When I was chased into the forest by the phobotor and Cynthia had bashed a rock over it’s head, I had thought that was the last I would ever see of the creature. Sadly, that was not the case.
“But, Myfanwy–” I began to protest, but the satyr in question cut me off.
“No. You’re lucky the Dreamweaver didn’t notice his pet missing last night, elsewise, you might be in a very different situation.”
My brows furrowed. “He was here last night?”
“Why, yes. Where did you think he was?” She asked the question with such bite and exasperation that I shrugged helplessly. “Hm. At any rate, you’re going to go back into the forest and bring that beast back before night falls.”
I paled. “Oh, God, no. Please, Myfanwy–”
“I don’t want to hear it. You’ll be accompanied by Goergios and Khloe along with your little Safety Sprite friend, so you won’t be going in alone. Besides, that forest is nothing to be afraid of as long as you respect the nature there.”
“Last time I went there, a group of goblins tried to kill me,” I pointed out.
Myfanwy waved a hand as if to wave the words away. “That was just a coincidence. You went in on a bad day, is all. And this time, you’ll be armed with two new allies.”
I opened my mouth to protest again, but she interrupted me for what seemed like the hundredth time in a row.
“Ah, Khloe! Perfect timing. Have you got everything you need?”
I turned my head to the direction of Myfanwy’s gaze and blinked stupidly a few times.
“All but Georgios, ma’am,” said one of the prettiest women I’d ever seen. Long white lashes framed big brown eyes. Cow eyes, my mom would’ve called them (which was a compliment despite the fact that being compared to a heifer ordinarily wouldn’t be one). The woman’s equally white hair was plaited back into intricate braids. Despite her white hair, her appearance was youthful, and she looked to be about my age if not a few years older. When her eyes flicked to mine, they narrowed slightly, and I mentally kicked myself, straightening and giving her a smile that I had a feeling was not nearly as charming as I had hoped it would be.
“Oh, I nearly forgot– you’ve had yet to meet Jane.” Myfanwy said.
“Yes. Our new human resident. How lovely,” the woman said in a flat tone that indicated it was not lovely. I felt my smile worsen as I began to feel a bit woozy. Was it something I’d done?
“It’s nice to meet you,” I blurted out hastily.
Khloe smiled an insincere smile that did not even begin to reach her eyes. “It is nice to meet you, too,” she said in a tone that made it clear it was anything but. I damn near felt like crying.
“Where is your Safety Sprite friend, Jane?” Myfanwy asked, interrupting the minor depressive episode going on in my mind.
“Uh, she said she’d be coming down shortly. Just had to… do something first,” I answered haltingly, feeling Khloe’s eyes narrowing even more at me with every stuttered word that escaped my mouth.
“Hm. Well, she had best get down here quickly. Every second you waste is a second that could be spent searching for the Dreamweaver’s phobotor.”
“Yes,” Khloe agreed, staring at me pointedly with a dark look in her eyes. I blinked a few times, feeling very on the spot and wishing Cynthia would pop up out of nowhere and save me from this situation. That did not happen for a few more minutes.
“Sorry! I’m here now,” Cynthia said, breathless.
“Good. Now go out front, I’m sure Georgios has been waiting for you all for a good while,” Myfanwy told us before vanishing into a corridor yet unexplored by me.
A few awkward moments passed with Khloe damn near glaring at me while I shrunk from her gaze until Cynthia chirped something blissfully oblivious and flew outside, leaving us to follow her.
“Are you ready, Georgios?” Khloe asked what looked like the back of a horse. The horse’s head lifted from the neck and– oh. Oh, that was not a horse. What should’ve been the horse’s neck was instead a human’s torso, and humane male face smiled down at us. Georgios was a centaur.
“Ready as ever, Khloe. I quite like when Myfanwy sends us on trips like these. It gives me a chance to collect new seeds for the garden. Heath also gave me a list of mushrooms to harvest while we’re there. I’ve got it in my bag just here…” He stuck a hand into his saddlebag and, after a bit of rummaging around, brought out a piece of paper.
“Lovely,” Khloe mused with a surprising amount of genuine warmth in her voice that soon leached away when she continued, “but we’ll have to focus on finding the phobotor and keeping Jane alive.”
Georgios’s smile fell away and his eyes widened, making him look almost horrified with himself. He turned to Cynthia and me. “I am so sorry! I haven’t even introduced myself. My name is Georgios. I’m one of the Dreamweaver’s gardeners.”
Cynthia was unbothered and went on to chirp, “Quite fine, sir! It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name’s Cynthia.”
I smiled. “It’s alright, Georgios. I’m Jane. Nice to meet you.”
“It’s good to meet the both of you as well,” he said earnestly.
“We should find Denholm before we even go near the forest. He’ll know tidbits of information about the phobotor that could be important,” Khloe said sharply.
“I do not think we will have to look very far,” Georgios said with a pleased little smile on his face that widened as he looked over us and waved in the direction of the doors from which we’d just exited the manor. We turned to see a stoic man with a shaved head and a remarkable amount of tattoos heading down the steps toward us. “Denholm!” Georgios greeted him fondly.
“Georgios,” the man returned the greeting without too much visual enthusiasm. As he got closer to us, I was able to see that the tips of his ears were slightly pointed and the deep brown of his skin faded to gradually to an almost gray hue. I could not for the life of me discern what manner of faery he was. Before I could avert my gaze from his ears, my staring caught his attention, and Denholm’s steely gaze met mine. “You must be Jane,” he said in a voice so neutral it almost scared me more than Khloe’s frostiness.
Despite that, I put on a smile. “Yes,” I said, “and you must be Denholm.”
“I am.” His eyes narrowed slightly at me and I fought to keep the smile on my face. After taking a moment to assess me, he continued, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I opened my mouth to return the sentiment, but he turned his attention back to Georgios and Khloe. “Myfanwy had to go overlook the gardens, so she told me to come out here and see if you needed anything before you left.”
Georgios appeared as though his soul left his body, all of a sudden looking as ashen as a fireplace. “Oh. Oh, dear. Maybe I shouldn’t be going on this little trip after all.”
Khloe waved a hand. “Catriona will deal with her. Denholm, do you know anything worth knowing about the Dreamweaver’s phobotor?”
Still unused to Khloe’s abrasiveness, both Cynthia and I gave her surprised looks. Meanwhile, Denholm considered her question before saying, “The beast’s name is Balor. He likes treats– specifically rabbits or sheep.” A smile quirked his lips before he added, “And he’s relatively scared of rhinos.”
~
The sounds of the forest filled the silence between us as we walked over the mossy ground, peering around tree trunks and sneaking glances through foliage.
Seemingly unable to bear the silence any longer, Cynthia whispered to me, “I find it odd that Denholm did not acknowledge me. Perhaps he did not see me. You are all rather large compared to my height.”
I opened my mouth to tell her that was probably the case when Khloe shushed us. We all paused, standing stock-still. Khloe continued walking. We stayed still. She turned around and gave us a mildly annoyed look. “By my shush, I did not mean that the phobotor was here. I just meant we need to be quiet if we want to catch it.”
There was a chorus of “oh”’s from the three of us and I gave Khloe a weak thumbs up that she ignored, turning back around and huffing.
I wilted.
Georgios trotted closer to me and leaned down to tell me in a warm, encouraging voice, “Don’t let her get you down. Today must be a rough day for her. She’s normally not this rough.”
I gave him a disbelieving yet grateful smile. “Thanks.”
A nearby twig snapped, and Cynthia (who had been hovering a small distance from my side) immediately flinched closer toward me, one of her tiny arms extending in front of me as I walked. It turned out to be a rabbit. Upon seeing us, the fluffy little thing hopped further out of the underbrush and was followed by what looked like it could have been a warren-full of rabbits.
Cynthia melted. “Oh, they’re adorable,” she cooed.
“So precious,” I whispered, beaming at them.
“Perfect,” Khloe said. “They can be our bait.”
Cynthia and I whirled around to look at her with shock and horror.
Georgios loudly sucked in air through his teeth in a thoughtful hiss. We turned to look at him. Seeing our begging eyes, he shrugged helplessly. “Khloe does have a point. They’d be perfect bait for the phobotor. He’s likely the reason these rabbits have fled their home.”
When we continued to look absolutely heartbroken, Khloe heaved a dramatically loud sigh. “Do you two want the Dreamweaver to come home and find his pet missing because of you?” She asked, her voice sharp and biting and terribly annoyed.
Cynthia and I exchanged a look, bewildered. “No–”
Khloe cut us off in a manner reminiscent of Myfanwy. “Then you should understand we’re doing this for the greater good. These rabbits probably will, too. Now, let’s just herd them back from whence they came. The phobotor’s bound to be there.”
“Should we perhaps follow them from a distance through the forest and let them attract the beast on their own?” Georgios suggested.
Khloe didn’t even wait a second after he spoke before shaking her head and cutting down the idea. “No. We’re herding them.”
So we did, staying silent and keeping our heads down, not wanting to attract attention from the phobotor or the other terrifying beast in the forest (Khloe).
After an hour or two waiting for the phobotor to come and pounce on his prey, the rabbits froze up, looking as though they were vibrating from how hard they were shaking. My gaze locked with the big black eyes of one of the rabbits closest to the edge and I felt something ache in my chest. I remembered exactly how that felt.
Waiting to be torn apart by a beast that was sure to come. Beside me, Cynthia sighed softly in sympathy, and the sound must have made something in one of the rabbits snap, because one moment, there was a rabbit at the edge of the colony, and the next, it was off leaping into the nearest bush. Well, I said into the bush. Really, it was into the waiting jaws of the phobotor.
Cynthia screamed and I would’ve echoed the sound had I not been frozen. The rabbits began to run, but froze yet again. I imagined the nightmarish thoughts the phobotor was forcing them to live through in their minds as he chewed their fallen friend to bits. At least I had it in me to run. These poor creatures stayed stock-still.
The phobotor kept his eyes on them, the silver in them wider than his slitted pupils as his powerful jaw moved. When he swallowed, he did so languidly, like he had a feast before him that he knew wouldn’t budge until he finished it all.
The hunger made the size of his pupils rapidly expand before narrowing to slits yet again as one of the rabbits twitched and he focused on it.
In his hunger, he hadn’t noticed us.
Then, the wind shifted, and his eyes widened, that dark head snapping around to face us. When his eyes met mine, I felt light-headed and dizzy, certain that I’d be facing those terrible thoughts from when he chased me all over again. But I didn’t. He merely glared at me– glared at all of us– before deciding we weren’t as enticing as the meal before him.
It was then that it hit me. He didn’t waste his powers on us because he had a better flock of prey to focus them on. Relief made my legs wobble.
He started to turn his head back to face the rabbits when he stopped, freezing as a scent hit him. In a moment, his entire body changed. He looked less like a monster and more like an oversized cat with odd tendrils curling out from behind its ears. His pupils had expanded and an excited look had settled on his face. For a moment, he seemed torn, glancing back at the rabbits before looking back at whatever it was that was slightly ahead of us. Then, he blinked, and suddenly, the rabbits were everywhere, free from his mind magic. With the rabbits darting around us, I almost didn’t notice the phobotor’s sleek black body bounding over them.
Stumbling over rabbits, we went after him, expecting to find him gnawing on a deer or something equally horrendous. Instead, we found him rolling around in a small bed of lavender, belly up and undefended as he purred so loudly that I was reminded of those heavy duty drills I would hear all the time at the construction sites by Elena’s favorite park.
We stared at him in utter bafflement.
Khione recovered the quickest. “Alright, this is good. Let’s get him back to the manor using lavender.”
“He’s right on top of it all,” Georgios pointed out.
“So?” Khione asked, unbothered.
“We can’t grab any if he’s on top of it all,” Georgios reiterated.
Khione blinked, pausing for a moment as she mentally assessed the roadblock before moving around it. “You’re a gardener, isn’t there anything you can do about it?”
Georgios gave her an exasperated look. “No, Khione. Despite gardening being my area of expertise, I can do absolutely nothing about this because there is a live phobotor atop a bed of lavender that he is currently crushing, and while I am a gardener, I cannot magically produce a new crop of lavender. Gardening takes time and patience, both of which we as a group are remarkably short on.”
While I had kept my attention going back and forth between Khione and Georgios throughout this whole conversation that was much like a ping pong match, Cynthia had not looked away from the phobotor. Her head was tilted slightly to the side in a way that was reminiscent of a puppy as she looked at the phobotor inquisitively. “I could grow some lavender,” she said at last.
Georgios’s expression was the kind of blank that one could only have if they were very startled. “You… you can do that?” he asked carefully.
Cynthia nodded.
He nodded slowly, like his entire world as a gardener wasn’t being uprooted as he carefully shifted a bit of his worldview on his field of expertise.
Khione was not so careful. “Great. Do it.” I opened my mouth to object, but Khione wouldn’t let me, grabbing my arm harshly. Her nails dug into my skin as she dragged me back when it became apparent that I wouldn’t leave my place beside my friend.
Cynthia flew over to the edge of the lavender patch quietly. She slowly lowered herself to the ground, her wings fluttering then drooping and folding down as she settled onto her knees. She inserted her small, needle-like fingers into the ground and exhaled as she pressed them deeper into the soil.
Nothing happened. The wind didn’t change course, the foliage didn’t rustle. The phobotor didn’t go magically still. He remained rolling around in the lavender, purring contentedly.
Slowly, something green sprouted from beneath her fingers. It grew upward, flushing until it became purple and suddenly, it was lavender. A sprig of lavender, made from the magic inside Cynthia’s hands, which she withdrew carefully from the soil. When she looked up, we all did, and we saw the phobotor paying deep attention to the way the small sprig of lavender in front of Cynthia swayed in the sudden rush of a quick breeze. Cynthia flapped her wings and hovered above it. “Come, Balor,” she said, her gentle voice soft and cajoling. “We’ve got a lot more where that came from.”
The phobotor– Balor– cocked his head, still looking at the sprig of lavender. A low, pleased rumble echoed from his chest as he leaned down, nosing at the new sprig of lavender with his eyes closed. When he opened them again, Cynthia was a few paces backward, her fingers deep in the dirt once more. Balor watched in fascination as the lavender grew from her fingertips. Once it was done growing and Cynthia had removed her fingers, Balor prowled forward and nosed at the sprig. This continued for a while, Cynthia growing lavender and pulling Balor along by his nose with Khione, Georgios, and me standing like bodyguards behind her, taking a step back whenever she did.
When we finally reached the manor, Denholm was standing just outside of it, ready to take Balor. His eyes widened when he saw Balor sniffing at the lavender Cynthia grew and the rest of us standing around like a trio of useless idiots.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Why didn't you tell us the phobotor likes lavender?” Khione demanded.
Denholm’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t know that, actually,” he said, sounding slightly peeved at himself but otherwise unbothered. He clicked his tongue, and Balor perked up. The phobotor looked at Denholm, then at the lavender, then at Denholm again before pressing his nose right back against the lavender. Cynthia plucked the sprig of lavender from the ground and slowly flew up to Denholm, Balor following. She handed the lavender to Denholm, who (clearly mystified) carried it into the manor, Balor trailing after him.
We stared off at them for a little while, trying to make sure that we weren’t hallucinating and that Balor wouldn’t immediately run off. When it became clear that Balor was stuck inside the manor with Denholm, we collectively relaxed.
“Well, I’ve got to check the gardens and make sure Myfanwy didn’t tear into Catriona too much. It was a pleasure doing this with you all!” Georgios said earnestly in his chipper way before galloping off to the gardens.
“My goodness, I’m starving!” Cynthia said. “I’m going to go inside and see what Heath’s planning for dinner.” She turned to me. “We’re still on for our Narnia reading tonight, right?”
I nodded, then my eyes widened as I realized that I’d be left alone with Khione. “Yes, but–”
“Great! I’ll be in the kitchens!” Cynthia chirped before flying into the manor.
I stayed frozen for a moment, feeling the fearful look on my face before closing my eyes and erasing it. Swallowing nervously, I turned to Khione and gave her a weak smile. She couldn’t be that bad. Maybe she was just in an off mood today. Maybe it was just because of the inconvenience of the phobotor escaping.
To my surprise, she didn’t immediately glare or narrow her eyes at me. She just stared at me, brows slightly furrowed like she was trying to work her way through something in her mind.
My smile slowly fell away as she continued silently staring at me for a while and I just stared back, confused. At last, she tilted her head and the look in her eyes told me she was done analyzing me. “I am sorry,” she said bluntly.
I blinked. “Wh-what?”
“I have been treating you unfairly based off of an assumption before we even met. I have been cold and cutting and you have not been even remotely deserving of it. I apologize for my behavior.” She clarified, still stoic but with enough of a hint of guilt that I believed her.
“Oh. Um, it’s okay,” I said awkwardly.
“It is not,” she said with great certainty very shortly after the words had left my mouth.
I paused and stumbled over what to say in my head before finally stuttering out, “Well, I forgive you.” Khione looked satisfied and slightly relieved, but a bit of the previous tension was returned to her body when I asked, “What was the assumption you made that made you think so terribly of me?”
The tips of her ears turned pink, and I could’ve sworn her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. It was her turn to stumble over her words. “I… I had heard from Minerva that you were wonderful. She spoke of your loveliness at great length. I was… worried…” she trailed off helplessly, unable to finish.
Very slowly, it dawned on me that Minerva and Khione were dating or courting or whatever the faery term for it was. “You thought I was a homewrecker.” I said bluntly, mildly incredulous.
Khione’s brow furrowed slightly in confusion, and it was clear that she was not familiar with the term. Still, she said, “Yes?"
I shook my head and told her in a patient voice, “Khione, just because I’m bi and your gaydar was going off doesn’t mean I’m going to swoop in and steal your girlfriend. I have just been taken into a whole new world, away from everything I’ve ever known and loved, and I’m just very, very grateful to be surrounded be kind people– or, um, faeries.”
Even after her embarrassed blush a few seconds earlier, I hadn’t thought it was possible for a face that pale to become so red. “That’s a relief,” Khione finally managed to stutter out.
I smiled, amused by the way the tables had turned. “Alright. Well, I’m going to go inside and let Myfanwy know we got Balor back safe and sound.”
“No need.” Myfanwy’s voice came from behind us, and we reacted so loudly that Cynthia flew in mere moments later brandishing a wooden spoon far larger than herself like it was a club to eradicate whatever threat had startled us so.
Last edited by avimoon on Sun Sep 06, 2026 8:59 pm, edited 4 times in total.
After Myfanwy nearly scared us to death, we made our way into the manor, Khione stammering some thinly veiled excuse to see Minerva before fleeing and leaving me with Myfanwy.
The satyr raised a brow at me. “She’s been acting odd all day. I take it you two had a talk?”
I nodded, smiling a bit despite myself. “Will you tell me what it is?”
I shook my head, feeling that gleeful curl of mischief in my gut as my smile grew.
Myfanwy sighed. “Alright, then. Go up to your room, I’ll draw you a bath.” Grinning, I nodded yet again and made my way past her. Just after I hopped up a few stairs, she called my name and I turned around, a hand on the bannister. “How did your arm feel today?” She asked.
I shrugged, then got hit with a wave of surprise when the area beneath the bandage felt fine. “Really good, actually.”
A smug smile flashed across Myfanwy’s face before she covered it up with an impassive look. “Good,” she said simply, her voice neutral.
My eyes narrowed as I suddenly felt overcome with suspicion. “What did you do?"
Myfanwy waved a hand casually as though the next words she uttered were normal. “Heath put a few drops of a potion made by a Jana in your food last night. It was the last of our stock so I asked to ensure we wouldn’t be needing any more of it to fix your wound. Janas are difficult to come across, you know. Very rare to find them and even rarer to find them in a mood good enough to use their magic for you.”
“You drugged me.” I said bluntly.
“No, we healed you.”
“I didn’t know you were healing me like that!”
“That was the point. The Jana we got it from said if the taker knew of the potion, the effects would decrease.” Myfanwy paused. “Now that I think of it, she may have just been playing around, She’s known for her mischief, that one.”
I gave her an incredulous look that did nothing.
“The point is that the potion did its job. Now, go upstairs. I’ll be up there in a minute to help with the bath– Jane? Jane, what are you–"
I didn’t listen to her, storming my way through the corridors until I slammed the door to the kitchens open, making Cynthia and Heath flinch.
Heath gave me a bewildered look that I ignored. “Cynthia, would you do me a favor and make sure they don’t slip another potion into my food?”
Myfanwy finally entered the kitchens after me at that very moment, and a cacophony of voices filled the room for quite a long while.
~
“It did nothing bad, Jane,” Myfanwy was still telling me hours later as she folded my dirty clothes over an arm.
“I don’t like being given potions or medicine or anything like that without knowing what it is.” I said, clean and coccooned in my sheets with a frown etched deep into my face.
Myfanwy was silent for a moment. Something flickered across her face that I couldn't read, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer. “We’ll talk to you before we give you anything else, then.” Not knowing how to react to her unfamiliar gentleness, I shifted awkwardly in the bed.
Cynthia flew in from the bathroom, her wings flapping extra hard as she shook herself like a dog to get the water from her own bath off of her. “Are we ready for Narnia now, Jane?”
I cracked a small smile at that. “Yep. It’s storytime.”
Smiling, Cynthia made herself comfortable on the large pillow beside me on the left side of the bed. I picked up The Silver Chair from the bedside table, flipped through it, and began to read.
A few paragraphs in to the new chapter, the skin on the back of my neck prickled and I looked up, making direct eye contact with Myfanwy, who was staring at me unblinkingly with her head tilted slightly to the side as if she was analyzing something.
I blinked. “What is it?” I asked uneasily.
She said nothing for a while, but when she spoke, her voice was still filled with the softness from a few moments before. “You’re good at that.”
My brows furrowed in confusion. “At reading?”
“At storytelling. At bringing the story to life. It’s not just words coming from you, Jane– it’s the whole narrative coming alive in a way that feels tangible and real.” She sounded slightly awed.
I was silent not by choice but because words suddenly seemed impossible to get out of my throat.
“We faeries love stories, you know. It’s in our nature to be drawn in to a life that isn’t ours, told with conviction in a voice that isn’t our own…” Myfanwy continued, trailing off and staring at me silently again before softly shaking her head. “You are a true storyteller, Jane.” The way she said it made me feel as though the words carried more weight than I thought they did. I sat there staring at her with the book in my lap for a while, feeling Myfanwy’s quietly awed gaze on me and Cynthia’s expectant one before Myfanwy bade us goodnight.
I resumed reading to Cynthia that night, but something lingered beneath the words as I spoke them, an odd feeling that burrowed deep into my chest and didn’t shake its hold on me even when a dreamless sleep claimed me.
~
I woke up to hands on my arms shaking me with a strength that was not hasty or gentle, but annoyed. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, my brow furrowing in an annoyance that was likely greater than that of the person shaking me.
“God, Myfanwy, could you give me just one more minute of sleep before treating me like a ragdoll?” I groused, cracking a sleep-encrusted eye open to glare sleepily at someone who was not at all Myfanwy. My eyes widened and I scrambled back, tugging the nearest pillow out from beneath Cynthia (ignoring her sleepy yelp of protest) and brandishing it like it was a weapon, all of my focus zeroed in on the person who had woken me.
It was the Dreamweaver. What was he here for? He hadn’t bothered to see me since the night he dragged me here. Was he going to take me back home? Hope sparked in my chest before it was quickly extinguished. No, he wouldn’t do that. Fear rose instead as another thought occurred to me. Was he… Was he here to kill me? My grip tightened on the pillow. I lifted my chin and said, “If you’re going to kill me, I’ll have you know that I have made friends with a great deal of your household and they quite like me, so if you plan on killing me, you’ll have to take it up with them.”
Something flickered in his eyes, and for a moment, I thought he was going to drag a hand down his face in exhaustion. Instead, he leveled me with a rather unimpressed look. “The Faeryking has called us to him. We’re leaving now.”
I blinked. “N–now?”
He raised an eyebrow dryly, completely unamused. “Is that not what I just said?”
I scowled and tossed the pillow at him, too sleepy to realize that was a thing I definitely should never have done. “Fine.” I grumbled, sliding out of bed and stomping over to the wardrobe, opening it aggressively and picking out an outfit without truly processing the fact that the wardrobe was more full of clothes than it had been the last couple nights.
“Jane, what’re you–?” Cynthia mumbled, rubbing her eyes sleepily before zeroing in on the Dreamweaver and freezing up. “Y–you’re–” She stammered, trying to get the words out.
The Dreamweaver turned his head slightly to look at her, and his browed furrowed slightly and a sudden softness appearing in his features alongside his confusion. “I don’t know you,” he said simply.
“S–sorry, sir, I–I–”
“This is Cynthia.” My voice cut through the air as I leaned against the now-closed wardrobe, my eyes narrowed at the Dreamweaver as if daring him to throw her out. “She’s my friend.”
The Dreamweaver assessed the challenge written in the way I crossed my arms (over which, my new outfit was draped) and said, “ A Safety Sprite.” He turned his attention back to Cynthia. “Fascinating.”
“I need to change,” I said bluntly. “You can go now.”
Whatever softness was in his features before disappeared. “There’s a bathroom right there,” he said, pointing to the bathroom. “You can wash up a bit as well.”
I narrowed my eyes at him before storming into the bathroom and slamming the door behind me. Through the door, I could hear muffled murmurs of conversation between the Dreamweaver and Cynthia, the latter’s words heavily stuttered. I brushed my teeth furiously, hissing in annoyance when I jabbed at my gums on accident. After getting dressed in record time, I opened the door so hard that it banged against the wall.
The Dreamweaver didn’t so much as flinch. His gaze ran over me once before he said. “Your collar is crooked and there’s a bit of toothpaste on your mouth.”
I glared at him, my patience long gone. “Then fix it,” I snapped.
He only sighed and moved to go out the door.
“Wait!”
He turned back around, and I turned too, surprised that Cynthia was capable of not stuttering when speaking to him when that was all she’d been doing since she saw him.
My friend took a deep breath in before declaring, “I’m going with you.”
The Dreamweaver shook his head. “Not happening.”
“Where Jane goes, I go,” Cynthia said firmly, her spine straight.
The Dreamweaver spoke in a quiet voice. “The Faeryking himself ordered me to take Jane to him alone. I dare not defy him. Do you?”
Cynthia’s confidence wavered. I could tell it pained her.
“Don’t worry, Cynthia,” I found myself saying, my voice softening because I couldn’t help it when it was her. “I’ll be fine.”
Her big blue eyes took me in, and I fortified my smile for her sake. She nodded slowly.
Once he saw Cynthia accept the situation, the Dreamweaver gestured toward the open door with a tilt of his head. My smile fell away and I made sure to try to close the door on him when he moved to follow me out of the bedroom.
We made our way down all of the steps, winding through the many corridors in absolute silence. I was just about to put my foot atop the first step leading out of the manor when I heard a voice call my name from inside. I paused and looked over my shoulder. The Dreamweaver turned, moving out of my line of sight so I could see Khione running toward us.
“Jane,” she said breathlessly, skidding to a halt in front of us and not acknowledging her employer. “I have something for you.” She fumbled with taking something out of her pocket before pressing the cloth-wrapped thing into my hand. I could feel the burning cold whatever was inside it even through the cloth.
“What–?” I began to ask her, but she bulldozed over me, prattling on.
“I hope you’ll never have to use it, but knowing you, you will.”
“Thank you,” I said despite the unease curling in my gut at her words.
“Do not thank me. You must go.” Her cow eyes flicked to the Dreamweaver, and he watched her with something unreadable in his expression before nodding in agreement.
We made our way down the steps, and I shivered in the cold, dewy air of the early, early morning as the Dreamweaver knelt to sling a bag over his shoulder.
“We will only be walking for an hour or two,” he told me as he began to walk. “I trust you can handle that.”
Indignation flared in my chest and I narrowed my eyes at him, my fingers curling tighter around the cloth-covered thing Khione gave me. “I can, though I don’t know why you faeries insist on going everywhere on foot.”
“Not all of us do. See, some of us, like your Safety Sprite friend, have wings.”
My eye twitched. I bet he thought he was so funny. “Hilarious,” I gritted out.
The wind shifted, and I stilled as I heard Khione’s voice.
“What is it?” The Dreamweaver asked when he heard me stop walking, pausing in his own steps.
“Nothing,” I lied, using his stagnance to walk faster and get ahead of him. It was petty, but it gave me a hint of satisfaction even as my ears echoed with what I heard.
My legs burned and sweat dripped down my spine. I was grateful I’d gone for the light, thin tunic when quickly fumbling for an outfit in the darkness of that space in time between the deepest night and earliest part of morning. I’d probably be sweating a lot more if I’d gone for the thick, dark purple tunic right next to this light blue one.
The first rays of early morning sunlight had swept across the horizon a mile or so back, and now, I could properly see not only the varied colors of the flowers and trees in the forest we were walking through, but also the mud now flecking the old boots Myfanwy had been so kind to give me.
“Not to sound like a little kid on a long road trip,” my heart panged and further contributed to my disgruntledness as I remembered how well I knew what that sounded like, “but are we there yet?” I panted, hissing in annoyance when my stomach growled loudly and painfully.
“Another mile or so,” the Dreamweaver said, sticking a hand into his bag while walking before pulling something out. Without looking at me, he extended a hand, offering whatever was in it to me. The annoyed quip I had prepared to fire at him the moment he opened his mouth dissolved on my tongue as I gaped at the beautiful muffin he was offering me, wrapped up in a very pretty white handkerchief.
I was too hungry to pester him with questions or smack it out of his hand out of sheer spite. I took the muffin and practically shoved it into my mouth, a satisfied hum thrumming in my chest as I tasted it. “It’s good,” I remarked through a mouthful of muffin, looking up from the half of my muffin left in my hand to see him tearing into his muffin with equal fervor. My feet stopped moving of their own accord as I stared at him, watching as he devoured the muffin and kept walking, something pained in his expression when he realized the muffin was gone. I almost offered him the rest of my muffin, but then I caught myself and wondered why I would ever even think of doing that. Thankfully, my dilemma was erased when he pulled another muffin out of his bag and began to eat that one, too. I hurried to keep up with him, almost tripping over a few mounds of soil and choking on the muffin crumbs in my mouth. The Dreamweaver came to a sudden stop and folded up the handkerchief he had been using to hold the muffins, placing it delicately in his bag.
I blinked at him expectantly. “Um, why have we stopped?” I should’ve been embarrassed with how bratty I sounded (and probably looked, as well, what with my hands on my hips and the glare I leveled at his unfairly pretty face), but I was much too annoyed at the fact that he’d dragged me several miles away from my very comfortable bed to bother with feeling embarrassed, of all things.
He also blinked, turning his head to look at me like he’d almost forgotten I was there. “Oh. We’re here.”
I narrowed my eyes at him disbelievingly. “Where is the Faeryking, then?”
“In there,” he said, pointing at a sprawling stone palace that hadn’t been there before.
“Palace” wasn’t the right word to describe it, even though the closest thing to it in the human realm was probably Buckingham Palace. No, even from atop a small hill half a mile away, I could see the mossy courtyards, large fields, orchards, and glens. I could see faeries pouring into it, the very air sparkling around it in a way that made it hard to breathe. Gossamer wings and iridescent eyes I could see gleaming even from atop the hill with the Dreamweaver. This was what I had expected from a faery realm before I saw the redcaps and nuckalavees and goblins. This was fantastical.
And then I saw the less lovely-looking faeries flooding through the doors, speckled among the pretty ones. I saw heads full of way too much hair alongside heads scaly and very much without. I saw unnaturally tinted skin and twisted additional limbs. I saw multiple heads on one body, multiple hands, multiple legs, multiple eyes– I saw the stuff of many children' s nightmares. But I also saw the stuff of their dreams.
“Are you done gawking?” The Dreamweaver asked, dry and blunt as ever.
Normally, I would have snapped at him. But my mouth was drier than his tone and I found my mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a codfish. This wide expanse of grandness and otherworldliness only heightened the fear I had first felt among the redcaps and nuckalavees, then with the phobotor, then with the goblins. This was a culmination of fear. I was going to wade through this crowd of faeries– unnatural, terrifying, powerful creatures– and speak to the most terrifying and grand of all of them. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even take my eyes off of the palace to look at the Dreamweaver, who was saying things I couldn’t hear, muffled like my head was underwater.
His hand on his shoulder made a crack in the noise in my head as I flinched. “Listen. Close your eyes.”
I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to do anything. I wanted to go home. I wanted to hold Elena in my arms and hide my tears in her curly strawberry blonde hair. I wanted to tuck her into bed and fall asleep in the armchair watching her snuggle Plurp. I wanted to be with my sister. My poor little sister who needed me more than anything, who I loved more than the air I breathed.
The Dreamweaver’s hand tightened on my shoulder. “Close your eyes and listen, dynol.”
I don’t know what did it, but my eyes closed.
“This is going to go just fine. You will live. No faery in there will lay a hand on you. Not even the Faeryking.”
I almost whimpered, I was so afraid. The Dreamweaver must’ve heard the beginnings of the whimper in my throat because he said, “He’s just a faery, same as me.”
“That doesn’t help,” I said, my voice choked.
“He’s just a faery, same as Cynthia.”
“Better.” My voice was still tight.
The Dreamweaver paused, and I could feel his eyes on me searching for something. “What is it? It’s not just the Faeryking that worries you.”
Maybe it was because I was too anxious, maybe it was because I hadn’t told anyone th e extent of my worries since coming to the faery realm. I didn't know what it was that made me do it, but I told him.
“I am not a faery. I hold no power over you– over any of you. If any one of the faeries in there tried to kill me or hurt me or suck the marrow from my bones, I wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop them. It wouldn’t even matter if they were the tiniest faery out of all of you. There’s no size advantage, no physical advantage– there’s no advantage at all. A faery the size of my pinky could wave a hand and put a tree through my chest.”
“If any faery in there tries to kill you or hurt you or suck the marrow from your bones, I will stop them.” He said it with such certainty, one could almost mistake it for arrogance.
I turned to look at him. “Even the Faeryking?”
Something dark flashed across the Dreamweaver’s face. “He wouldn’t. But if he tried, I would give you enough time to run away. At least back to Myfanwy and the others. They could help you from there.”
I shook my head as I studied his face, feeling like I understood less than before. “Why?”
His face was stony. “I brought you into this realm. I will ensure you do not die because of the creatures in it.”
I stared at him for a little while longer, trying to puzzle him out, before shrugging his hand off of my shoulder. “Okay,” I said, cracking my knuckles and staring at the palace below us. “Any advice?”
When I turned my head to look at him, he was looking at me the same way I’d been looking at him, like he couldn’t figure me out. “Stay close to me until he tells you to come to him. Don’t speak until he prompts you, and do not speak to anyone other than the Faeryking and his queen.” He paused, then added, “And don’t step on anybody.”
I almost cracked a smile at that. “I don’t know about that last one, but I can try my best.”
