Pigeons aren’t known as amazing conversationalists, but I bet they’re better company than the judgy old lady currently eying me strangely.

“Mind your business,” I hiss across the park pathway.

The flock of pigeons ripples around me like a cloak shrouded from my shoulders, draping over the bench where I sit, and amassed around the bird seed covered ground at my feet.

Even the woman jolts at my demand, as though she’d thought I was a statue, dutifully returning her attention to her now shaking hands folded in her lap.

The breeze picks up through the trees at my back, ruffling the feathers of my companions and the curls that have escaped from my bun after a few too many of their attempts at making me a pigeon pedastal.

I raise my left arm and try to recall what I was saying to the bird perched on my wrist.

Oh, right.

“Anyway,” I go on, “Let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we? You and I both know we’re not here for small talk.”

The pigeon gives a hoarse coo, tilting his head inquisitively. I suck my teeth as I consider the best way to word this.

“I can’t change you back,” I quickly rattle out.

My ex, and current bird, does a little furious hop on my hand like a child throwing a tantrum, ruffling his feathers further in his fury.

It’s adorable, honestly.

“It’s not like I haven’t _tried_, I’ve looked up all kinds of reversal spells,” I insist.

The older woman is unabashedly staring again, but at this point, I don’t blame her.

Reaching into my pocket, I toss out some more bird feed on the path between both our feet in hopes that the avian audience will give my ex and me a bit more privacy.

They swarm the seed as if ravenous.

I _just_ fed them, not even a minute ago.

My indulgent smile drops as an impatient pigeon climbs up my forearm and digs its talons in a bit.

Right.

“I think it’s because you haven’t learned your lesson yet,” I decide.

He gives me a look of such impotent fury that he must’ve been practicing in puddles for maximum impact.

I stroke a curled pointer finger down the ruffled feathers under his beak. “Did you know pigeons used to be domesticated? Beloved pets, actually.”

It is obvious that he wants to pull away, but his birdy body betrays him, leaning into my soothing strokes.

My pleased hum summons a swarm flocking back onto the bench at my sides.

“But then technological advances rendered them obsolete and widely considered _pests_,” I tell my captivated class.

A few hop and furrow their feathers, sensing and emulating my own distress.

I scan them adoringly, explaining, “So, despite their intelligence and affectionate reliance we instilled in them, they were cast out by the very beings they trusted, solely due to misconceptions.”

My ex looks rightfully terrified at the familiarity of what my lesson implies.

His beady eyes roll wildly in unease.

If I’d made him into a horse, I’d be afraid he were about to rear up and buck.

But he’s a cute little bird, so, I stand, scattering the last of the seed I brought around my feet.

He doesn’t move for it, instead cooing in concern and plea that I refuse to heed.

The old woman looks up at me from her seat, emboldening me with her fearful expression like she’s witnessing a vengeful god.

I suppose she’s not far off, as I whisper to my ex in a similar cadence to the curse I already placed, “When you’re capable of expressing genuine affection, not contingent on the person being of _use_ to you, then, you will be free from the life of a _pest_ that your dismissal implied of me.”

His coos turn into croaks that trail off when my army of birds drag him away from me with only a thought transmitted into their little brains.

The woman’s wide eyes lower once more to a flip phone. Her bony fingers, poised to make a call, have already typed the 9 and the 1.

Will emergency services believe her? No.

But can I risk it? Yes, but that’s less fun.

With a snap of my fingers, Eavesdropping Edith is gone. Only a pile of her clothes remain, a lump tenting her empty shirt until it begins leaping up and down like a violently pounding heart.

Sighing, I peel down the collar of the outdated blouse to aid in the incriminating creature’s escape. The pigeon there looks up at me with foggy horrified eyes.

I boop it on the beak and coo fondly, “Pest.”