CONTESSA DOESN’T UNDERSTAND THE BIRTHDAY PARTY
Added 2025-04-01 07:35:38 +0000 UTCThe room was loud. Children shouted and laughed, their voices blending with the cheerful, off-key chorus of Happy Birthday. Balloons bobbed near the ceiling, presents piled high on a table, and the air carried the warm scent of frosting and melted wax.
Contessa stood near the back, watching.
At the center of it all, the birthday child grinned behind a cake covered in colorful icing, eyes bright with anticipation.
Their parents beamed as they leaned in. “Make a wish!”
The child squeezed their eyes shut. Took a deep breath. Blew out the candles.
The room erupted into cheers. Clapping. A moment of celebration for something intangible.
Contessa frowned. She stepped forward. “What did you wish for?”
The child gasped. “I can’t say! Then it won’t come true!”
Contessa tilted her head. “There is no causal relationship between secrecy and the fulfilment of desires.”
The parents chuckled. “It’s just a tradition.”
She considered this. A ritual with no tangible effect—a belief in something uncertain, something without guarantee—but one that inspired joy nonetheless.
The child looked at her expectantly. “Did you ever make a birthday wish?”
Contessa paused.
She looked at the candles, the wisps of smoke curling into the air. The small, silent moment of silence before a breath carried unspoken dreams into the unknown.
“…No.”
The child held out a slice of cake. “You should try.”
Contessa hesitated. Then, slowly, she accepted the plate.
She did not close her eyes. Did not make a wish.
But as she took a bite of cake, she decided—perhaps, next time, she would.
