fionna's world being represented by a dandelion makes so much sense ... they're weeds. yet people make wishes through them, changing their whole meaning from something meant to be destroyed to something hopeful.
dandelions are also resilient and it makes sense that something associated with them would. you know. perservere despite the destruction caused by the scarab.
but ultimately i think what REALLY made me tear up over this is that dandelions are really boring plants. when you're a kid you blow on them and make your wish but they're not eyecatching or anything but still, fionna's final wish was for her old world to still exist as it was when she left it (> plain and simple. boring even).
like the moment she realized she would lose her friends, and that her friends might forget each other if the world got its magic back, she immediately decided she didn't want it and I think that ties back to the dandelion metaphor so well... like, do you really need magic to be real to find it everywhere? or can you turn something boring into something magical?
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another excerpt! (Song of Freedom)
"I'll post another snip tomorrow". And then I didn't lol. But I DID hit the 10k marker for the WIP! (not counting the...11k in notes. Look I've had a...week..... Oh my god this WIP is only a week old...) In celebration, have a more amusing excerpt this time! Dialogue my beloved.
Previous excerpt [here]! Next excerpt [here]!
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The smirk miraculously returned. “You will believe many things you never imagined if you are able to remain here long enough. And if anything is to be gained from this conversation, let it be the lesson to watch your tone among the sacred animals, as I seem to have never learned.”
This time I cocked my head. “Right...and what are the sacred animals?”
He looked startled by that. “The birds created in His image, of course. You met one upon your arrival. That ghastly beast with an attitude that bullied me into guiding you upstairs.”
A beat of confusion, then understanding. “Oh! You mean that beautiful—”
“Slander!” croaked a voice from above. The old man swore and spun around, and we both noticed a large raven perched above us beside a venting window. “Another week!”
“Oh, you bastardly little snitch,” the old man growled under his breath, wincing when the bird began to jump about, grating voice breaking into a strange, unearthly cackle.
“Two!” it cheered, then leapt from its perch, honking with apparent delight as it spiraled overhead against the high ceiling.
Suddenly I was relieved that I’d been polite to the golden bird.
“Is that...a common punishment?” I asked. “To be given a duty you dislike?”
The old man turned to me with a scowl. “What? Oh. I suppose it’s common enough. You’re just as likely to be fed to the little beasties for your crime, however, so I don’t advise testing your luck. He’s capricious, our Burning One.”
“Three!” the raven cried gleefully.
“There was nothing slanderous about that and you know it, bird!”
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