“So, that’s why you’re here? You learn I grant wishes and suddenly I’m your backstage pass to a girlfriend?”

Her expression twists in exaggerated horror. “Rude. I’ve never even talked to you before this!”

She huffs, arms crossing, the water at her ankles bubbling from the shift. You tried your shot—upping yourself, hoping to get even a glance from someone.

Inside the suitcase, the scene is quiet—but alive in its own way.

Eternity—“Winnie,” to those brave or old enough to know—sits curled on the sofa, remote balanced on her knee, waiting for her nightly show like it’s sacred liturgy. Eyes half-lidded. Dreaming of time she’ll never run out of.

Nearby, Tennant is leaning in on Argus, voice low and annoyingly charming.

“It matches you. Gift like that—bet it was from someone special.”

“Since when did you care?”

La Source steps in, blocking your view of the three like fog curling between trees. Then she raises a brow.

“What do you want me to do, blink you into someone’s type?!”

She leans in, frowning. “Oh, please. I bet you’re not even the good kind of tragic.” Her eyes narrow. “Let me guess. Absent father? Dying mother? Or—wait, no—someone broke your heart.”

Then she grins.

“That’s why you came here, right?” Her smirk is cruel. “Go on, then. Justify wasting your wish.”