The Cloisters is a fictional sanitarium home in the late 1940s where Mrs. Ethel P. Savage is sent by her vengeful step-children in search of her fortune that she has been "foolishly" spending on several eccentric charities, but this story is not her's. That story is told in John Patrick's play "The Curious Savage." This story is - or rather, these stories stories are - based on the unique characters that live in the Cloisters home.
Fairy May belongs to John Patrick
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"What a beautiful night!" Fairy twirled around among the fireflies dotting the thick curtain of black shrouding the courtyard. From the gazebo, she heard the light, amused chuckle of Trinity Rolland, her fiancé, as he watched her spin whimsically. The dress falling down to her ankles flared out like a bright yellow Narcissus, shining brightly against the black expanse of the night beyond the lush green plants and dots of fireflies skirting the small courtyard. Fairy stopped her twirling, nearly spilling over onto the stone path. She giggled childishly, holding out her arms like a tightrope walker.
"Come, Trinity!" She began to spin again, this time in the opposite direction, one arm in the air, the other at her stomach. "Dance with me!"
"Fairy, you'll fall." Trinity's deep, stern tone tore through the black. Fairy's eyes widened as she stopped twirling to behold him. She tilted her head, pale, fair skin glinting as brightly as her dress.
"So harsh." She dropped her arm and held both on her hips. "If you're so concerned for my well-being, why don't you come help me stay up?" Her expression did not lighten. "Won't you dance with me." It wasn't a question as much as it was a plea. She glanced at his ankle as he held his foot an inch off the ground, making a point to show it off to her. "It can't hurt that much." She pouted, dropping her arms entirely and walking towards him. She smoothed the collar of his red dress shirt, slipping her hands down to his chest and leaning in for a kiss. He reached his head to her cheek instead pecking his lips lightly against her porcelain skin rather than her glossy, pink lips. He gently took hold of her wrists and redirected them to her sides, letting go and looking her in the eye. "But we're getting married in a week..." She trailed off, seeing the stony expression on his face as he slowly shook his head. "We're...not?" Tears started to form in the corners of her eyes. "Don't you love me? Tell me you love me, Trin-"
"I don't." His expression remained unwavering as he walked past her. Fairy whirled around, this time in a panic.
"Don't what?" She almost shouted the words at the back of Trinity's head. Without turning around, he responded calmly.
"I don't love you, Fairy May. The only reason I was going to mary you was for your inheritance, and since that's gone away with your father's whisky, I'm not going to stick around in poverty pretending to love a nasty, ugly creature like you." Fairy was too shocked to cry. She collapsed on the ground, sinking to her knees with her mouth hanging open, breathing like she'd been punched in the throat. Her eyes were out of focus, unable to see Trinity walking out of the park and to his car, starting up the engine and speeding away along with her heart.
Even the fireflies shrank away.
"Am I..."