All things considered, Elaine did not much fancy herself in the position of a fairy godmother. It had a little too much expectation attached to it - it was a bit too much like being a mentor. But she undoubtedly did enjoy the feeling of smug benevolence that came with being a Bestower of Favors. So it was with checkered feelings that she opened up the wish that she plucked from the tree, and wrinkled up her nose as she read it.

I wish for something beautiful to look at in the park.

Well. Wish granted, as far as she was concerned, since she was standing here - just after getting a fresh salon blowout, no less. She spread her arms and looked at the tree as if to say: done, b***h.

But this was not a very honorable take on the bargain, of course. So she considered it that night while she bathed the dog, her mind wandering away from the trembling and pathetic creature in her sink to the question of whether she had, perhaps, taken on more than she should have. What was she supposed to do, exactly? Should she be - ugh - organizing with people to plant flowers or something? She did enough gardening on the weekends, pulling ivy off a thousand years of neglected castle walls.

She was no artist, so there wouldn’t be any mural-making. Anyway, wouldn’t leaving something in the park just be littering? Was she supposed to go commission an artist? Not that there wasn’t some appeal in the thought of a big brass statue of herself lording it over a suitably scenic pathway, possibly with Petitcru in the crook of her arm, Lady with an Ermine style. If she was ever a millionaire, she thought, maybe she’d start a school of the arts and give a big fat residency bonus to everyone who produced an oil painting of her face. Not that that solved the problem of wish-granting, however. She wrapped the dog up in a towel and still had reached no conclusion that didn’t seem too difficult to reach for.

She had every intention of procrastinating, therefore, until she came home from work the next night and found herself stepping very carefully around rainbows and butterflies childishly chalked onto the sidewalk in front of her apartment. The neighbor must be babysitting again, she thought absently, although she paused for a moment to admire a little goldfish drawn in yellow chalk, circling the gutter downspout.

Ah, she thought with satisfaction. This was one of those rare moments where she was confident that someone else could do a better job than she could. But she’d still have to give them the tools. If she was quick - and she hated going out after work, but maybe this was worth it - she could make it to the store before it closed.

When the sun rose on the park the next day, it rose on a few sidewalks and a playground outfitted with buckets of chalk in every color of the rainbow. And when she found an excuse to stroll through the next evening - in the guise of the Garde - she had to concede that there were things just as nice to look at as herself, at least until it rained again.

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