Masabel

Masabel (I ship it)

by Sarah Thompson

Isabel had seen him from afar. He grinned upon seeing her figurine form and rushed over to take a picture.

He’s… different. His blonde hair and brown eyes were similar to many a customer she had seen before, but he felt… off from all the others. Her arm almost ached again as she tried to look up at him- and failed.

Unmovable, ancient, and a relic, that was Isabel. And all she had done was wish for true love.

One night, she had been walking about in the enchanted woods of the Elderberry gardens, when all of a sudden, a witch had jumped out.

The witch was really actually kind- despite her ruined nose and gnarled fingers, she wasn’t completely horrible. Which is why it was a surprise when the witch cursed both herself and Isabel.

The two had been by the cliffside and had gotten into a fight. The witch had become enraged and cast a horrible spell upon Isabel- and herself, by accident.

Being on the edge of the cliff, she had tipped over, and to keep Isabel from moving, she had cast a spell on her, turning her wooden, cursing her forever to be a small creature. What she had added had horrified Isabel the most.

‘Naught a step or a bend ‘til love’s touch of hand.’ Isabel could hear her words and the terrifying feeling of losing all sense in her body came back to her. If she could’ve shuddered, she would have, but no movement befell the girl.

The boy who had come in was- simply put- amazingly… amazing. His eyes were almost brown- but there were little flecks of green in them and rings of gold around the pupils. They were bright and lively as if he were excited to come into the antique store where Isabel lived.

His hair was curly- at least slightly so- and he looked like a knight out of Isabel’s own time. His golden mane came down to about his shoulders- much longer, Isabel reasoned, than she had seen any man’s in centuries, as the ones that often came into the shop had disgustingly short hair, almost always with glasses on their noses and silly checkered shirts on. And they were old. Grossly old.

The boy caught sight of Isabel almost immediately, and got down to eye level with her, inspecting her statued self. Isabel found herself blushing, and was sure the boy could see some pink tint on the wood.

He picked her up gently, before taking out a phone- one of the new devices of the time, Isabel had learned- and holding her up in front of the window.

Terrible lighting, Isabel thought distastefully, but rather forcefully kept the thought to herself.

Finally, once the boy had taken a picture of the fair maiden, he put her down, her wooden pedestal clunking firmly against the shelf she had stayed and gathered dust on.

“Eh, boy, what’re yeh lookin’ at there?” The collector’s accent made Isabel unnecessarily hide a smile. You’re the one who polished me, she thought, attempting, once again, to move her head to look up at the elderly man. His grayish hairs were combed back neatly and a copper monocule sat comfortably on the bridge of his large, flat, nose.

“Nothing much,” said the boy with a shrug. “I gotta get a thing for a reference for my art class, though.” He sighed. “Soap carving.”

“Again?” asked the Collector, raising one of his animated eyebrows that constantly moved when he spoke. “Yeh’ve been doin’ this since ferst grade, Mason!”

Mason… thought Isabel, the name soft in her mind. She liked it. It suited the boy, anyway.

“I know, I know…” he trailed off. “Mr. Gorson just decided he liked soap carving, I guess.”

The Collector gave one of his laughs, a harsh, grating, thing, so unlike everything else about him. From his potbelly to the constant whiskers on his chin, he was the very image of softness.

Mason sighed, brushing a shock of hair from his face.

Merlins beard! He’s adorable!

He picked Isabel up once again, examining her pedestal, holding it upside down and scrutinizing the bottom of her stand. Um, hello!? I’m right here!?

Isabel would’ve wiggled, but she was, alas, a statue. The Collector snatched Isabel from Mason’s hands. “Don’t hold ‘er upside down!” he exclaimed, patting Isabel’s head with one of his large, uncalloused, fingers.

Mason held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay–”

“‘Sides, they say she’s alive,” the Collector spoke, conspirational.

“Do they?” Mason wasn’t convinced.

“Sure they do. They say soulmates exist too, though… ha!” He started back to his desk.

“But they do exist..?” Mason said, confused, following the Collector to the back of the store where he often worked. “My friend Luke’s girlfriend was his…” he trailed off, looking back to the statue. He came back over, tilting his head as he once again got to eye level.

Isabel could clearly see his eyes now. They were bright and brown- almost. A warm, earthy, colour, only brightened up some, with little flecks of green. Gold rimmed his irises, and she thought she could see forever flash for an instant in his eyes.

“Hello, statue,” he whispered, the Collector having disappeared through the back door of his shop, going to clean something. “Are you one of those mythic princesses from the fairies?”

Isabel tried to shake her head, no, but she could not. For, once again, alas, she was a statue. Mason frowned a little bit, the corners of his mouth flipping downward as he got no response.

Rabbits and antelopes! Isabel thought in excitement as he picked her up again. He’s strong! And he has dimples!

He turned Isabel around, examining it. The folds in her dress were intricate, and no person could’ve carved such a thing.

“... hm,” he said, putting her down once again. He tilted his head, then stretched a finger out to her outstretched hand, making a “pew” -ing sound with his mouth as he swept it downward on her palm, a little smile at his high-fiving crossing his face.

That was when Isabel found she could feel her legs, and a smile crept onto her face.

Mason was not looking. He started off to the door, waving bye to the Collector before Isabel made herself known.

In her most powerful voice Isabel could summon up from four hundred years of silence, she shouted, “MASON!”

Mason whirled around, eyes wide. “I-,” upon seeing the tiny, talking, human, his jaw dropped open.

“You’re… real!” His hazel eyes were wide, surprise on his face. The dimples were gone, replaced with an expression of total shock.

“Yes, I’m real!” squeaked Isabel, voice frosty from not speaking. She looked down at her now normal dress. “And apparently that witch of a woman didn’t change me back to full size! The nerve!”

Mason did not say anything for a moment, giving Isabel a once-over. The Collector came over with his long, wooden, pipe, puffing on it, looking at Isabel curiously.

“And what might your name be, little lady?”

“Princess Isabel of Elderberry,” she gave a curtsy. “How do you do?”

The Collector’s odd, blue, eyes glistened with happiness at his statue’s talking to him. “Very well, thank you! I suppose this means you’re off the table for selling… hm, yes, that would make sense I suppose.” Huff, huff, huff.

“I- I can’t be your soulmate-” Mason said hurriedly, stepping back some.

“Why not? Of course, you are! The child was awakened, you must be her soulmate, boy!”

Mason frowned at this explanation. “Natalie is going to be so ticked off.”

Isabel sighed. “I really don’t have anywhere else to go, Mason. I’ve been frozen in time as a wooden log for four hundred years.”

Mason thought. And thought. And thought. Finally, his phone ding-donged, and he took it out, pressing a button on it. The Collector picked Isabel up gently, holding her in his hands so that she could see the screen.

“Hey, Na–” the girl cut Mason off, giving him a smug look.

“Babe. Oh my gosh. I just found out who my soulmate is.”

Mason frowned a little bit, the dimples coming back. Caesar’s ghost, he’s a. dor. a. ble.

“You what?” his smile had completely faded from his face, a disappointed look replacing it.

“Yeah! Y’know that singer, Lil’ Greek?”

“Yes- you won’t stop talking about him-”

“I met him today! In the coffee shop!” Mason glanced over to the tiny Isabel. “And I felt the buzz!”

Isabel raised a brow. She had felt something like vibrations pass over her when Mason touched her hand. Mason was silent for a solid fifteen seconds.

“I thought… you told me you felt that with me?”

Natalie at least had the decency to look sheepish, and Isabel put her hands on her hips, giving her a brow raise. Of course, she couldn’t see Isabel’s defiant brow raise, but at least she was doing it.

“Um. Well, I thought I felt it, at least…” she trailed off. Isabel leapt from the Collector’s hands and onto Mason’s shoulder. The boy jumped slightly, but Isabel grabbed onto his sweatshirt tightly.

“Listen here, lady!” she said angrily, Natalie’s face going into total shock. “You lied! And I know you did and you do too-” Natalie had in fact lied, and she frowned a little, the sheepish expression coming back “-and now that you have a soulmate, leave Mason alone!”

Mason was quite surprised by this but secretly agreed with Isabel. “Right…” he trailed off, looking at the screen.

Natalie glared at the two from wherever she was. “Well, fine. Have fun with your jock, fae-dy.”

Isabel was thoroughly annoyed by this, and as Mason shut off the call, he looked to the small lady on his shoulder.

“Wellllll…” he trailed off once again.

“Well?” asked Isabel, chin on her hand, glaring out the window.

“Maybe we could go for… tea sometime?”

Isabel looked up to her soulmate, the familiar buzzing sensation coming back as she thought about the boy.

“I’d like that…” she trailed off, a small flame of hope igniting in her heart.