Young Writers Society

The Little Fairy

a twisted tale from the mind of a Danish genius and some of YWS's best known psychopaths...

Introduction:

Once upon a time, the Fey and the Humans of Harutia lived peacefully side by side. Their villages traded and the two royal families who were very close friends, built their palaces next to each other.

But as the years wore on, the greed of humans disgusted the Fey, and the humans became suspicious of the Fey’s mysterious and elusive ways. The two leaders at the time were wise enough to know war was not an option, but no longer could two such different peoples continue living in harmony. Something had to be done.

So the Queen of the Fey ordered a magical veil to be drawn down over all the Fey settlements. In most places, the Veil was thick and solid and built so that a human could pass through an entire Fey settlement without even noticing, and the Fey could do the same. But like a curtain, there were chinks through which the light fell, where if you stood at just the right angle and listened closely, you could see the other world, sometimes hear a murmur of voices and even, sometimes, pass through the gap. If fairies spent more than a minute on the human side, though, their skin began to burn. If humans spent more than a minute on the Fey side, then their lungs would clog with the air that was thick with fairy dust.

The chinks between the worlds happened mainly at the borders, where the curtains ended, but also in the place where the barriers began- right in between the two Royal Palaces.

Centuries have passed in peace. The royal children of each generation are intrigued by those shimmering spots in the air where the leaves are a different shade of green. But none so intrigued by the other world as Robyn, the current Fairy King's youngest daughter. One day she spots the Human Prince Jerald who is involved in a terrible huntin accident and is sent tumbling through a window between worlds. Robyn breaks all rules and saves his life.

This singular act of kindness and selflessness is to have disastrous consequences, as a story of a great and terrible love enveloped in the threat of war begins to encompass the entirety of the two kingdoms...

The World:




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Robyn | The Fae's Forest

The door closed quietly.

Robyn exhaled, glad she had gotten around the servants again. She tucked her wings tight against her body and crept through the forest, using a path parallel to Sage's but with enough trees between the two she wouldn't run into her sister. Not that that stopped the older girl from finding her by the Curtain anyway.

She was careful not to disturb what the royal gardeners maintained, if only to keep the beginning of this trail as pristine as possible. Hidden as possible. It was fun to pretend she was a daring adventurer needing to escape the castle and leave no blade of grass different than what it was, else the castle would sound the alarm! All to see the dashing prince and be swept off her feet in true love.

Only, the prince she was going to see had no knowledge she existed, and Robyn couldn't step close to him without her skin turning red, almost beginning to smoke from the sun.

The sun would be the villain in a story. The evil keeping two destined lovers apart. Or would it be her father? He refused to show her the Curtain, after all. And he was the person she snuck around. Or maybe her ancestor who had drawn the Curtain in the first place!

Robyn's musings had taken her right to the shimmering edge. She listened closely for any sound of Sage, but at none went towards the break in the curtain. Only to be stopped short by a not-quite-boyish yell, followed by a thud and coughing. The Curtain beside her shimmered, as if somebody had disturbed its chink.

Had somebody gone through?

If it was a human, then the coughing— his lungs. What sun was to fae outside the Curtain, air was to humans inside. It could be the prince and he could be dying.

But if Robyn went to save him, and her father discovered she had broken the rule of the kingdom and seen a human so close, let alone saved his life! The scandal.

She took half a step back before remembering heroes didn't let anybody die. Even if it put their own life in danger. And having watched humans for so long, she felt she had to.

A few rushed steps and she came upon the prince, cloth of his tunic torn, small cuts on his face, and breath shuddering, getting shallower with every cough. The Curtain was still moving from where he'd passed through.

She picked up his leg and began dragging him back towards the chink, hoping that her grunts weren't audible to anybody who happened to be walking by. She stopped only when her wings and back began burning with the sun, switching to push him up and forward through the chink.

Robyn yelped as she tumbled forward on top of him with her final push, feeling her back scream in agony as sunlight beat down. She'd heard of this pain but never felt it, and almost before she had gotten her bearings she scrambled back to the comparative darkness of the fae's forest.

Her wings beat to bring air around her back in some attempt to cool it down, and Robyn found herself unable to touch her arms. She heard much louder coughing from outside the chink, where the prince was beginning to move only a foot beside her. The desire to touch him was nearly overwhelming, but any darker burns would be noticed.

Instead, she started to sing.

The melody of a song came to her throat, the song of valiant nights and princesses asleep among roses being often heard through the halls. Robyn felt her magic flow through her veins that had always enchanted those who listened. In the hopes the prince would recognize her again, when he came close to the Curtain next time.

But only halfway through, Robyn heard the sounds of other voices, and animals. Yelling to stop. The chink was still wide, giving humans a perfect view into fae if she stayed there.

Unable to take risking anymore, Robyn fled back into the forest. Not without a secret hope to see the prince again.

Prince Jerald | Somewhere Between a Path and a Fairy Curtain? I'm Only Semi-Conscious Gimme a Break

Jerald kept his eyes closed, silently encouraging his lungs to keep pulling in air, grimacing with every cough. Not because the coughs hurt, per se, but the way it made his head and shoulders jerk around? Yes, that hurt.

Breathe, Jerald. The internalized pep-talk wasn't doing much good. Usually, they were a reasonably successful coping mechanism, and when a reasonably successful coping mechanism decided not to work, one began to feel a tad on the gloomy side. It's not that hard, you incompetent oaf.

Whoa. Easy, self.

He coughed again, and if he could see anything past a spinning blur whenever he opened his eyes (and if he could locate his hands well enough to lift them), he would have checked to see if blood was spewing everywhere. His mouth tasted vaguely like blood...

God, why couldn't he just breathe? It felt like trying to gasp for air through three layers of fabric. Dusty fabric. He could feel his pulse getting quicker- or maybe that was just him. Did one's pulse speed up or slow down during suffocation? He had no idea, but regardless, his heart was doing something that hearts just shouldn't do. And on top of that, his head was beginning to pound. Badly. So badly, in fact, that he could hardly process the rustling behind him.

Another cough, and another, and breathing was getting even harder. Was he slipping? He felt like he was slipping. Not physically, but- but mentally. He was going to die. He was going to die, and this was an absolutely horrific time to do so. He couldn't just keel over the day he was supposed to meet his fiance- princes didn't do that sort of thing.

If something was still moving beside him, he couldn't- something had his leg. God, tell my mother I love her. Tell my father that I love him. It was probably a wild animal, come to feast on his remains. Make a mockery out of the hunter. They'd find a pile of bones and cloth and nothing else. Tell my brother that he's odd, but he's always been endeared to me, anyway. Tell my sister in law that I... appreciate her company?

The next breath didn't even come, no matter how hard he strained his lungs. Stars exploded in his vision, and he suddenly couldn't tell whether his eyes were open or closed. If that pain was anything short of his brain rupturing, he'd honestly be a very, very surprised man. Not that he'd live to find out. Did he want to live to find out? Something told him that living with a ruptured brain wouldn't exactly be his cup of tea, anyway; he was dense enough as it was.

And suddenly, he was upright. He knew he was upright, because- no, he didn't know at all. There was still pressure behind his back. He was probably- no, no he had definitely been upright, because he was absolutely, certainly, without a doubt definitely falling forward. His eyes sprang open (well, at least he was clear on that, now), but all he saw was a blur of green and brown before squeezing them shut again. The moment of full consciousness ended before he hit the ground, and ended a little more with the pain that he couldn't even cry out in. It was his face- namely his nose,- his chest, and try as he might, he couldn't so much as gasp around it.

Something heavy-but-not landed on his back, and that time, he gasped. The pain was unspeakable; Lord have mercy. Mercy, God. Dull throbs weren't supposed to be unspeakable- they were supposed to be tolerable. The weight lifted soon enough, and for what felt like a few moments, he wasn't thinking. He wasn't seeing. He wasn't aware.

Wasn't aware until he heard the singing. A voice so absolutely pure that it had him completely enraptured, luring him in, seeming to numb his body to the aches and burns and throbs. Even his head felt a little better. Whatever was left of his consciousness grabbed hold of and held onto that, and, for a second, he thought that maybe he wasn't going to die, after all. Only, that only made him wonder if he wasn't already dead. Angels were supposed to have glorious voices, weren't they? And there wasn't supposed to be any pain in Heaven- not that there wasn't still pain, but it was in the process of easing. Maybe it just took a few minutes for the spirit to forget that it wasn't a part of the body, anymore.

You know, if that's what Heaven sounded like, maybe he wasn't so opposed to dying at such an inconvenient time.

He had to find out though, didn't he? Had to figure out if he was still in a forest- he'd been out in the forest, hadn't he? Yes, hunting. He'd been hunting and his horse- that damn horse- had tossed him. Spooked and tossed him, and he'd run into more than one thing on the way to the ground. Ground. Whatever was underneath him sort of smelled like it. A lot like it. Wait, wait- he was breathing again? Did dead people breathe?

A "Stop!" that sounded warbled reached his ears, and the singing obeyed.

"No," Jerald whispered. "No, don't-" he had to stop to make way for a single-syllable grunt. A quiet nnrg of a sound that just made his chest ache all over again.

Jerald found himself able to move his arm, decidedly drawing it in around his chest, trying to roll himself onto his side just as someone crouched in front of him. Someone in a dress. Lord, when had he opened his eyes again? He didn't even remember seeing the trees, or any of the other people. Just the woman. A woman with curly hair and a soft face and- damn it.

"This wasn't-" he winced "- this wasn't how I-" He couldn't have at least made it back to the palace and cleaned himself up? "- how I planned on ma- making your- your acquaintance." His chest seized up again, and he squeezed his eyes shut. "Where's my- where's my stupid, dis...loyal... oaf of a... of a horse?"

He was going to beat that blasted animal. Except, he probably wouldn't, because Lord, did he love his stupid, disloyal oaf of a horse.

It was the last lucid thought he had. Not about the maiden bent over him, or about her voice, or the singing, or the commotion, but about that damn horse.

Princess Leila | On the Driveway of the Harutian Palace

The palace really was something to behold. It was entirely Harutian, so different to everything Leila was used to. The lake shone sapphire blue, the stones gleamed white. She wondered if there had been workers out to make everything just so, especially for her arrival. That was kind of them.

"It's beautiful," she told her brother Farid, who was already staring out the window, eagerly taking it all in.

Leila shut her eyes, imagined the havoc inside the palace as the rumble of their carriages approaching was heard. Perhaps the Queen was flattening down a last lock of Prince Jerald's hair. Maybe his brother was giving him sage advice, recounting the time he first met the lovely Lady Freya. Maybe the King was bellowing orders at the servants, making sure everything was perfect and in place for their new princess.

At that thought, Leila whipped out a pocket mirror, checking her own hair hadn't been ruined by their short drive, adjusted the neckline of her dress so it hung just right- a little suggestive but still modest enough for the Queen to approve. The kohl above her right eye had smudged slightly. Dampening a finger with her tongue, she carefully teased the black into place. She smiled at her reflection. Thankfully, her nerves weren't showing.

Except to Farid, who could always tell how she was feeling. "Don't be nervous. Try not to be nervous."

"I'm to spend the rest of my life with this man- the rest of my life depends on this first impression. You can never redo a first impression." Just the thought was making her hyperventilate. What if he didn't like her? What if he thought she was ugly, or stupid, or that her laugh was too high-pitched- maybe she shouldn't laugh- but then what if he thought she wasn't funny- or his parents thought she was being petulant by not laughing or maybe that she was an imbecile?

A strange melody floated across the otherwise silent, impeccable grounds. Leila clung to the frame of the carriage window, her eyes shut, drinking it in. It was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard- and then there was some cacophony, some big noise, something that she knew was saying Stop and the song was gone.

She met Farid's green-gold eyes. "Did you hear that?" she asked, breathless, a new type of excitement rising inside her.

Farid nodded, those eyes wide.

"Stop the carriage!" Leila commanded.

"Leila, you can't- it isn't proper-"

"I don't care." She had to find the source of that song. She knew that there were Fairies in this region- but no, that was nonsensical.

She ran a few steps into the grounds, and saw a dark figure on the jewel-bright lawn. It was flat, injured, exhausted. Hurt. In danger. Leila hitched up her skirts and ran, dew sprinkling her indoor slippers. But perhaps saving a man's life would impress the Prince so much he would forget her lateness-

Oh.

Oh.

His portrait-painter had done a good job on his miniature, this looked exactly like him, but his hair was messy, just as Leila had imagined it.

"This wasn't- this wasn't how I- how I planned on ma- making your- your acquaintance." Prince Jerald shut his eyes against her- for a second Leila thought maybe he didn't like how he looked- but it was probably just pain. "Where's my- where's my stupid, dis...loyal... oaf of a... of a horse?"

And then, he lost consciousness altogether, falling back onto the ground, but Leila had just enough time to put an arm around his shoulders, and then to shuffle around and support his head in her lap.

"Help!" she shouted. "I need help! The Prince is injured."

Farid, of course, was the first that came running, anxious for his sister. "Lei- what's going on- is that who I think it is?"

"Yes. And we need to get him to the palace, right now. Help me!"

Lady Freya | The Harutian Palace

Freya lounged on the window seat in her study, gazing upon just one small section of the Harutian palace's extensive gardens. It was a lovely day, the sun bathing the grass and flowers in warmth and making Freya itch to be outside with her slippers cast off and her hair tangling in the wind.

Not today, she told herself glumly. Yet, not so glumly after all as she reminded herself that today was the day Princess Leila was to arrive and that made it a very special day indeed.

Freya straightened in her seat, smoothing her dress and setting her shoulders back. Today will be a most wonderful day, indeed.

Still, the sun's allure was more than she could manage. Just knowing that a breath of fresh air was all she would need to satisfy herself for the day, Freya threw open the bay windows she sat at and thrust her head into the garden. It turned out to be the most opportune head thrust, as well, as the moment she was hanging out the window there came the most distinct cry of Help!

Freya spun in the seat, her knees tucked under her on the bench in such a way it would surely wrinkle her pretty new dress, and caught the gaze of her husband. He sat at his desk, pretending to concern himself with a pile of documents pertaining to the new alliance the marriage between Jerald and Leila would bring (though Freya knew, for she always knew, that he had been sneaking glances at her as she sat reading at the window all morning long).

"Why, Hans," she said, quickly calling his eager glance toward her as if he had been waiting all morning for her to grace his name by her lips. Freya withheld a sigh - while she enjoyed her husbands company, it grew tiresome to be loved in a manner that one could not return - and gestured to the window. "I believe our princess has arrived, and our dear brother has made his most usual introduction."

Hans raised an eyebrow, clearly confused - oh he truly was a sweetheart, but sometimes the densest being she knew - "How do you mean?"

Freya listened carefully, craning her head back toward the window. "I believe...I believe Jerald has been severely wronged by his horse."

Hans sprung from his seat, practically twirling across the room to take his wife's hand. "Well then, shall we investigate my dear?"

With a grin, Freya stepped from the bench seat and wound her arm under Hans'. "Let's."

Prince Farid - Headed for Harutia

The entire carriage ride, from Balad to Harutia, across a dirty and tasteless desert, had been boring, so boring that Farid was literally counting the commoners they passed. His head slumped against a large palm, fisting his dark hair, golden eyes lazily following a mother with her child as they skipped ahead.

Leila spoke to him a few times, but only received a tired grunt in response. He loved his sister, but he had five hours of sleep under his belt, was getting hungry, and had to use the WC. This ride was much too long, especially to meet this so-called "Prince Jerald of Harutia", who was to marry his sister. His sister, who was only a young woman, innocent and pure and kind. She would make a good queen one day, he was sure of, but she needed a strong king to accompany her, and Farid had his doubts about this pretty boy.

Once they entered Harutian land, both of their eyes widened. The scenery was beautiful, the waters were clear, the trees fresh. Farid agreed with his sister as she spoke of its beauty, silently aweing at the shops and market they passed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Farid saw Leila pull a mirror out and self conciously fix her dark locks, and he scowled. "Stop. You look perfect," he growled, turning to stroke and pinch her cheek affectionately.

She spoke of nerves, and he shook his head, disagreeing. "You'll be fine, Leila. You're a sophisticated, well-mannered princess! You got thi-"

He broke off as a simply beautiful and exquisite sound reached his ears, making his mouth hang open in shock. He was at a lost for words, his expression dazed as the melodic sound captivated him.

"Did you hear that?" Leila said breathlessly, a flush rising to her cheeks as she looked around excitedly.

He finally snapped out of it as the song stopped and his sister ordered the carriage to a stop. She jumped down, barely moving a foot away, before she shouted out and ran forward. "Leila!" He yelled, a hand rising to draw his sword. He sprang out of his seat and chased after her, ready to fight.

"What is wrong, Le- Is that who I think it is?" He started to say, then changed course as he drew near and saw it was a man crumpled on the ground. From the painting he saw a few days ago, and comparing it to this man, this was Prince Jerald.

Not the best looking, but still handsome, with defined muscles and a peaceful, if idiotic, look on his unconscious face. Farid rolled his eyes and sheathed his sword, then squatted down to bring the man into his arms. He nudged his sister and she trailed alongst his side, eyes locked on the prince.

They climbed into the carriage and made their way down to the palace, with Leila fawning over Jerald, stroking his face and fanning him with her hand. Farid loosely kept a grip on him and was happy to dump him into the arms of his brother as Prince Hans and his wife came out to greet them.

"Your Highness, I am Princess Leila of Balad, and this is my brother, Prince Farid." Leila said with a breathless curtesy. Farid followed suit, bowing to them both, then rose to his full height and gazed at Prince Hans, waiting for his response.