what will your mummy sing when they find your body?; Any

[Wonka]

I'm fancy asf.

“Pleased to meet you, too, log lady!” She had beamed back then, all smiles and joy. It never occured to her to question how Epithet might have known her name. Maybe she just looked like a Wonka. She had always felt very Wonka-y, just like Varuca seemed very Varuca-y and Mother was very Motherly—why else would she have all of those children? She was so nice that stallions kept coming back just to give her more and more. Ahem. Her conversation with Epithet went much the same as all the others did. They exchanged names, pleasantries, said a few kind words that Spink and Venge would rave about in their posts for the remainder of their lives—

“After all this time?”

“Always,” said Snape.

And then they parted ways.

The years went on.

Wonka grew up a little awkward, but none worse for the wear. She wasn’t ugly or anything, no sir. Just sort of average. Though her life was plagued with the occasional accident and/or ’incident’ that tended to drive everyone off because she was clearly freaking cursed or something—she’d fallen into snakepits, been repeatedly swarmed by robins, caught malaria, savagely attacked by a group of squirrels and just last summer a school of angry goldfish had tried to drown her in a pond. After the earthquakes, she was certain she had angered Mother Nature herself and had banished herself to the Shadow Realm.

But maybe... maybe.

She poked her head out of a blueberry bush, wild-eyed and dirty with stained lips and teeth.

Nothing happened.

And so she took a few steps forward, then another, and another.

Nothing.

Burp!

“Oh, excuse me,” she apologized to no one—at least, that was what she thought. Force of habit, you see. But lo and behold there was a mare, winged and sad-looking, and Wonka frowned. “Is something the matter?” She cocked her head.

wonka