It was supposed to be a simple outing. A quiet, uneventful trip to the cinema.
Mother Goose had been the one to suggest it. "Come now, dear Hearth! You must experience the magic of film! It's like storytelling but with lights and music and moving pictures! Oh, it's wonderful, truly!"
Father Hearth, ever the stoic figure, had merely nodded. "If you insist."
Thus, they arrived at the grand old cinema, a place of flickering lights and the scent of buttered popcorn hanging thick in the air. The moment they stepped inside, they already drew attention.
Mother Goose, radiant and full of energy, clapped her hands together excitedly as she surveyed the options. "Oh! A historical drama! A fantasy epic! A horror film—no, no, that won't do, too many jump scares—OH! A romance! Yes! Let's watch the grand love story of the century!"
Father Hearth, unimpressed, looked at the posters with disinterest. "Love stories are predictable."
Mother Goose gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. "Predictable? Oh, Hearth, you wound me! Love is the most unpredictable force in the universe!"
"It follows a formula," he stated matter-of-factly. "Two souls meet. They struggle. They fall apart. They return. Or they do not."
She huffed. "Well, if you put it like that, then every story is predictable. But fine, if not romance, what do you suggest?"
Father Hearth pointed to a documentary about the rise and fall of ancient civilizations.
Mother Goose stared. "You would pick the driest, most academic film in this entire cinema."
"It is informative."
She dramatically sighed. "Fine. A compromise then! We watch something entertaining but with meaning." She scanned the options again before triumphantly pointing. "That one! A grand fantasy adventure!"
Father Hearth nodded, seeing no reason to object.
With their tickets in hand, they made their way inside. That was when the true spectacle began.
As soon as the movie started, Mother Goose was utterly enthralled. Her emotions ran wild—gasping, laughing, clapping, and even whispering dramatic commentary to herself. "Oh no! He's going to betray them! I just know it!"
Meanwhile, Father Hearth sat completely still, his expression as unchanging as a mountain.
The contrast was… jarring.
Other moviegoers couldn't help but sneak glances.
When an intense battle broke out on screen, Mother Goose was on the edge of her seat. "Yes! Yes! Swing the sword! Oh, watch out, dear! Oh, NO, NOT LIKE THAT!"
Father Hearth, as emotionless as ever, merely murmured, "He should have anticipated the counterattack."
During a heartfelt moment between the hero and their loved one, Mother Goose wiped a tear away. "Oh, how beautiful! Love transcends all!"
Father Hearth blinked. "This confession should have been earlier in the narrative. Waiting this long is impractical."
A collective sweat drop seemed to form over the heads of those sitting near them.
Then came the climax—a grand showdown between the hero and the villain, filled with dazzling magic, heartfelt speeches, and world-shaking stakes.
Mother Goose was gripping her seat, practically vibrating.
Father Hearth, arms crossed, stated flatly, "The villain will lose in precisely three minutes."
Sure enough, three minutes later, the villain was defeated.
Mother Goose gawked at him. "Hearth! You are ruining the wonder of cinema!"
"I am simply observing patterns," he replied.
Finally, the credits rolled, and the lights came back on. Mother Goose stretched, sighing in contentment. "Ah! What a marvelous film! The adventure! The emotions! The grand themes of destiny and love and—" She turned to him. "Well? Did you like it?"
Father Hearth was silent for a moment. Then, at last, he nodded. "It was acceptable."
That, from him, was the highest of praise.
Mother Goose beamed. "Then we must do this again!"
The other patrons, still recovering from their unique brand of chaos, were not so sure the cinema was ready for a repeat performance.