Croissant crumbs speckled the busy pattern of Marilyn’s floral print shirt. She brushed them away just as Penn’s enchanted mirror gave out the dim glow that indicated it had established a bond. Marilyn quadruple checked that her reflection, the image her mothers would see in their own mirror once the bond solidified, cut off in just the right place to hide her missing antler.

Staring at herself made Marilyn uncomfortable. It brought to mind advice from Morris’s pamphlets: Draw a smiley face on your bathroom mirror where your reflection should be. It’s imperative for your morale that you don’t look as bad as you feel. She snorted just as her image was replaced by that of Momma B and Momma G.

“Hi baby!” Momma B yelled.

Momma G waved both hands, her bracelets rattling against each other. “Hi!”

“It’s so good to see you!” Marilyn pressed her hands together in a small, hidden simulation of a hug. “It’s been too long.”

“How are you feeling?” Momma B asked.

“I’m ok! I promise! Actually, I have really good news.” In spite of this, Marilyn’s stomach fluttered with nervous energy. “Remember what I told you about my velvet shedding and what the healers said?”

“You’re doing so great, baby.”

Momma G added, “You look like a badass.” Her soft, sweet voice wrapped around the word badass was incredibly endearing.

“Aw haha, I doubt that! Okay, well, things are happening faster than I thought. The reason we had to cancel on you is… One of my antlers shed this morning.”

“What!” The Mommas cried in unison.

Marilyn tilted her head so that her missing antler would now be visible. She picked up her shed antler and held it high for them to see. Her mothers gasped; Momma B clapped and Momma G got so close to the mirror it looked as though she meant to climb through it.

“It doesn’t hurt?” Momma G asked, making every effort to tone down her worry. Her sweet Marilyn had had enough worry for three lifetimes.

“No, not at all.”

Momma B pulled her wife back from the mirror gently. She, too, was taken aback, but she saw how badly Mari wanted this to be good news. She could give her daughter that much. “We're so proud of you.”

Penn walked in with the cookies and croissants on a pink platter, cocking their head to ask whether it was okay to join. Relieved, Marilyn waved them over.

“Hi Mommas!” They stuffed their fifth cookie of the day into their mouth.

Marilyn’s mothers fawned over Penn long enough for her to regain her footing. Telling them hadn’t been as hard as she’d feared, but the nervous energy remained. She said, “I’ll come to see you for real very soon. I just needed a little rest today.” Though that hadn’t originally been the reason, it was certainly true enough.

Momma B assured her, “You take all the time you need. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Well,” Momma G laughed, “we are, but that’s just for a week.”

“How fun!” Marilyn asked, “Are you taking a trip?”

“Did we forget to tell you?” Momma G wrapped an arm around Momma B. “Tomorrow’s the thirty-fifth anniversary of Bella asking me out. We’re going camping.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“I hope you have a wonderful time!” Marilyn ran a hand through her hair in a bid to subtly check her antler stump. Still there, still painless, nothing changing or growing back. There was every chance her other antler would be gone by the time her moms got back from camping.

It would be the topic of every conversation for a while, as her antlers and her health had always been. But what about after? When she called or visited her moms, wouldn’t they ask her how she’d been without looking afraid they knew the answer? And then they’d talk about something else. Marilyn hardly knew what people talked about anymore when they weren’t navigating minefields of bad news, insufficient words of comfort, and half-believed hopes for the future.

Momma B might share her new recipes and Momma G could show off her latest thrift store find. Maybe they’d ask her what kind of art she’d been working on, and who knew— maybe Marilyn would have an answer.

Her art. She’d made nothing since graduating. Her antlers, she found, had set certain expectations. People wanted her to make art about the struggle of living with them, or about defiant optimism in spite of them, or about taboo acceptance of them. Anything, everything about them.

Marilyn wanted to paint nature. Foxes calling to their families in the dusk. Sweet ferns climbing low hills in the dawn. Shelf fungi on fallen trees. She wanted to love the world around her without overhearing, “She’s practically an animal herself!”

“You should get some rest, baby,” Momma B brought her back to the moment.

“I’m sorry! I’m fine, I just lost track of my thoughts for a second.”

Penn put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s not a bad idea.”

Marilyn gave a pained smile, nodded, and promised, “I’ll see you when you get back.”

They exchanged all of their love-yous and well wishes as Penn began piling throw blankets on the sofa. When the mirror blinked back to a reflective surface, Marilyn admitted to herself that a nap was all she wanted in the world.

“Stay with me?” Penn asked, as though she would be the one doing them a favor.

“I won’t be in your way?”

“Never. Anyway, I have some research to do, and you know I can’t read alone to save my life.”

“Research?”

With an embarrassed smile, Penn told her, “I think I know what my next project might be. Um, I hope this isn’t too weird…”

She waited out the silence and the flush in their cheeks, captivated by Penn’s sudden reticence. They hadn’t been emotionally invested enough in an art piece to be bashful about it in years.

They said, “I wanted to try to make something with your antler, if you’ll let me.” Penn covered their face with both hands. They'd wanted to sound supportive and sweet, but felt mortified with worry that they'd crossed a line. “Goddess, this is too weird, what am I saying?”

“I love that idea!”

“Really?” Penn met her eyes. “You’re not just saying that?”

“It’s all yours.” Marilyn settled in among the many layers of blanket on Penn’s couch. “You can have the other one when it sheds, too. I can’t think of a better way to let them go.”

Spreading a final blanket over her, Penn said, “I’ll take good care of it. Promise.”

***

Marilyn stirred in the dark, trying to make sense of when and where she was. The leaf-shaped pillow under her head reminded her: she’d fallen asleep at Penn’s house. A jolt of panic pushed her away from the pillow. Worried she’d accidentally torn it with her antlers, Marilyn grabbed a nearby nightlight charm and inspected her surroundings. No harm done. She hadn’t been sleeping on her antler side, of course. As her mind caught up with her, she remembered thinking how much easier it had been to make herself comfortable without shifting every which way to account for her antler. Marilyn leaned back into the couch with relief.

She let herself wonder what other inconveniences she would soon leave behind. She’d never struggle to get through doorways; people would trust her, be kind to her, let her be kind to them; without any antlers at all, people might assume she wasn’t even a child of the Stagmother, but a visitor from elsewhere. A stranger.

One day, she wouldn’t even remember how things used to be. She’d keep studying and working hard, maybe find a job at a specialized disenchantment studio. She could move out of the mildewy basement and get a nice apartment closer to Penn. They’d visit museums and coffee shops and bookstores together. She would paint wild hares while Penn carved statuettes. Dating had never really appealed to Marilyn, anyway, but the option would certainly be more open to her if the interest ever developed. Mostly she just wanted to live in a warm, dry home, eat pleasant foods, and spend time with friends.

She got up from the couch and stepped quietly over to the enchanted mirror. This time, she positioned herself so that her remaining antler was out of sight.

This was her. The person she would become.

It hardly looked like Marilyn at all.