Peter Petunia and the Impotent Succubus (mom's in the garden, again)

Leaning against the lighthouse, mama Perl stared across the little bay directly below the cliff line, and beyond to the houses just a few miles away, the farther reaches of a colony from a calmer bay to the north of the jagged mess of rocks in water that adorned their view of the ocean. She knew that the moment she stepped into the doorway her son would be practically bursting out the door to go for the unwelcome running practice he swore he needed to do.

Little Violet would no doubt would no doubt scramble out of the stairwell to hug her, as though she was gone under there for forever. Violet was worrying them. Something was depressing her, making her sit down there instead of singing at her easel, surrounded by her bright scenery paintings. Perl paused fondly to recall how concerned and caring Peter was. Such a good brother, always trying to cheer her up. Sitting by the stairwell, in quiet murmurs, trying to coax her out, often coming away sadly shaking his head. She smiled.

As for Peter’s interests, supposedly running was his passion. Supposedly. But it didn't really make sense to her. Last week he went and forgot to use his running shoes. He came back grumpy, with foot blisters. So imagine her initial surprise when he went out the very next day. He was training relentlessly, literally daily. She and his father repeatedly explained the problem with overtraining. But their opinions only angered him. Whenever he made a silly point and they calmly won the argument he would be angry. So defensive, such a shame. When he was little he was a handful, but seemed to really want to do right in the world. She loved his six year old superhero phase, always running with a blanket-cape and mask, usually made from tin foil, his little “superpowers” constantly growing and changing.
         
Lately the grump world seemed so toxic and dark. Both she and her man Forrest had difficulty keeping up mentally with the deteriorating state of affairs around them. Forrest had to quit two jobs just to avoid a coordinated gang of narcissistic coworkers. They weren't even vampires! Thinking about this all was just too stressful, even out in this near-magical scenery. To reconnect with her magical source, she bent down and deeply inhaled the smell of warm earth and sweet flowers. All around the lighthouse were climbing vines of bright roses, shrubs of lilacs and the ground between was nearly filled with irises, dragon snaps, and, of course, Petunias. That little lighthouse was one of a kind, to be sure, and inside. The family was, as well. They were chased from the magical realm after becoming caught up in an ancient power feud with an evil warring family of a warped old succubus, who never seemed to die, or stop making trouble. He could often be heard shouting “get off my lawn” after kids refused the candy he offered while trying to lure them onto his porch. Magical children in the other realms were just too street smart for him, and nearly never fell into his clutches. So he often toured the grump world.

Back in the days Perl and Forrest were progressive teen children in a growing movement of angry magical activists, trying to overthrow a conspiracy of crooked magicians. They were trying to stop the trade of no magical human servants when they uncovered an even darker side to black magic traffickers. It was a side market of slaves who satisfied the sadism of magical wizards, often dying in the process, and it included sirens, fairies, elves, and even a few centaurs.

Perl and Forrest were in over their heads these days. After realizing the extend of the war they were waging, they eventually realized their side was infiltrated. Fleeing into the grump realm lthey thought was enough to give them safety from the conflict. The gravity of reality made magic almost impossible to manifest for most magical people, meaning it was a perfect refuge for anyone seeking magical peace and quiet. And for good measure, they picked an extra quiet spot. They didn't anticipate the resentment that would surface in their son about it. Every chance he had he made a point about it. Even the running seemed more like a complaint of some sort, about how he had to seek ordinary prowess on non magical-legs. His new favorite movie was Rappunsel. Perl wished it was Hansel and Gretel. He was so set on seeing the magical realm he threatened to do it without them.

Perl noticed a weed and pulled it, tucking earth  back down around a neighboring flower’s roots. She felt better and the garden looked nice again, with all the weeds gone. Time to step back into their lighthouse home.