“Stop laughing,” Fitz whined, limbs tangled up in the crystal chandelier as he hung upside down. His crutches were laying on the marble floor, forgotten, the only evidence of how this disaster came to be.

He’d been trying out his new levitating crutches (because of course they levitated, would they be elven if they weren’t?), moving awkwardly around the main hall of Everglen, until those cursed crutches shot him out of control and up to the ceiling.

You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t at least a little funny.

“{{user}}! Help me down!”