The Butterbrew Festival is the perfect place for anyone to get lost, whether it be among the clamoring stalls and crowds, or within their own thoughts. It comes as no surprise, then, that Graham found themself again only after stumbling across the well-stocked cheese curd stand. Meandering through one’s own mind as well as the festival can work up an appetite.
They reached out one hand for a greased-up bag with a gold coin in the other before they could truly comprehend how deep into the festival grounds they had gone in search of their friends.
With squeaky fresh curds in hand, they rounded the corner and entered the lane of snack stands, eyes scanning the unfamiliar faces of passersby. With each swivel of their head, they came across pieces of their friends. A blonde mop of hair here, a pealing cry of laughter there, but there was no Aria or Fitzy.
Instead, there was only a looming, fuchsia tent that appeared like a bright pink island in the middle of a churning river of bodies. “Fortunes for Gold” was splayed on a haphazardly hung sign directly over the swaying entrance of beaded strings.
Graham made their way towards the gaudy structure. Festivals were for losing yourself after all, even if it was in the falsities a stranger could sell you.
The smell of incense and patchouli inside the tent was a sharp contrast to the greasy, fried air outside. The woman sitting across from Graham was smiling up at them with a hand already held out in search of payment.
As she began about all of her showmanship, burning a stick of incense and calling out for guidance, Graham sat back and appreciated the show, popping curds into their mouth.
It wasn’t until the woman’s eyes rolled back, and her shoulders slumped that Graham felt alarmed. Reaching out to grab her arm and shake her, they jumped when she gripped their arm instead, whipping her head to face them.
“Before festival’s end, you will be betrayed by that which you love most.”
Graham escaped the tent soon after, not keen to hear any more creepy words of foreboding from the strange woman. Luckily, outside, her sister and best friend were just passing by.
“Graham! Thank Merlin you’re here. You have got to stop abandoning us anytime you get bored of a stall. You know, a lot of these vendors spend years perfecting..” Aria chided them for a while longer, but Graham was just pleased to see something, someone familiar again.
Fitzy merely shook his head, and lifted up the impromptu map they had made on the first day of the festival, pointing out all the best rides they could hit next.
Despite the casual comradery, Graham couldn’t help but think back to the ominous premonition the fortune teller had given. How could either of these two, their closest companions, ever betray them? Why would they? … When?
Their wild train of thought was derailed when they found themselves at the bumper cars, already in line with their friends.
Whipping the miniature vehicles around the track was exhilarating, and the wind rushed into Graham’s lungs as they chased their sister in single-minded sibling rivalry.
Just as they rounded the corner, their peripheral vision caught Fitzy, perfectly perpendicular to them and speeding ahead, just moments before a crash.
But right when Graham thought, This is it! Fitzy whipped left and smashed into Aria instead, successfully pinning her right as the bumper cars ran out of power.
Graham let loose a breath of relief as they clambered out of their car and tugged Fitzy into a bone-crushing hug. Fitzy would not betray them after all. Still, that left Aria, and she was none too pleased after being targeted by her younger sibling and best friend.
They came across what felt like a thousand more stalls, each with their own specialty, and the tension was just starting to seep from Graham’s shoulders when the group ran into Aria’s old secondary school friends.
“Oh my gods, is that you, Aria? You look fantastic!”
After five minutes of squeeing and cooing over one another’s growth, Graham became sullen. After all, they were supposed to be enjoying the festival with just the three of them, and Aria was bound to either invite the newcomers or sweep off with them.
Pouting at what was surely another betrayal incoming, Graham wandered off to the next stall, already grouchy.
Much to their surprise, only a moment later Aria and Fitzy were right by their side, tugging them arm in arm towards the next attraction.
“You’re not off to hang out with them now?”
“We still haven’t done the mirror maze; don’t be absurd.”
The festival had begun to dwindle by the time they made their way into the maze. Some stalls were already packed up, and the line was short enough that they could really feel alone in the contorting chambers.
Twisting each way to see how many of themself they could see stretching into eternity, Graham made faces until their cheeks ached. Only, when they were finished looking foolish, they couldn’t see a single reflection of either Aria or Fitzy.
“Aria?”
There was no chiding response.
“Fitzy, where are you?”
No cackling returned.
So, this was the betrayal then.
They stumbled around, fingers splayed across the mirrors to help determine where they actually were. Despite their best efforts, the mirrors closed in around them, and they found themselves stuck in a box with no clear exit.
“Oi! Are you coming out or what?”
Graham perked up at the sound of Fitzy’s voice.
“You left me behind!” they grumbled out.
“You’re the one who didn’t follow us!” Aria poked back.
With a great deal of both lecturing and laughter, the two of them guided Graham to the exit until they tumbled out into their waiting arms, shaking with relief and their barely controlled giggling.
No betrayal after all, Graham thought to themself privately, enjoying their arms around their very real, non-reflection friends.
Right as they passed the now darkened fuschia tent on their way out, Graham felt a sharp stab in their side. They doubled over, hands clutching their stomach.
Aria and Fitzy quickly knelt to inspect them, but Graham could only squeeze out a “Bathroom!” which sent the three of them running towards the porta potties at the edge of the festival.
Each sprinting step brought them closer to what felt like an explosion, and Graham felt their innards writhing inside of them like discontented snakes.
They slammed into the soonest available stall, and the next half hour was spent bemoaning their existence and their blind consumption of cheese curds.
Their lactose intolerance had caught up to them after all, and the delicious dairy treats made sure that Graham paid the full price of admission.
They could hear Aria and Fitzy losing it at every movement their bowels made, howling with laughter at the aching, ungodly, constipated noises they made while unleashing dairy hell into the toilet.
It was only the sight of the fortune teller, gazing at them in a disquieted but unsurprised manner as she passed by to make her way into the same restroom that made them realize: that which they loved most had betrayed them before festival’s end.
