#Dewdrops from Fairyland

[dearchloe]

the wrong changeling

All characters are 18+

Silly grown-ups will try to tell you that fairies live in Fairyland. Sometimes, if they're very very silly and they think you're bigger than you really are, they'll tell you the big grown-up lie that fairies don't exist any more.

But we know better, don't we?

Fairies live everywhere, if you know where to look. And there are trolls under the bridges, and mermaids in the sea, and nymphs in the pools (which are too small for mermaids), and lots and lots of other special people all over the world. But they're all hiding away from grown-up eyes, because grown-ups are silly. They would want to take pictures and videos, and take all those special people away to poke them with metal sticks in big laboratories that smell of chemicals.

If you go to London, which is a big big city in England where lots of boring grown-up people go to do lots of boring grown-up jobs, you'll find a park called Hampstead Heath.

A heath is just an old word for a big piece of ground that doesn't have a lot of trees growing on it. But do you know where it comes from?

'Heath' comes from a language called Old English, which is what they spoke in England in the Olden Days, a long time before your mummies and daddies were born. Back then, the word meant 'unfarmed land' — which sounds super boring, doesn't it? But then you think a little bit more, and you ask a question. And the question is, why didn't they farm it?

Today, there's lots of land that doesn't get farmed. It doesn't get farmed because boring people in suits got together and decided they could make lots more money if they built houses on it instead. But back in the Olden Days, farming was all that anybody did, because no one had invented phones for people to try and sell to you, or takeaways for people to deliver to you, or laws for people to argue about.

But there was still some land that didn't get farmed. Sometimes it was because the land was too wet, and the crops wouldn't grow. Sometimes it was because the land was too dry, and the crops wouldn't grow.

And sometimes, it was for much more interesting reasons. Sometimes, it was because the fairies didn't like it.

Even though there aren't a lot of trees growing on Hampstead Heath, there are still some, and one of them is an oak tree. It's a very big oak tree, because it's very old, and it never gets cut. When the people in hi-vis jackets come from the Council and trim all the other trees on the Heath, they just walk straight past it.

Do you know why?

I do, but they don't.

It's because the Big Old Oak on Hampstead Heath is one of the biggest fairy schools in the whole world.

Some little people try to tell me that fairies don't go to school. But fairies have to learn to add up and take away and write their names, just like you do, and they especially have to learn to fly. Otherwise they would just bang into things.

Fairies have even more to learn that humans do. Because as well as all the normal, boring human things, like numbers and letters and shapes and sounds, they have to learn about the special fairy subjects, like the different types of magic and how to do different fairy jobs.

What fairy jobs can you think of?

There are the flower fairies, who go around polishing all the petals on all the flowers to make sure they look bright and beautiful all the time.

There are the dewdrop fairies, who go around with their tiny buckets first thing in the morning and sprinkle all the blades of grass with water.

There are the tooth fairies, who creep under your pillow in the dead of night and take away your baby teeth, for magic fairy reasons that even I don't understand.

But do you know what the worst fairy job is?

It's not being the spiderweb fairy, or even being the wee-wee fairy who makes little ones' nappies all soggy without them noticing. No, the worst fairy job is being a changeling.

Do you know what a changeling is?

A changeling is a fairy who gets exchanged for a human baby. Sometimes, this is because the baby's grown-ups aren't looking after them properly. Sometimes, it's because the fairies who organise these things think it would be funny.

Fairies are mean sometimes. I don't know why.

But fairy babies are very, very tiny. If a human got a fairy baby as a changeling, they might not even see it, and that wouldn't work very well at all. So changelings have to be big, grown-up fairies, and that can be very embarrassing for them.

Being a changeling is something that you learn at fairy school, like any other fairy job. But because it's so embarrassing, only fairies who have very bad behaviour or who are very bad at doing their schoolwork end up in the changeling classes.

Normally.

Fairy Bea was a very good fairy. She did extra fairy work in her evenings off and she worked super hard in her fairy classes, and she was at the top of her fairy group. She was going to be a flower fairy, and she was very excited about it.

On her first day, she turned up super early and collected her timetable, and flew all the way around the Big Old Oak three whole times, she was so excited. But that made her very dizzy, and so when it got to the time for her to find her class, she went the wrong way!

She climbed inside the Big Old Oak through the special secret door, and she flew all the way down the trunk and into the roots, where lots of the classrooms were. Have you ever seen a tree's roots? If you have, you'll know they're all twisty and turny, and so Fairy Bea got lost. She didn't go to the classroom where they taught Flower Fairy Magic. She went to the classroom where they taught Being A Changeling.

Being a flower fairy is a very demanding and responsible job, and only the very best fairies get to do it. So Fairy Bea was a little bit surprised when she saw the other fairies in the queue outside the class. Some of them were very frowny and grumpy, and some of them were very rowdy and noisy, and she didn't think that any of them looked like they were going to be flower fairies. But good fairies shouldn't judge by appearances, so Fairy Bea didn't say anything.

When the door opened, though, she was very, very surprised. Inside the classroom was the headteacher of the whole school, Miss Fairy Greenfly. Miss Fairy Greenfly always taught the Being A Changeling class, because she was very good with troublemakers, who always ended up there.

"Everyone come in and sit down!" said Miss Fairy Greenfly, and Fairy Bea did, because she was a good fairy and always followed instructions from her teachers. Everyone else did it too, but they did it because they thought Miss Fairy Greenfly was very scary. She stared at them all over her acorn-rimmed glasses and waited until they all stopped talking.

"Being a changeling is a very important job," the teacher began, and Fairy Bea nodded, because she agreed. It was a very important job. She was just glad that she didn't have to do it.

"So I don't want to hear any complaints in this class. I want you to give your best to your work." And Fairy Bea nodded, because she always did that.

"Now, first of all, we're going to work on crying." And all the fairies in the room cried, and Miss Fairy Greenfly walked around and watched them all very closely. She found one fairy who she didn't think was very good at crying, and so the teacher took her up to the front of the room, and lifted her little fairy skirt, and smacked her little fairy bottom, until the fairy cried properly, and Miss Fairy Greenfly let her go.

"Now we're going to work on screaming." And all the fairies in the room screamed, and Miss Fairy Greenfly walked around and watched them all very closely. She found one fairy who she didn't think was very good at screaming, and so the teacher took her up to the front of the room, and lifted her little fairy skirt, and smacked her little fairy bottom, until the fairy screamed properly, and Miss Fairy Greenfly let her go.

By now, Fairy Bea was getting a little bit worried. She didn't think this looked very much like Flower Fairy Magic, and so, being a polite and well-brought-up little fairy, she raised her hand to ask the teacher if there had been a mistake.

But Miss Fairy Greenfly wasn't used to teaching polite and well-brought-up little fairies. She was used to teaching very naughty and badly-behaved little fairies who didn't really want to be in her class and had to be handled strictly to make sure that they were good enough to be changelings. If fairies are too naughty to even be changelings, then they are thrown out of the Big Old Oak and the Fairy Court turns them into elves, which is very shameful for everyone. So when she saw Fairy Bea putting her hand up, Miss Fairy Greenfly thought that she was going to say something silly, or do something naughty, and she wasn't going to have any of that in her class.

"We have a volunteer!" Miss Fairy Greenfly told the class, and Fairy Bea was very confused, because she didn't know that she had volunteered for anything. "This little fairy is going to show us some Changeling Magic!"

Changeling Magic is very special magic, but it's also very embarrassing magic for big grown-up fairies to do. That's because Changeling Magic was specially designed for fairies to do when they pretend to be babies, and babies don't have magic wands or fairy dust like fairies normally do. It has to work by doing things that babies normally do. So some Changeling Magic relies on throwing things, and lots of Changeling Magic relies on crying and screaming and babbling, but the most powerful type of Changeling Magic relies on doing wee-wees and poo-poos in your pants. And changelings learn to do this very early on in their classes because it takes a long time for grown-up fairies to get used to it without being embarrassed.

Miss Fairy Greenfly opened a drawer in her desk, which was made out of the Old Oak wood and therefore very magical, and she took out a fairy-sized nappy. And Fairy Bea screamed.

"I don't wanna!"

[nandysparadox]

A Wish Your Heart Makes - Ch.1 ♡

In dreams, you will lose your heartaches

Prev - Chapter One - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Rated T - CW: past parental death, magical compulsion, fantasy discrimination, emotional abuse & neglect, manipulative and controlling behavior - WC: 7012

@bitterpoison's art for this chapter - here!

-

Despite it all, if there was one thing Patton could never resent about Fairyland, it was the landscapes.

Snowmelt still clung to the wild grass, dewdrops glittering like tiny little gems in the garden where the sunlight hit them. Patton smiled at the sight. If anything, it distracted him from his struggle to clean up one stubborn spot of dirt on the porch, stuck to the damp wood no matter how he swept. Patton huffed. He guessed it did come with the snow thawing, and he couldn’t complain about that, even if it made the task a little harder. At least it meant that, finally, spring had come.

Well, it won’t get any cleaner than that. He put his broom away with a sigh, coming to rest over the railing. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be noticed.

The breeze still carried a touch of winter in it, but the sun, as bright as ever, warmed his skin. He fixed the handkerchief over his head and grinned, unable to hide his giddiness as he watched over the yard. Oh, how he’d looked forward to this.

The morning of the second day of spring — very specific, he knew, but dear to him anyway. The quiet freedom and the lovely weather, together, made for the most peaceful hours of the year. Patton would make the most of this little moment while it lasted. He had stayed cooped up in the manor for way too long — but if seeing this came at the end of it, he guessed he could deal with it.

The seasons changed in Fairyland as they might’ve anywhere else, but a little bit of magic went a long way. Some things came gradually, of course, like the thawing of snow and the adorable little critters that had just begun to leave their burrows, but others came more as a burst of colors in the equinox. You wouldn’t miss it even if you didn’t have the date marked. Flowers already sprouted in between the tiles and bricks in the walls, and they bloomed high in the yard, too, wildflowers bridging the way from the garden to the trees.

Everything just… glowed. And for a moment Patton could imagine running off, losing himself in colorful fields and just living.

He tapped his fingers against the banister of the railing, smoothing out the wood-carved details with his touch, and closed his eyes. For a moment he let himself walk into that fantasy, of wind in his hair and grass under his feet. And then he reeled himself back in, stepping away from the porch with a small smile. Patton knocked at the door first, then entered.

…Lively would never really be a word he’d use to describe the manor, but it did look better already. With spring sunshine streaming through the windows, even the patterned furniture didn’t look so stuffy. Patton made to step into the common room, but before he could, a small carpet unrolled itself in front of him. Sheepishly, he toed the dirt off his shoes on it and then lightly patted the doorway as acknowledgment.

It would do no good to track muck into the house, he was the one who’d have to clean it all over again after!

Now properly inside, Patton’s eyes flitted over the room. Maybe he should… check, yes, if everything was in order. His gaze fell to the floor, not a speck of dust showed in the dark wooden boards. Check. All vases were upright and watered. Check. And the shelves and books were as neat as ever�� there was nothing he really needed to do, was there? He fidgeted with the edge of his apron for a moment, then gingerly pulled out a chair from the dining table and sat, to calm his nerves.

C’mon Patton, he chastised himself, there’s no need to be so nervous, you spent an entire winter making sure of that!

That was right, being completely and utterly stuck inside the house during a whole season gave you quite a lot of free time, and most of it — when not spent crafting or reading the few books he had — Patton used to leave every inch of the manor as pristine and proper as he could. More so her arrival would go smoothly — he’d hate to start spring off on the wrong foot! Besides, it did help distract him, especially from that dreadful freezing weather, no mind the snowstorms.

Patton shifted in his seat. Maybe he shouldn’t speak so ill of winter. It was cold, yes, but he was lucky enough to have a good fireplace, and the snow never crept inside the house, even in the heaviest storms! His clothes were far too thin for him to leave the manor, but he could see, from the window, the snowflakes and how delicately they framed the hills in white.

…Patton was alone in the manor, during the winter. And, for a month or two, he felt like he could breathe again. The floorboards could creak under his feet and he wouldn’t worry a bit, and he could hog the heavy blankets, put honey on his milk, sing a wordless little tune without any criticism. He could even visit the garden on warmer nights, and just sit there, moonlight on his hair.

But, when he spoke, his words would echo back at him from empty halls. And when he lay down to sleep in his cot, he wondered if that was all there would be for him. No one came to pull him out of the darkness with demanding hands, and he should be grateful for that, but the warmth behind them left a want in his heart that Patton could not understand.

He had been born in the wintertime, and a small part of him sometimes worried about what that could mean. But that was only the way of the fae getting to his head, Patton supposed, a thing like that wouldn’t matter to a human. His mom had always declared it a wonderful season, as she bundled him up in coats. Maybe she had been right, but for the past 7 years, it had been nothing but maddeningly, achingly lonely for him.

He wished she were there to argue for it.

Rustling from the doorway tore Patton away from his thoughts; a creak of the door’s hinges broke through the manor’s still silence. A delighted croon soon followed and his fingers curled tighter around the chair’s armrest. He quickly stood, straightening the folds in his apron.

The Faerie walked in with her chin held high. Small sprouts bloomed behind her steps as she strolled into the room. Her dress flowed with her movements — green fabric folded and pinned in place by brooches and belts, a style of gown Patton had only seen on her, older than he could pinpoint. She looked over the manor with a bored expression; in her gaze was the sense that she’d seen many, many things before, and you wouldn’t impress her.

But then her eyes fell on Patton and widened with a spark. The Faerie pulled back her cloak to reveal her long, golden hair, while a grin split across her face, as sharp as her features. He held back a flinch.

“Oh, there you are, dear,” she cooed, swiftly moving to cup Patton’s chin and lightly squeeze his cheeks with her fingers. She turned his head this way and that, then dropped her hand, instead taking his arm and leading him into a spin. He nearly tripped. “You have grown, have you not? You were tinier before, I’m sure.”

Patton hadn’t grown an inch since he was 16. A chuckle fell from his lips, strained, as she pulled him closer. The Faerie didn’t say anything else as she stared at him, eyes gleaming with interest as if he were a shiny new thing. She dragged a finger over the shell of his ear, perfectly rounded, unlike hers. Patton almost shuddered.

She always acted like this after she overwintered, like the little human in her house was the most novel thing she’d ever seen. No use fighting it, really; he’d lose her interest in a month or two. She trailed her hand back to his face and her thumb skimmed over his cheekbone. Patton’s eyes fell shut as he pressed closer to the warmth of her palm.

Finally, she let go. Stepping back from him, her gaze flitted through every corner of the room. He swallowed, wringing his hands.

“You have done an adequate job tending to the manor,” The Faerie nodded, “Though, I notice the fireplace has yet to be cleaned…”

In a second, panic swelled in his chest. “I’m sorry, miss, I-”

She shushed him, smiling as if she enjoyed seeing him fumble. Patton clicked his mouth shut.

“It is quite alright, dear, you’ll get to it soon enough, won’t you?”

He cast his eyes down as he nodded, silent. A hand tapped his shoulder.

“But first, won’t you fetch me a cup of tea? The Spring Equinox Festival has left me just completely exhausted.”

You’ve slept for an entire season, Patton thought, a little spitefully, but squeaked out a meek “Yes, miss,” and made his way to the kitchen. He made her tea — a floral blend, as usual — and wondered, when had it become second nature to just slot back into this routine.

He carefully balanced the tea tray as he shuffled back into the common room. The Faerie waited for Patton in her armchair. Hands folded over her lap, she sat perfectly poised, her feet crossed at the ankles. After he poured her a cup, she took it from him with little acknowledgment.

She sipped from it slowly. Patton stood off to the side. He hadn’t been dismissed yet. Minutes dragged and he began to tap his foot.

After finishing her tea, The Faerie swirled her teacup around, eyes trained on the dried flowers left at the bottom. “I foresee a change coming soon to the kingdom, don’t you?”

Patton held back a sigh. “I don’t know of these things, miss.”

“Of course you don't, dear,” she chuckled, shaking her head in that way of hers that never failed to make him feel so terribly small. “Oh, but I do so hope I'm right. The gentry have become so�� incompetent.”

Taking the teacup from her, Patton hummed and set the tray aside on the accent table. He prepared himself for the incoming rant.

“Of course, I don’t know what I expected of the princelet’s little celebration. I’ve tried to play their games and acquiesce to their formalities, and where has it gotten me? Nowhere: dreadfully forgotten as always. I cannot believe the control those fools have over the kingdom, they know nothing of the strength of the courts and nothing of power.”

“You could always try to reason with them come next revel,” Patton suggested, keeping his voice light. He didn’t know what he thought he’d get out of it. Most of their “conversations” were firmly one-sided.

The Faerie laughed, not even deeming him with an answer, as if his suggestion had been nothing short of ridiculous. Patton’s ears burned and he looked away. He really shouldn’t let that get to him, and yet.

Her laughter was cut off abruptly, and her gaze narrowed on the table. She leaned down to look under it and, before she could see it or catch it, a little mouse scurried past the leg of the table. Patton’s eyes widened, and almost on instinct, he snatched the poor creature off the floor and dropped it into his pouch.

The Faerie lifted her head, staring at him. “There was a pest here.”

Patton gulped, shoulders tensing. He smiled the best he could. “I must’ve missed it, miss.”

The little mouse squirmed in his pouch, no doubt unhappy with its situation — but in all honesty, Patton had just saved it. The Faerie kept the household under her strict control, and you had better believe that extended to the critters that occasionally found their way in. She hated them. Patton petted his pouch gently, as that’d comfort it.

The Faerie kept him pinned by eye contact for a few more seconds, then her lips curled in a smile as soft as it was unnerving. 

“Won’t you come here, dear?” she said, words dipped in honey.

Patton shuffled towards the edge of the seat. She waved him closer, then took the strap of his apron with her fingers. She ran her thumb over the worn-down cloth.

“Your clothes are all run ragged,” she said, “I’ve brought you some fabric. Yellow, your favorite, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t.

“You’ll have to mend them, of course,” she cooed, reaching out to cup his cheek. “But that won’t be a problem, will it? You’re no master, but you are remarkably talented for a little human. You’ve picked up sewing faster than most saplings would.”

Her hand trailed down to his neck, nails skimming over the skin there. Patton nearly shivered. “In fact, I’ve found some of your thread and half-finished pieces. You’ve been doing embroidery, no?” She leaned closer, close enough to whisper into his ear. There was a chilling calmness in her voice that raised the hair on Patton’s arms. “I’ve never taught you that.”

“M-miss, I-”

She chuckled and it echoed hollow around them. “It’s quite alright, I imagine you must’ve picked it up from a book in my study, isn’t that so?”

Patton nodded, thankful for the out, but confused as to why she’d give him that. Her long nails pressed more firmly against the nape of his neck. “Why, you’d never hide something of the sort from me, would you? Otherwise—”

Her eyes narrowed. The mouse squirmed again in the pouch. Patton felt it against his hip. His throat was dry. He didn’t need the reminder, that he was just as trapped as it was.

“—I’d be very cross indeed, Patton.”

His chest ached as soon his name slipped from her lips, like a string tied taut around his heart had just been pulled. He curled his arms around himself with a near whine, chancing a glance at her.

The Faerie gave him a smile, one that might’ve been perfectly pleasant on anyone else. She moved her hand to his hair, running her fingers through the messy locks until she reached the back of his head, where it had been bluntly clipped by dull scissors.

“You’ve cut your hair again,” she murmured, disappointed. “Why don’t you grow it out?”

Patton let out a shaky breath before answering. “It gets in the way, miss—”

“You should let it grow,” she twisted a strand around, continuing. “It is truly novel that time alone could dictate your appearance. It is incredibly remarkable, incredibly human, that change comes after you, wanted or not.”

She then patted the top of Patton’s head, and he nearly followed the touch. The ache in his chest faded, the strings loose but not untied. The Faerie stood from her armchair.

“No matter, I will leave you to your work. The garden needs tending to, it is my season after all. I shall see you later, dear.”

Patton watched as she left, then sighed. He picked up his broom, set aside against the wall. No time to dawdle, he guessed. His fingers tightened around the wooden handle.

The winter hadn’t quite left him after all.

—♡—

Moonlight fell around him and spilled from the open window, bright enough to lighten the room if only a little, and to reflect off the newly-dusted furniture. Patton swiftly untied the knot at the back of his apron, before slipping it off and hanging it over the rickety chair near the fireplace.

He hadn’t had much to do today — well, less than he usually did, at least. He undid his kerchief as well, using it to dab the sweat off his forehead. It didn’t mean he wasn’t tired, though.

From the corner of his eye, a blur of movement passed through the bookshelf followed by loud tip-tapping over wood. Patton dropped his handkerchief over his apron and approached the shelf, leaning over it to inspect. He reached for a book and pushed it aside, blinking when that revealed the little intruder. A tiny mouse, the one from earlier! With the same brown spots and beady black eyes. It cowered away from him, skittering backward, and Patton felt a pang of guilt at that.

“Aw, I’m sorry I grabbed you like that earlier, little guy,” Patton whispered. “But you have to be more careful, you’d be in for a world of trouble if she saw you out and about.”

The mouse’s nose twitched and it slowly walked away from its hiding spot. It butted its head against Patton’s hand and Patton giggled at how cute it was.

But, suddenly, the little critter backed away and ran through the shelf, leaping from it and landing on the chair, making it creak loudly. Patton’s eyes widened and before he could reach for the mouse, it took his handkerchief by its teeth and scurried away.

“Hey!” Patton said, following behind it. He scampered after it through the common room, until it took a sharp turn around the corner. The little mouse squeaked as it stopped just under the stairwell as if it was waiting for Patton.

“You—!” he said, out of breath, as he reached the stairway. He put a hand on his hip. “You gave me quite the run, little guy, please don’t do that again—”

His gaze fell on the spot where the mouse stood. Its paws planted over a small door, almost hidden by the shadows. …A door Patton knew quite well.

“Oh,” he said, straightening up, “You… wanted to bring me here?”

The mouse wiggled its head in an almost nod. Patton bent down, holding his head as he slipped into the space under the stairs. He glanced at the door. It was late, but not so late yet, and normally, he’d wait until it was well into the night, when he was sure he’d be alone. He bit his lip. He really should go to sleep, rest the little he could, but… the day weighed heavy on him, and right then, nothing seemed better than getting to float away in his own little corner for a bit.

“Alright,” Patton sighed as he kneeled down, watching as the mouse jumped up excitedly and chirped. The corner of his lips turned up at the sight. He reached for the small handle, turning the knob, and with only a click, the door opened for him effortlessly. Though he was fairly sure it must’ve been locked before, pins in place and everything, it always opened for him anyway — as it did when he first found it. Murmuring a quick “thank you”, he peered inside.

It was quite dark in the crawlspace — you could barely see a thing, so Patton pulled a little flask out of his pouch. He shook it, once, twice, until the crystal inside it hit the glass hard and began to glow, bathing their surroundings in a soft, bluish light.

With that, the little mouse jumped into the burrow, swerving around the fabric and thread Patton kept there. Most of them he'd worked on himself, stitching them into garments or embroidering them with delicate patterns of silver. Patton watched, amused, as it sniffed at the trinkets and traded goods he'd collected over the years — jewels and coins, glasses and flasks of all shapes and sizes, drops of sunlight glowing in tiny jars, little silver boxes that glinted off the blue light. He even had a few charms lying around that, although he didn’t know how to use them, would be quite valuable to a faerie!

Finally, the critter announced with a squeak that it had found what it looked for. It circled a little wooden chest, before trying to climb it the best it could. Patton giggled.

“You're such a curious little thing, hm?” he said, reaching for the chest. He smoothed his thumb over the lid, tracing a well-worn path over the wood. He smiled and opened the latch.

Inside gleamed a patchwork collection of familiar knickknacks, from unique inventions to beautiful, ornate jewelry– whatever could have fit in a box at the time. His eyes flitted towards the mirror fixed right under the box’s lid and he caught his reflection. His bent wire-framed glasses slipped over the bridge of his nose and cinders from the fireplace smudged over his cheeks.

His hand hovered over the box, fingers curling back into his palm. Ashes — he’d found — stuck to you insistently, in hair, clothes, and skin, so he supposed he couldn't be too precious over it. Still, he hated to dirty something that mattered so much to him. The last things he could remember the human world by. All he had.

He hadn’t known all of them before, though by now, he’d committed them to memory with his touch alone. Those came as one last gift to him, gemstone-trimmed bracelets and necklaces that would’ve fit better around his mom’s neck. But others, oh, he’d never forget them. The tight hugs his dad would give him returning from a weeks-long trip and the way his hands would cup Patton’s little ones and slip a new ingenious gadget into them. How he’d gather Patton into his arms and teach him how to use them, how they worked.

The memory won over Patton’s hesitations and he sifted through the box, pulling out a pocket watch and a compass. So delicately made, even the tiniest details engraved in metal. He wrapped the pocket watch’s chain around his fingers, feeling the weight of it in his hand before slipping it into his pocket. It could be useful, even if it didn’t track the time quite right. He was in Fairyland after all — nothing ever worked quite right.

Patton sighed at the thought and tucked the compass back into its place, over the velveteen fabric that lined the box. He looked at it for a moment longer, then closed the lid. Quite a collection, indeed. He wondered, did his dad know they would bring him such comfort? He packed them for him, before Patton was whisked away. Maybe that was how his dad wished for him to remember his home.

He knew his father had been the one to strike the deal. Maybe far before Patton was born. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, let that paint over his memories in grief. Maybe it was naive of him, but that was something he learned to accept he wouldn’t ever understand, and he’d never get the chance to. But he did remember. The tender words that wrapped blankets around his heart on fearful nights, how warm his father’s hands were as he tucked Patton into bed and kissed his forehead, the lessons and games in the garden. That was enough for him.

Slipping his fingers under a loose tile, Patton knocked it away and revealed the tiny teal box stashed right under it. From it, he drew out a silver ring, one he kept as safely hidden as he could. It had no jewels or fancy engravings, but to him, it was the most special ring he’d ever had. He slipped it onto his finger, and another memory followed as the metal slid over his skin. Patton closed his hands over each other, bringing them close to his chest.

He'd been so worried as father packed for another trip, fearful that if he let him go, he would be gone too. His dad had simply kneeled in front of him, a kind smile on his face.

“It’s been difficult for all of us, I know, but I promise I will be right by you, my little bird, just as your mother,” he’d said, as he slipped the ring onto Patton’s hand. It had been much too large, at that time, but he grew into it. “Please, just remember — have courage and be kind, and you’ll get through any challenge.”

Patton couldn’t forget it, it was all that had kept him going — past the darkness and the cold. He’d come to, every morning, and he’d remind himself that if only he could be a little brave and kind, things would turn out okay in the end. Then he’d draw the blinds open to let the first streaks of sunlight fill the attic and he’d face the day with a smile. So, yes, he’d hoard all the good memories, keep them cradled close to his chest where they warmed his heart like red embers in a fireplace. He knew what his father had done. It didn’t matter, not to him.

Something bumped against Patton’s thigh. Startled out of his thoughts, he glanced over to find the little mouse staring up at him, the blue ribbon from the box wrapped around its paws. Patton softened.

“You really are trying to cheer me up…” he chuckled faintly, as he took the ribbon, the fabric a smooth satin over his palm. “That was my mom’s, you know?”

A warm feeling bloomed inside him just at the sight of it. He let the ribbon flow down his fingers. Silver thread embroidered vines and flowers down its length, tiny little robins in branches nested in the hems. It had taken a long time to make, but his mom never seemed to mind. Every stitch, every torn piece of string, brought with it a story, told from her armchair as she so diligently worked on it. Patton would always listen, curled up right next to her.

Tales of magic and fantasy, of valiant princes and dragons. Fairies. He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. Oh, he’d loved those the most when he was little, to run barefoot through his garden, wishing he’d walk into a new world where the sun shined different. His mom would come with him, hold his hand and her voice alone could make him believe in it.

It was real, of course. Patton knew that now. He sighed, curling his hand over the ribbon. How ironic, he was stranded in a world mapped out of his dreams, living among mysterious, ethereal creatures, and yet he felt as puny as a tiny mouse. He glanced at his little friend — it seemed focused, playing with a strip of fabric on the ground. He took it and wrapped it around its neck, like a little scarf. The mouse didn’t seem bothered; it nuzzled right against his palm.

“I really ought to name you,” Patton whispered. “… Bernard? No, I don’t like that…”

“Hmm…” He leaned onto his elbow, thinking. “How about… Jackson? Jaq for short?”

Suddenly, the mouse squeaked loudly, jumping up in delight. Patton blinked, then grinned. “Jaq it is!”

Jaq nuzzled against him again and Patton giggled in response. What a strange little mouse! Despite it all, every now and then Patton came across these sort of ordinary little things that were still magical to him. He had to; he couldn’t let himself become afraid of wonder. Because, as it was, he still dreamed as he did many years ago, dreamed of adventure and something more. More than the strings that tied him there. Patton couldn’t keep himself idle in the face of that. So, each and every day, he’d seek out these little things and find the magic for himself — make it if he had to. He’d work and he’d hope, wish with all his heart that things would end up alright, and they would.

Patton wound the ribbon into a little pile and tucked it back in the box, along with the ring. Gently, he lowered it into the floor, covering it with the tile. He put his things back into place, before taking a yellow-patched bag from the back of the crawlspace. He smiled as Jaq skipped out of the burrow, and then he closed the small door, hearing it lock into place with no key.

He’d find his way out, no matter how long it took him.

—♡—

The manor was always at its quietest deep into the night, when his steps would echo down the stairway and there'd be no one there to hear them.

If he timed it right, it made for the perfect opportunity to sneak out, if only for a few hours.

Patton tugged at the piece of thread he’d tied to the lock, then tucked it carefully beside the window frame. It looked near invisible, were you not searching for it, but a little pull at it could let him back in easily. He let the window slide shut, and slinked his way to the ground, feet falling into the grass with only a soft thud. With one hand, he pulled his cloak over his head and then made his way over to the edges of the garden, where they kept the fences and the flowers — not before sneaking one last cautious glance at the manor.

Never hurt to check, Patton thought, though he’d heard The Faerie leave while he feigned sleep.

Ducking under the fence, he slipped into the shadows where the hedges blended with the forest and disappeared into the treeline. Patton pulled the yellow-patched bag closer to his chest, keeping it safe as he swerved through bushes and vines. The trees only grew higher and higher above him the further he got into the woods, hiding him from the stars. Leaves, silver and blue, glittered and danced with the wind from up in the branches like a replacement. He huffed out a laugh when one of them fell right on top of his head, and shook it off.

Almost as if it was second nature, he followed the worn stone paths under his feet, rocks that crumbled with time and weary use, and made his way through the forest. He took a sharp turn near a mushroom-ridden log, then two more turns left, one after the other. If he strained his ears, he could already hear the stream of water that lapped at the river bank.

A sudden, cracking noise made Patton freeze. He stepped back instinctively, only to find it had been just a stick he’d stepped on.

As far as he knew. Patton bit his lip. The night shrouded the way — he could see little more than the light and the dark. Just about anything could be hiding under the forest floor and he’d have no clue… He huddled further into his cloak as he carried on. Small sparks of magic glowed around him, brighter as he neared the heart of the woods, but it still wasn’t quite enough to dissuade his worries. He could always shake on a flask-light to be sure… but the risk of being caught wouldn’t be worth it.

A stray blade of tall grass dragged across his ankle, scraping at his skin in the same way it did the time he had run, and the wind still swept over him with a promise of freedom. Following it once only left him tied in tighter strings. The thought of it made him shiver. Yes, he’d rather try his luck with the dark.

Patton shook his head, taking a turn behind an oak tree and skipping into a new trail, this one made by his own feet. He really needed to get his nerves in order. Winter was over, and he hadn’t been outdoors in so long — he should be happy! He’d taken this path before, it wasn’t dangerous, he couldn’t let silly little worries like that bring his mood down. He nodded, to reassure himself, if anything, and kept on going, ducking under branches until he could peek out the treeline and find the night sky again. Patton allowed himself a small smile. Especially when sights like these awaited him.

Moonlight bounced around the glade, rippling through the water and making the lake’s surface shimmer like stardust. He wandered into the clearing, watching with awe as even the bugs glowed! Fireflies, like shifting constellations, flew circles all over the pond and the trees. He sat down by a rock to wait, taking it all in. The trek here wasn’t all pleasant, no, but it was worth it. Patton pulled his bag into his lap, fidgeting with the strap. And if the time was right, he should arrive soon.

A rustling of leaves drew his gaze towards the trees, from where a dark-cloaked figure stepped out. Now, speak of the devil… Patton stood up quickly to wave the man over. A large-brimmed hat covered his face in shadow, but emerald-green scales shimmered where a sliver of light hit them — from the left side of his temple to the bottom of his jaw. The faerie’s golden serpent’s eye narrowed at Patton, something like amusement, and he sauntered over towards him, fingers clicking against his shepherd’s crook.

“Dee!” Patton called out, grinning wide as he approached.

“My, my, what an enthusiastic greeting,” he drawled, a smirk on his lips. “Why, it’s almost as if you haven’t seen me all season.”

“I haven’t.” Patton chuckled, rolling his eyes.

“Now, are you quite sure?” he said, slithering a circle around Patton with the shepherd’s crook. He waved his hand around with a smile, not a drop coy. “See, I was under the impression humans grew as they aged, yet you remain as small as ever. I must be mistaken, surely, how could that much time have passed?”

Patton snorted, crossing his arms. The other knew very well how humans worked, Dee just couldn’t lose an opportunity to tease him. Patton didn’t know how a faerie could say things like that without getting tongue-tied — although the man did have a reputation for twisting words like braided thread, enough to earn him an alias out of it.

“Deceit!”

Dee chuckled in response, raising a single hand in surrender.

“Very well, very well,” he said, leaning over his cane to peer at Patton, with that narrowed-eye look he thought was so mysterious. Patton stifled a laugh, staring back up at him. He was far past being tricked by that impression of aloofness. Anyone who knew Dee well enough knew he was about as soft as cotton candy, no matter how much he’d resent you saying it.

A beat later, Deceit smirked, bringing a hand to his own cheek in a mock-wiping gesture. “You’ve done your moniker justice today, Cinders.”

Patton blinked. Sheepishly, he tried to rub the ashes off his face, with little luck.

“Ah, she had me clean the fireplace again.”

Deceit paused, at that. His smug expression fell into that pinched look he’d always gotten whenever Patton mentioned The Faerie. Patton couldn’t quite place it, even now. Deceit tapped his staff against the ground.

“I see,” he said, softer. He sighed, averting his eyes. “I assume you’ve brought something for me, today?”

He let Dee change the topic and nodded, throwing the yellow patched bag over his shoulder and reaching inside.

“These pieces were inspired by something a little more personal, this time, I hope you don’t mind,” he said casually, handing Deceit a square piece of yellow fabric.

The other took it, inspecting it carefully. He smoothed his thumb over the embroidered thread, shaped into a small bird cradled into the coils of a serpent. Held, not squeezed.

“A snake,” he commented, a smile pulling at his lips. “What a cruel muse.”

Patton smiled back, with a shrug of his shoulders. “I wouldn’t say cruel.”

“Well, I see your craftsmanship improves by the day,” Deceit said, as he folded the patch of cloth and slipped it into his jacket. “You’ve had time to practice, haven’t you?”

“Far too much,” he shook his head, laughing. “I don’t think I’ll ever see a needle the same way again.”

“And your… collection?”

“It’s not ready,” Patton fiddled with the stitching on his sleeve. “Yet,” he added.

Deceit tilted his head. “Wishing for good things this spring?”

“Always.”

“The wild folk at the market will be clamoring over your work,” he gestured to his suit pocket. “If you’ve kept up this quality.”

“I sure hope so!” Patton said, pulling up his bag to show Deceit his newest pieces, the ones he hadn’t made for him. “If all goes well, I’ll be able to get some good trades today.”

Deceit sifted through them, as if analyzing each and every stitch. “Beautiful,” the faerie murmured. “I have no doubt you will. With your skill, you could land an apprenticeship with the best weavers of the courts, if you wished to.”

Silence trailed behind his words, hanging over them both for one heavy moment. Patton looked to the ground. He couldn’t afford to imagine how it would be after this was over. Not until it was over.

“I know,” he finally said, and smiled, strained, as he reached underneath his cloak to unclasp his necklace. “But it’s not something I can have.”

Deceit looked at him, worried and full of sympathy, before he accepted the small citrine pendant into his palm. He knew it too, just as well as Patton did. He closed his hand over the jewel and pressed it to his chest, every bit as resigned.

Then, his eyes began to simmer with a yellow glow, both of them, and spells — words and phrases Patton could not recognize — poured from his lips. When he splayed his hand open again, wisps of lights whirled around the crystal and settled on its surface.

“Dí aimshni,” Dee said, and his words tied their deal as a ribbon around them both. He handed the necklace back to Patton, who felt as the magic sunk into his skin.

“It is done,” he repeated — this phrase, he knew. Deceit nodded, circling around him to walk away, but not before settling a hand on Patton’s shoulder. He leaned in close.

“The glamour should last you until the full moon reaches the sky again,” he whispered. “Change is coming, please be safe, mhi-naistdh.”

When Patton turned back around, Deceit was gone — as the breeze that settled over the clearing. The magic under that name lingered over him as it always did when Dee used it, warm and comforting as a quilted blanket, though he had yet to figure out what it meant.

He padded over to the lake, kneeling down to peek into the water as he fixed the necklace around his throat. Strings of yellow light seeped out of the pendant as it touched his skin, coiling around him. He shut his eyes, and when he opened them back up, the pond greeted him with a shifted reflection. Starry-silver freckles dotted his cheeks where once was soot, gold thread mixed into his messy strands of caramel hair, and when Patton touched the tips of his ears they were pointed, faerie-like. He smiled, pulling down the hood of his cloak as he stood, and sauntered out of the glade.

The forest shone much brighter with each step closer to the market, with the glow of enchantments and the fae who’d gathered for trading and conversation. After this first meeting, the woods were always much easier to navigate, he didn’t have to walk all that far to reach it. It was a small but significant affair, faeries of all kinds huddled over stalls and makeshift tables, sitting on wood stumps as their chatter echoed around the trees. The wild fae — who didn’t live by the gentry’s rules or bothered with the stifling air of revels. The ones who lived as free as the water that coursed through the creek.

Patton greeted a few familiar faces as he walked to his usual spot — and easily, he fell into chit-chat. He knew, of course, that the folk could be as dangerous as a waterfall, but like this, with the glamour, he felt… less nervous. He couldn’t rely on just favor, whether good or bad. And he never looked for trouble, still, but knowing they saw him as one of them when they talked to him, well, it sure made interacting with them much less nerve-wracking!

Patton readied his booth — improvised from a wooden cart and panels he hefted into place, but it served him well. He attended to the customers who’d ordered repairs and stitch jobs first and then began to splay out his pieces on the counter. Fae came and went by his little shop, throughout an hour or two, sometimes just to trade, sometimes staying for a conversation. Then, the market hit a lull in activity, but Patton didn’t mind a bit of a quiet moment.

He leaned onto his elbows and stared up at the sky from under his booth — by this hour, it was a tapestry of silver against black. Though the stars seemed… blurrier than usual. Patton slipped off his glasses and wrinkled his nose when he saw the lenses, smudged all over and foggy. He really ought to clean them more often. Setting the glasses by the counter, he turned to the back of his stall to search for a cloth.

Among his materials, he found an unused patch of fabric inside his sewing pouch that’d work fine for the job. Though, as he took it, he caught a glimpse of the box he hid under the booth — where he kept the trinkets he’d bartered for. Patton blinked. It was already much fuller now than it had been when he first arrived. Coins, jewels, and finery nearly reached the lid!

He kneeled down to touch it, rummaging through its contents, and he smiled. All of it, all of his collection, it had a purpose. Something he’d worked towards for years. He would convince The Faerie to trade his name back. It sounded foolish, he knew, it'd be a hard bargain to drive, and stars above maybe it'd take long, but until then, he’d gather all he could until she had no choice but to accept his offer.

Gently, he closed the box and pushed it further under the counter. At least he hoped she would.

And if things worked out as Patton hoped, that’d be sooner rather than later.

-

Song of the chapter: Echo Of My Shadow by AURORA

AN: janus is referred to as 'deceit' in this fic for fae reasons. no, you have not traveled back in time to 2019 😆

[nijinokanatani]

A. Duncan Carse (Andreas Duncan Carse, 1876 - 1938)

“Dewdrops from Fairyland” 1912

[leohtttbriar]

so puck says at some point:

Jack shall have Jill, / Naught shall go ill, / The man shall have his mare again, / And all shall be well."

and especially with the troubling early-colonialist perspective dropped into the argument between oberon and titania over the child from india (who never speaks), this whole play is so rich for an update in performance and staging from what it's typically understood to be and definitely meant to be, to something that actually leans into this tension.

like when hermia is trying to say she's trustworthy to lysander:

"And by that fire which burned the Carthage Queen / When the false Trojan under sail was seen, / By all the vows that ever men broke, / in number more than ever women spoke..."

and the fairy-girl who serves Titania says:

"And I serve the Fairy Queen / to dew her orbs upon the green [...] / I must go seek some dewdrops here / And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear."

with titania explaining why she must keep the child oberon covets and why she separates herself from him at the beginning of the play (and why he eventually spells her to "willingly" give the child up in the midst of falling in love with a donkey while he and puck laugh):

"The fairyland buys not the child of me. / His mother was a votress* of my order, / And in the spicèd Indian air by night / Full often hath she gossiped by my side / And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands, / Marking the embarkèd traders on the flood, / When we have laughed to see the sails conceive / And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind, / Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait / Following--her womb then rich with my young squire--/ Would imitate, and sail upon the land / To fetch me trifles and return again, / As from a voyage, rich with merchandise. But she, being mortal, of that boy did die, / And for her sake do I rear up her boy, / And for her sake I will not part with him." *A woman who has taken a vow to serve

and with helena speaking to hermia, unbelieving that lysander could transfer his affections to her form hermia:

"Is all the counsel that we two have shared, / The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent / When we have chid the hasty-footed time / For parting us--oh is all forgot, / All schooldays' friendship, childhood innocence? / We, Hermia, like two artificial gods / Have with our needles created both one flower, / Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, / Both warbling of one song, both in one key, / As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds / Had been incorporate. So we grew together / Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, / But yet an union in partition, / Two lovely berries molded on one stem; / So with two seeming bodies but one heart, / Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, / Due but to one and crownèd with one crest. / And will you rent our ancient love asunder, / To join with men in scorning your poor friend?"

and through machinations "more strange than true" and a final judgment from the patriarch theseus, on the day of his wedding to the amazon queen hippolyta (now forever parted from her people), all the women diverge from each other. and then theseus says to bottom, hilariously mean:

"No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all dead, there need none be blamed."

titania really is the biggest lesbian trapped in the worst sort of marriage to a man with a Thing for his fairy-servant—a man who, nevertheless, wants to author her life and claim her love to him and claim her friendships and vows until they mean nothing. where’s the midsummer horror story retelling? where’s the spooktastic play about patriarchal suffocation and how wildness has to ultimately succumb to the will of men and kings? that is until helena just kills lysander, the inciting incident, and paternalism unravels?

[haruchonns]

Andreas Duncan Carse (1876-1938)

Dewdrops from Fairyland (1912) 1- Frontispiece 2- Tiger-Lily Sprite 3- The Last Bee of Summer 4- The Immortal Baby 5- The Witch and the Goblin 6- When the Sun and the Moon met 7- The First Rose Beetle 8- A Blackberry Tale 9- Mrs Nightingale's Evening Party 10-endleaf

[violettesiren]

In the deep heart of furthest fairyland Where foot of man has never trodden yet The enchanted portals of her palace stand, And there her sleepless sentinels are set.

All round grow forests of white eglantine And drooping, dreaming clematis; there blows The purple nightshade; there pale bindweeds twine And there the pale, frail flower of slumber grows.

Her palaces are decked with gleaming wings, Hung o’er with webs through spacious bower and hall, Filled through and through with precious priceless things; She is their mistress and she hates them all.

No darkling webs, woven in dust and gloom, Adorn her palace walls; there gleam astir Live threads of light, spun for a fairy’s loom, And stolen by her slaves and brought to her.

She wears a robe woven of the July sun, Mixed with green threads won from the East at dawn, Bordered with silver moonrays, finely spun, And gemmed with glowworms from some shadowy lawn.

She wears a crown of dewdrops bright like tears, Her girdle is a web of rainbow dyes; She knows no youth, nor age; the hours and years Leave never a shadow on her lips and eyes.

In magic rings of green and glistening light Her fairies dance, in star-spun raiment clad, Her people do her bidding day and night, Her dark-robed servants toil to make her glad.

Her minstrels play to her—her singers raise Soft songs, more sweet than man has ever heard, With endless rhythms of love her courtiers praise, And all their heart is in their every word.

She is the mistress of all things that set Snare of fine webs to win their hearts’ desire, Queen of all folk who weave the death-strong net Between the poppy and the wild-rose briar.

Yet sits despair upon that brow of hers, And sorrow in her eyes makes festival; The soul of grief with her sad soul confers, And she sits lonely in her crowded hall;

Because she has woven a web of her bright hair— A tear-bright web, to catch one soul; and he Beheld her, in her beauty, set the snare, And seeing laughed, and laughing passed out free!

The Spider Queen by Edith Nesbit

[silvernwillow]

Illustration by A. Duncan Carse from "Dewdrops from Fairyland" (1912)

[setepenre-set]

Pleasant Is the Fairyland  (chapter 8)

Megamind/Roxanne

T rating, Labyrinth AU

The Goblin King Megamind is running out of time–he must take a consort. The King declares he will have no one but Roxanne Ritchi—and so Roxanne finds herself whirled away from her unfulfilling, ordinary life…to the Labyrinth, at the center of which is a secret, the King promises, if she can find it. A secret with the power to save a world, or to condemn it to Nothingness.

AO3  |  FFN

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | 

chapter 5  | chapter 6 | chapter 7

(links disabled so this will show up in the tumblr search tool. I’m going to reblog momentarily with the links; look for it in the notes)

Roxanne and the Goblin King stumbled out of the maze and into a world of sunlight and silver-green leaves.

Roxanne kept her gaze fearfully over her shoulder as they did so, convinced, justas she had been as a child going up the basement staircase, that if she looked away from the shadows for a moment they would surge forward and engulf her, eat her whole with vicious, formless mouths.

Convinced with much more reason than she’d had as a child, for she had no doubt that was exactly what the shadows had been trying to do to her and the Goblin King, just before she’d solved the last riddle.

This time, though, the shadows stayed where they were, cool and unmoving and—seemingly—harmless. Instead, it was the iron doors that moved, slamming closed by themselves with a resounding, ominous boom, like the sound of a church bell in hell.

Slamming closed—and then—

—it was as if the doors turned themselves inside out, like a pillowcase grabbed by an immense invisible and hand pulled through itself so that the seams no longer showed.

The doors

(seams)

disappeared, leaving only more trees where they had once been.

Roxanne made an instinctive noise of revulsion, feeling, as she had very much not felt while watching the Goblin King work his magic beneath the tree, a sense of wrongness, of something horrible lurking just beneath the fabric of reality, just beneath the surface of the world, just out of sight.

The Goblin King made a soft, sighing kind of sound and fainted.

She’d been holding most of his weight already, and he was so very light anyway that it actually took her a moment to realize what had happened. It was not until his head lolled against her shoulder, the large, smooth shape of it falling against the curve of her neck, and she looked down into his face that she saw he was unconscious.

His skin was not merely gray now, but nearly translucent, with the delicate webbing of veins showing through, and his breathing was quick and shallow.

He looked—he looked not just ill, but as if he were dying.

Roxanne lowered him gently to the ground, hand cradling the back of his head protectively as she laid him down on the grass behind the nearest tree.

Shadows fell dark on his skin, deep blue and dappled by the leaves, and something about that, something about the shadows, about the light caught at the corners of her mind, something about the light and the way it had—

She looked up.

—changed.

A moment ago, it had been bright sunshine, but now the light that filtered through the silver-green leaves was painted lavender with a swiftly-falling twilight.

Roxanne’s breath hissed through her teeth, the back of her neck prickling with a disquiet that was very nearly fear.

What was wrong with this place? For surely there was something wrong, really wrong with it, just as there was something really wrong with the Goblin King, something beyond just what hunger and heat exhaustion could account for. She couldn’t even blame the head wound which he had been so quick to dismiss, for he’d been doing badly even before the two of them fell into the hole.

Even as she watched, the lavender light of early twilight was already fading into the bluish light of dusk, filtering through the silver-green leaves, coloring the air blue-green, like water seen from the bottom of a forest pool.

Filtering through the leaves and also through—

Roxanne looked more closely.

Yes, she was right; the bunches of brightly colored things that she’d taken at first for flowers like wisteria were actually grapes—never mind that grapes grew on vines, and not on trees.

The fruits of these grapes were multi-colored, a rainbow on each cluster, each sphere a different shade, red and blue and black and purple and yellow and green like ordinary grapes, but also pure white and gold and silver, true orange and bright teal and clear as water droplets or diamonds.

Roxanne stood on tiptoe and reached up to pull down a cluster.

They lay cool and heavy in her hand, cooler and heavier than grapes ought to be, almost like pieces of polished marble or quartz. The scent of them, of the stem she’d broken pulling them down, was sweet and heady.

She knelt down beside the Goblin King, who still lay with his eyes closed, his breathing worryingly shallow. The unnatural pallor of his skin made the hollows beneath his sharp cheekbones look deeper. Roxanne plucked a grape from the cluster, a translucent blue one, and again that sweet, delicious smell filled the air, making her mouth water.

She began to bring the grape to the Goblin King’s mouth—and then she stopped.

He’d said that the food here wasn’t enchanted to force her to stay, but he hadn’t promised that it was all safe, hadn’t promised that some of it wasn’t enchanted in different ways, or simply, mundanely poisonous.

Roxanne hesitated for a moment, hand still outstretched, watching the Goblin King breathe too shallowly, and then she brought the grape up to her own mouth and popped it in.

As her teeth broke the skin of it, the grape seemed to explode with sweetness in her mouth, juice cold and pure and sweet, so sweet, like champagne tasted in a dream. The desire to cram the rest of the bunch into her mouth was nearly overwhelming, but Roxanne held back, carefully chewing the single grape and then swallowing it.

She waited, the taste of it lingering on her tongue, weighing the risk of slow-working poison or deadly enchantment against the way she could see the Goblin King becoming paler and paler, could see his breath coming shallower and shallower, could see him fading as the twilight faded.

(the dying of the light)

She waited as long as she dared, and then she pulled another grape from the bunch, one of the dewdrop-and-diamond-clear ones.

Roxanne was afraid he’d choke on it if she tried to feed him the whole grape like this while he was unconscious, so, instead, she pulled his head into her lap and parted his lips with the fingers of one hand. She held the grape between thumb and forefinger of her other hand and squeezed until she broke the skin of the grape, then let the juice drip into his mouth.

The Goblin King awoke with a sweet taste in his mouth and his head in Roxanne’s lap.

...to be continued.

Happy Valentine’s Day! (...slightly belated) I hope you enjoyed the chapter update, and also day three of my birthday week celebrations! 

[secondlifep]

Dewdrops from Fairyland – Illustrated by A. Duncan Cars

(via ello.co/jolandasdreamworld/post/8sk9scyseqqjxmyc0brtww)

[indigodreams]

Bother the Gnat from Dewdrops from Fairyland, illustrated by A. Duncan Carse (1876-1938) Vera Nijveld

[fireflypath]

🌬Moth Faerie for @faeriemagazine Inspired by "Midsummer Night's Dream" and the ethereal fairyland scenes from paintings of John Simmons. I wanted to create a gown that looked as though it was formed from mist and dewdrops. The Moth Faerie's gown is light and airy like the wings of a pale white moth. Dewy vines grow across her neck and down her chest. Tiny white flowers blossom with pearls that are scattered across her gown. Wings are from @fancyfairyangela #fireflypath #fairywings #ethereal #moss #faerie #fairy #moth #mothfairy #mist #vines #flowers #fairydress