It was springtime in Quirinius—a time of great love, joy, and peace, a time of planting, dancing, and enjoying life, with fun had by all.
Except Quiverus.
Quiverus was sitting in a small corner by the pool, quivering, while everyone else enjoyed the sunshine.
Quiverus had a decision to make, and he didn’t want it to be unjust—he wanted it to be jolly.
He wanted it to make people happy, and make himself popular, and have a parade go down main street singing praises about what a good governor he was, and what wonderful decisions he made in order to help his people.
But alas, none of that was going to happen.
Because of this dreadful curse, that he didn’t know how to break.
It had happened 10 years ago, when first he had set his eyes on the office of governor.
No one knew about his secret desire to rule the land and bring peace to all—
No one except the evil fairy, Mauvais (“Mo-VAY.” It’s French for bad.).
Whoa whoa whoa! Who would be foolish enough to get on an evil fairy’s bad side?
Well, it’s actually a bit worse than that—he was actually his best friend.
Whoopsie.
Eh, high school is rough. How many of you can say you never brushed shoulders with an evil fairy without at least feeling sorry for him?
Eh, there. You see? No one.
Anyhow, yeah. They were high school besties.
And then college besties.
And then work force besties.
It was really a sweet and beautiful thing to watch.
…the problem with being besties with an evil fairy is that sometimes you outgrow them.
You grow up and realize all the shenanigans you used to get up to weren’t cute and silly. They were mean. And your best friend isn’t really a friendly little wood sprite like he told you—he’s actually an evil fairy. And he’s next in line to succeed the throne in the dark realm of Grimdoor.
Whoopsie.
Like so many lifelong friends do these days, they had a falling out. Quiverus used some very strongly worded language to hurt Mauvais’ feelings. In kind, Mauvais saw to it that if he ever managed to become governor, he would never truly achieve his dreams of bringing peace to the realm. Instead, he cursed him to not only never give a just ruling, but also to never be able to tell anyone about it.
Rude, I know.
From that point on, Quiverus quivered more than usual. His eyes were sadder than usual. His gait was heavier than usual. But within the next five years he was proclaimed governor of the realm, and everyone just assumed it came with the territory. Never thought to ask him to blink twice if he needed help—not even his therapist. She had worked with him a long time, and she really should’ve picked up on something like that.
Now Quiverus had to figure out how to rule his beloved people while under such a terrible curse—and also figure out how to break the curse—without ever telling anyone what the problem was in the first place.
Have you ever tried to get help without first defining the problem?
It’s hard.
Nearly impossible.
But Quiverus was governor, and this was absolutely within his pay grade.
And so, late at night, when he was done governing, and the rest of the palace had gone to sleep, he began to search the arcane annals. He hoped that at some point his search would uncover some trace of ancient magic, that might eventually be able to set him free.
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