy chicken wings. “Next time, can we please have a sit-down dinner?” he grumbled. “Buffets can be so difficult.”
    â€œI can help myself,” I said, but when I looked at the food I completely lost my appetite. The trays were filled with tiny people, dressed in tuxedos and ball gowns and all creepily realistic. The more I looked, the more I was afraid I would recognize some of them.
    â€œThey’re made of marzipan,” Finnbar explained. “Since the guests are dressed as food, Mother thought the food ought to be dressed as guests.”
    â€œIt was my idea!” said the queen, proudly.
    â€œThat’s fascinating,” I said, turning away from the buffet before I got sick. “It’s a lovely