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“You wound me.” Every clutches his chest like a drama major in a historical play.

But he’s not serious this time. A small smile plays on his light peach lips, stretching two cute little dimples from his cheeks, damp with precipitation.

He sweats even on this cold day, where even the bright ball of fire in the sky is dimmed—only one sunny side-up yellow ball, unlike the scenario in Lily’s awful dream—in the morning sky. His sometimes-dark-sometimes-light hair and eyes glint in the overcast shadow. Actually, his hair pigments are a harmonious mix between the two, like the mix of Yin and Yang, with blonde strands sifted through the darker mahogany-brown ones and vise versa.

And even though the wintry morning is quite chilly, the warlord’s folks have all removed their coats, running around nearly bare-assed in only their loincloths. Understandable, since from Lily’s personal experience, their home planet of Pluto is colder than this can ever be.

A few of them accidentally flashed Kolyan, according to what the enforcer reported to Every, his boss, who then told the information to Lily, his girl.

They have all come to an assembly in the fields between the mouse camps and the front gates of the city, a location Lily and Queeny, pretty much the two matriarchs of the city at the moment, chose as the location for their battlefield. All because the colorful twisted candy gates with oversized sprinkles felt like a good background.

The rest of the armies gathered, as well as Fernando’s rodent one, would just have to go along with it.

And here they are now, with the right partition of their clutters consisting of their friendly ice planet buddies and the left consisting of pretty much everyone else. All warriors chit-chatting freely, strolling around as if they are not preparing to fight mice and mutated mice men, but rather getting ready to dance the night away and shake their asses off at Coachella.

How unserious.

It goes quite well with the vibe of the leaders, though.

And pretty much the whole vibe of the novel.

And that needs to be put to a stop: can’t have all tough-bro soldiers rapping while a war is raging.

“Shut up, y’all,” the self-appointed herald, the one and only Queeny Darling, yells out, her sharp voice amplified by megaphone, feeling like Gandalf the Grey in The Return Of The King. She is even wearing a robe, though she switched out the white, pacifist-hermit style one for a skin-tight, multicolored leather one. So more like Saruman, then. Her nutcracker knights are in various states of biker leather vests—sprayed with rainbow colors this time, mind you—to raise their spirits in such a gloomy wartime.

After all, Fairyland had never experienced conflict with any group in the last three hundred years, ever since the time of Clara and the Nutcracker prince, when they fought for five seconds, maximum. They have ever since held their peace, remaining pretty much isolated from the real world.

And a minute after Lily rises as a fairy queen—actually, before she even takes up the official title—war erupts.

Just her luck.

As for Lily, she stands on the snowy ground beside her newfound friend—not really a friend yet, but at least they are now amicable—in khaki shorts because she’s from an all-year warm town and is pretty much allergic to wearing anything longer than knee-length. It’s paired with thigh-high combat boots because it is wartime, and a corset lace-up hoodie instead of an oversized one to show just how serious she is with the whole situation.

Still a hoodie, though, because she would not forget that she was, still is, and will forever be a cringe Y/N stereotype girl. She may be an upgraded version of her old self in more dope outfits, but in her heart, she still is the same old awkward, broke girl, one who is not like the other girls.

As for the army, which may have been neglected a little too long for the sake of filling the readers on the latest battlefield runaway fashion, they are now quiet and still.

From just a short, half-hearted command from the herald-slash-regent.

So she continues. “This is just a pre-battle prep-talk to warm the hearts of y’all up for our forthcoming event. To sum the long-ass script up, it basically tells y’all to think of it as one big fat obstacle race, but life-or-death type shit. Stay strong, stay brave, and stay hot in the sun that is melting even our chocolate glaciers into rivers. Get a tan, and good luck.”

She might be a little too chill for the sorry plight they are in, but that’s simply who she is.

Lily-girl, her still-uncrowned queen, gives a small smile.

Cheers of prowess and claps of asses rise from the whole array before them, probably since the megaphone is muzzy and the warriors can’t understand the exact words. Or else Lily would have to deal with a whole commotion revolting against her too, on top of the whole rodent invasion already going on. They totally will, once they realize what imbeciles their leaders actually are, having such smooth brainwaves under their thick skulls.

She beams brightly at the crowd, having never been this recognized and famous once in her short, bland life. It is like a rally, but without political sponsorship. Actually, there is, but with an awkward, stuttering small-town girl called Lily as their politician sponsor.

So that doesn’t count.

“Why’d you sleep so early last night?” Queeny makes some casual small talk with her despite the stress brewing like a cold beer.

She turns to Queeny, by her side. “I was preparing for the big day today, if you understand me.”

“I do, girl.”

Then she turns back to the crowd. “We should take off now, hun? Before the crowd goes out of control again.”