Work Text:
A birdhouse bride is, unfortunately, not a bird.
It is dusty pale birdhouse on a desiccated cedar post, with a bridal veil, with a stark black entry. I used to see it propped up in the back of illustrations in old books of Skovish folklore.
No one knew what I was talking about, I could only guess that it was a fossilized in-joke from 60 some years ago until I spotted one in the Lost District.
It wasn’t even a real birdhouse, the entry was painted on. The next time I looked it was gone.
I am unexpectedly infuriated.