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This was stupid. She was stupid. Ducks didn't even have birthdays. Hatching days? Whatever they were... maybe they had them, technically, but they probably didn't celebrate them the way humans did. But, then again, that was probably why she wanted to so badly.
It wasn't going to be anything fancy, just a picnic in the park. She'd bring some extra bread with her cake to feed the birds. He'd come with her just to make sure she didn't trip and fall in the lake and drown, and also because she'd made such a ridiculous face when he hesitated in saying yes. It'd be fun, she said. It'd be moronic, he wanted to say, but he didn't mean it and held his tongue at her hopeful look and just mentally gave up. It could be worse.
For example, it could be raining.
Like it was, coincidentally enough, scheduled to be tomorrow.
The storm clouds had been gathering all day. He'd been watching her face fall with every passing hour until she was practically wilting by the evening, when sunset came with the sound of thunder. It wasn't as if they couldn't postpone it. There were plenty of other days they could go have a picnic and feed the ducks. Or they could just eat the cake indoors. But no matter how many excuses he had prepared, he couldn't seem to say anything out loud to the disappointed look on her face. And for once she couldn't really complain to him, either. It wasn't as if he was in charge of the weather.
Although...
He didn't write too often since he'd rewritten Drosselmeyer's tragedy. People had enough of being controlled by stories and he didn't see a reason to interfere. If he had this power, he had to be responsible with it. If he was going to write, it was to make sure a story had a happy ending.
Especially if it was a story like hers. He waited until she was asleep to take pen to paper again. He'd never admit it to her face but, after everything, she deserved at least one sunny, perfect day.