LMS VII: Project Dreamweaver

“There goes another one, Jane! I think they like the stump I made!” Elena squealed, her big hazel eyes brimming with excitement as she turned her round, chubby-cheeked face to look up at me. 

As a little girl of six years old with a love for nature and tea, my little sister Elena liked to believe she could see fairies. As a not-so-little girl (something my parents like to call a young lady) of 19, I liked to indulge her belief. 

“Is that so?” I asked in the terrible British accent I knew she loved, widening my eyes and making my eyebrows shoot up, unable to stop myself from mirroring her excitement as I feigned surprise at her latest announcement. 

Her eyes crinkled as she giggled. “Yes, silly,” she said, trying and failing to match the accent. “Look.” She bounded over, grabbed my hand (smeared with pencil lead) with her own (which, I realized far too late, was caked with mud), and tugged on it, skipping over to the patch of grass she’d been standing by with me stumbling beside her. She let go of my (now muddied) hand to point at a mound of mud, grass, leaves, and bark beneath our pomegranate tree. “They don’t seem to like the mud too much, but I had to use it to glue the prettier bits together.” She explained, sliding easily to her knees and adjusting stuff at the base of what she had said to be a stump. 

I hummed thoughtfully as I crouched down beside her and examined the so-called stump, secretly snapping a blade of grass and using it to clean the mud off of my hands as best as I could. “You could have used the actual glue we have inside.” I remarked, voicing the suggestion for the fourth time in the past hour. 

Elena wrinkled her nose in distaste. “That one’s stinky. And it wouldn’t fit the brown and green color sheem ‘cause it’s purple. I still like purple, though,” she added hastily, like her favorite stuffed animal (a purple stuffed dragon named Plurp) would hear from inside her room on the other side of the house. 

I pursed my lips slightly to keep from smiling and laughing at her fumbled word. “Do you mean scheme?” 

Her brows furrowed. “Yeah, sheem. What I said.”

I couldn’t help the giggle that slipped past my lips and the grin that began to grow there– like the giggle was the satiation the grin needed to thrive. “No, Elena; scheme.” 

“What’s this I hear about schemes?” Mama asked, raising an eyebrow as she stepped out of the house. Elena and I exchanged a mischievous look, and Mama sighed, knowing she wouldn’t get a straight answer out of us. “Alright, whatever,” she said in defeat. “Spaghetti’s inside, so go clean up.”

Upon hearing “spaghetti”, Elena’s eyes brightened and she jumped to her feet, sprinting across the lawn on her stubby little legs in her rush to get into the house. 

Mama called after her in the way only mothers can do, “Elena Mae Rafferty, take your muddy boots off at the door!” 

Elena did as she was told, only stopping for a second to kick off her boots, mud flying off of them and splattering all over the small porch that held our back door, in doing so, revealing the faded pink color of the boots. 

Mama began grousing about the mess her younger daughter made, the six-year-old chaos gremlin cackling from inside our white-painted walls. I huffed a laugh and stood up, giving the mud mound one last look before spinning on my heel and slipping past Mama to go inside and eat spaghetti. 

~

Dad was in a sour mood at the start of dinner, but even he couldn’t keep up his scowling when Elena babbled on about all the types of fairies she’d seen by her stump. Dinner ended with little fanfare other than Elena bumbling into the wall, breaking our salt shaker, and causing Mama and Dad to join forces and lecture her on being aware of her surroundings. I went into the bathroom with Elena to help wash off the spaghetti and salt all over her. 

“Do you think I’m bad because I wasn’t paying attention?” Elena asked me quietly, and I blinked, surprised by this sudden slip of insecurity from such a bubbly, confident little girl. Sometimes, it was easy to forget she was just six years old and still figuring out herself and the world. 

I paused in washing the spaghetti sauce that had made its way onto her upper arm to look into her eyes so she knew I was telling the truth. “No, Elena. Not at all,” I told her earnestly. 

Her lower lip wobbled. “It’s just, like, sometimes I feel–” here, she struggled to speak, instead moving her small, shaking hands in squeezing, gripping motions like she was trying to grab at the thoughts, “–like maybe I’m thinking too much and not doing the things I need to.” Her big hazel eyes began to well with tears, and I felt a part of my heart break at the sight.  

“You were just lost in your mind, Ley. It happens to me all the time.” I assured her. She sniffled and moved her arm to try to wipe the tears away from her eyes with a swipe of her spaghetti covered arm. Panicking, I laced my fingers through hers and shook my head. “No no, we need to wash that arm first. Blink the tears away, angel, you got this.” 

Despite her tears, she giggled at my panic, and dammit if my heart didn’t warm at the sound. 

“Alright, tell me more about the fairies you saw visiting your stump today,” I said as I gently untwined my fingers from hers and picked up the soapy washcloth to resume scrubbing at her arm. 

She sniffed, and blinked away her tears like I suggested. “There was a boy almost as long as Plurp, but a lot skinnier and with pretty pink clothes and dark brown skin and light green eyes that looked like the teeny things inside the flower fems.”

“You mean the flower stems?” I asked quietly as I scrubbed, careful not to chafe her skin or her pride and ensuring I kept my amusement-filled eyes trained on the white soap on the rag turning a light red from the spaghetti sauce. 

Elena continued, blowing past what I’d said with a dismissive wave of her hand that made me crack a grin. “And there was this other fairy– a girl the same height who looked exactly like him except she had a deep blue dress. It looked like the one from the real-life Cinderella. The one that had a Kit.”

I smiled. “I like the name Kit.”

“I know you do, you say that every time I bring up the real-life Cinderella,” Elena responded breezily before shooting back to describing the fairies (I hid my laugh with a sudden mild coughing fit). “Anyway, the fairy girl with the Cinderella dress had icicle blue eyes and her wings were the same color as her eyes. But the guy fairy didn’t have wings, but he was still flying.”

“Huh,” I commented as I put her arm underneath the faucet, running the water over the soap and spaghetti sauce mix that coated her arm and the rag I was using to clean it. “That’s interesting.”

“Yeah. I wonder why he didn’t have wings. Do you think he feels sad that he doesn’t have wings?” Elena asked, curiosity and sympathy adorning her voice. 

I gave her a small, soft smile. “I don’t know, but I think it’s really sweet of you to think about his feelings.” Elena smiled bashfully and I rinsed off her arm. “Alright, go get changed into your jammies and run back in here to brush your teeth. We don’t have time for a bath if we need to get you in bed before the Croibeast gets to you.” I said, my voice playful but urgent as I warned her against the beast I’d pretended went after her if she wasn’t in bed by a certain time.

Elena gasped (the sound butchered with an excited giggle) and ran off. I could hear her cotton shirt slapping against the ground as she shucked it off in her eagerness to get ready for bed. I laughed softly and wrung out the rag, taking a quick step out of the bathroom to fling it into the dirty clothes bin in the laundry room beside the bathroom. By the time I’d cleaned up the sink from the spaghetti-and-soap assault and washed my hands, Elena was rushing back into the bathroom, panting as she reached behind me and grasped with chubby hands at her flower-print toothbrush in its holder. I took it out, wet it with the tap water, squeezed out the perfect amount of bubblegum-flavored toothpaste (something I found disgusting, but let her have because she loved it), and slid the toothbrush into its rightful place in her hand. I playfully chanted "Brush your teeth" until she was done, and she rinsed her mouth with tap water, spat it out, put the toothbrush in its holder, and looked up at me with a kind of admiration that was seeped in looking for my approval that made my heart melt. 

"Awesome. Now come on, hun, I'll race you to bed." I said gently yet playfully, and Elena giggled and dashed off. I speed-walked exaggeratedly, making her giggle when she turned around and saw it. 

She hurried down the hall and bounced on her bed. “Tuck me in, tuck me in!” 

I cracked a grin. “Alright, settle down.” I pulled the plush yellow comforter and white sheets down to the middle of the bed, throwing them over her when she practically cannon-balled onto the mattress they’d covered. She giggled that sweet little kid giggle as the sheets ballooned out like a parachute around her. 

Once it was finished slowly releasing the air that had been captured inside the sheets, Elena popped her head out over the top of the covers, dimples showing as she grinned at me. She shrieked with delight when I tickled her, her pudgy little fingers letting go of the sheets to grip my hands. The second she let go of the sheets, I stopped tickling her. “Get comfy,” I ordered. She cozied herself up in the sheets, and I tucked the thin fabric and the thick comforter around her. 

In the middle of the process, Elena flung a hand out from underneath her cozy paradise to point at the fuzzy blue blanket in the corner of her room, draped over the armchair Mama, Dad, and I would take turns sitting in. I obliged her silent command and grabbed the blanket, spreading it over the covers. Elena snuggled into them happily, hugging Plurp beneath the covers. Her eyes were already fluttering shut when I gave her a kiss on her forehead. 

“Goodnight, Ley,” I murmured softly against her skin. 

“G’night, Jane,” she mumbled sleepily.

A small smile curved my lips as affection warmed my heart, and I pulled back. 

“Jane?” The questioning mumble came from the mouth already pressed into Plurp’s fur. 

“Yes, Elena?”

“Could you please go outside and take a picture of my stump? I wanna show Gammy when she comes down for Thanksgiving.” Her mumbling was almost incoherent, making me strain my ears just to hear her. But I nodded and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Of course, hun. Sleep well,” I said, walking out of her room and closing the door behind me, only pausing once to admire my sweet baby sister already slipping off into her dreams.  

~

Mama was sliding the dishes into the dishwasher when I came back downstairs. 

“Jane, could you help me with the dishes real quick?” She asked, wiping at her wet hands with a paper towel. 

“I can’t, Elena told me to take a picture of her stump,” I said, looking around the kitchen for my phone. I could’ve sworn I put it here when Elena and I got home from the park this morning. 

“Take the picture later, my back is hurting,” she groused, clutching at her lower back. 

I paused long enough in my searching to give her an exasperated look. “Almost all the light in the sky is gone, Mama. I need to take the picture soon.”

“Do you even know where your phone is?”

“No. Do you know where it is?”

“No. Just figured that was why you were squinting at the counters like they hid treasure.”

I gave my dear mother a look that I hoped conveyed how royally done I was with her. “Thanks, Mama,” I deadpanned. 

“No problem, you little leprechaun,” she said, patting the counter atop the dishwasher as if to tell me to get started on the dishes. Her little pat brought to my attention the dark green of my phone case tilted against the tiled wall behind the drying mat. I immediately snatched it up and began to speed walk to the door, eyeing the coat rack as I approached it hastily. 

“Bye, Mama, I’ll be back soon,” I said over my shoulder as I plucked up my coat and slid my arms into the sleeves. I never wanted to face the chill of the night air any longer than I had to, and this coat was the fluffiest I owned. I ignored Mama’s calls for me to do the dishes when I came back, swinging open the door and trotting down the steps leading out of our house. 

I shoved the hand that didn’t hold my phone into a pocket of the coat, met with the crinkling of half-eaten candy canes in their wrappers and the clear tapping of metal rings meeting. The grass whispered under my sneakers, pressing into the soil Elena had tirelessly forced me to make perfect for her fairies as I walked over to her fairy stump. 

I crouched down and double clicked the power button, the phone camera blinking into light on my screen. I aimed it at the stump and switched to night sight, my eyes adjusting to the darkness after being in the fluorescent lighting of my house for so long. Something twisted in the darkness, and I squinted, looking at the stump through my own eyes instead of through the camera showing up on the screen of my phone. Nothing. Must’ve been a trick of the light. 

I turned my gaze back to my phone, but this time, I heard something. Like the delicate, melodic sound of windchimes crashing together. We hadn’t had windchimes for years– not since the old ones Mama loved so much were destroyed in a tropical storm we had. Slowly this time, I lifted my gaze from my phone to the stump. 

At first, I thought it was a dragonfly. Or maybe a moth. It was pretty enough to be either, that was for certain. The colors were mixes of browns and greens and blues, and the texture looked like it changed from wing to wing, looking furry on one side and scaly on the other. It was what was in between the wings that caught my attention and made me suck in a sharp, disbelieving breath. It looked like there was a mini person in between those wings. Looking like the smallest porcelain doll but moving like a mix of a bird and a supernaturally graceful human, the creature appeared to me to be something you’d find in a fantasy genius’s films. (I figured that thought was courtesy of watching Guillermo del Toro films night after night with Mama and Dad.) Its eyes were naturally wide-looking and that pretty blue shade of a sparrow’s wings. Its fingers were long and delicate, but a bit sharp looking, like needles. Its body appeared slightly twisted yet symmetrical, porcelain-pale skin reflecting moonlight as the little creature danced over the stump, those wide little eyes closing in bliss as it performed a little twirl. Its brown wings fluttered, carrying its little body up on a nonexistent breeze as it pirouetted, little slipper-clad toes en pointe as it spun and spun and spun. I watched in awe, slowly lowering my phone from my face, distantly worried that any sudden movement would mean that this poor little creature would be scared off, and I’d be left alone with the fact that I’d finally seen one of the little creatures Elena always spoke so excitedly about. This creature was, undoubtedly, a fairy– one that was detailed in myths and fables as a small, quiet, benevolent thing of magic and nature. It was one of the most graceful, natural things I’d ever seen, what with the way it moved and held itself. 

A subtle showering of gold sparks descended upon the stump, and the little thing froze midair, eyes snapping open. 

The first thing I noticed about the eyes now that they were trained on me were the diamond-shaped pupils. The second was the dark brown shade surrounding its lashes, matching the dark outline of its wings. The third was the look of horror upon the pretty thing’s face that brought a pang of hurt to my heart. We stayed like that for a breath, looking wide-eyed at each other. Then, something shifted. 

A high hum like that of a machine’s pierced through the air, and the fairy swiftly darted down, tapping the stump with its little feet. 

“H-hey!” I called out, my hoarse voice a whisper. “What are you-” What are you doing?

The little fairy looked at me, and something almost apologetic hid in its eyes behind the fear. 

Something rumbled across the treetops. Startled, I stumbled back. The fairy had turned to watch the woods. I squinted at the trees. What in the world…?

Darkness appeared to be oozing out of the forest. I blinked forcefully and glanced back at the fairy on the stump. It was already looking at me. “What’s going on?” I whispered. 

It looked away, back to the forest. Like it couldn’t bare to even look at me. Confused and feeling a bit let down, I followed its gaze. I flinched and felt the color draining from my face as my body went still. 

Three short, almost goblin-looking beasts with stubby, scarred legs and arms were stalking closer and closer toward me, looking like they’d walked right out of a storybook. Raised warts covered their mottled green skin, and dark pelts of fur were slung around their bodies. While they weren’t the prettiest-looking things, I wasn’t afraid of them because of how they looked. No, I was afraid of them because of the menace lighting up their dark eyes and the sneers on their big mouths, their tusks bared menacingly. 

I looked around wildly, only to be met with the sight of more terrifying creatures. There was one that looked almost like a man, but was too unnaturally tall and thin to be one, not to mention the slightly gray color of his skin and the too-white gleam of his teeth as he sneered at me. The creature beside him looked like a horse that had no skin, a naked human torso where the horse’s head would be. The one closest to me was almost as tall as me, though he looked much older. He was ridiculously muscled and scary looking, talons where his nails should be and a dark, shriveled cloth tucked into his belt. His red eyes took me in with hunger and I stumbled back, my eyes wide with indignation and fear. He laughed, and the sound made me want to throw up. I clasped a hand over my mouth to keep from doing so when he smiled, showing off his multiple rows of razor sharp teeth, along with the two massive, round front teeth that appeared to me to be more of a hindrance than an advantage.

“You’re an interesting little thing, aren’t you,” he murmured, the question mocking and obviously rhetorical. His gaze trailed over me again, a smirk playing across his lips. “You look like you’ll scream while I peel you apart.”

It occurred to me then that the whole philosophy of fight, flight, or freeze was very much real and I was very much frozen. The red-eyed creature laughed again and began advancing towards me. I almost whimpered. No. No, please. Please don’t hurt me.

“Kaalund.” A voice speared through the air, deep, gentle, and disappointed. I swallowed harshly as the red-eyed creature halted a foot away from me. Most of the creatures began to look around for the source. It was then that I realized the fairy I first saw by the stump was gone, which was odd considering it had sort of brought this all into fruition. I peeked over the red-eyed creature’s shoulder to watch a pair of glowing green eyes pierce through the darkness of the forest, the creature to whom they belonged stepping out of the wood gracefully. He was thin and reedy, but not like the gray-skinned creature who had also stepped out of the woods. No, this one seemed more ancient, with the sort of wisdom written in the lines of his elegantly angled face that reminded me of the rings of age inside a tree. He stepped forward, and the crowd of creatures between us did not part.

“Go back to the forest, Ghillie Dhu,” one of the goblin-looking creatures jeered. 

The glowing green eyes of the new creature were trained on the red-eyed creature in front of me, ignoring the goblin jeering at him. “Kaalund,” he repeated. 

“Ghillie Dhu,” the red-eyed creature in front of me– Kaalund– replied, a begrudging respect for him alongside the obvious annoyance at his interruptance. 

“You cannot touch her. She is human,” the new creature– Ghillie Dhu– said in a level, almost reminding tone. 

Kaalund finally snapped, and I flinched as he whirled around to face Ghillie Dhu across the crowd. “And we are faerie! She saw one of us. That gives us right to her bones and flesh,” he snarled. 

“It does not,” Ghillie Dhu said, a certain correction. 

“It does,” the half-horse, half-human monstrosity hissed, his hooves clopping against the ground as he stepped forward slightly. The eerily tall, gray-skinned creature slung a bony arm out, swiftly blocking the horse-man’s path. 

“You come here alone, tree man. Don’t think that we won’t rip another faerie apart if he stands in the way of our bloodletting,” one of the goblins said threateningly. 

Ghillie Dhu blinked, and it was a tired thing. “You really think I came alone?” 

A flood of what looked like fireflies blinked into light behind him, some streaming from the forest while others simply flickered into sudden existence. I squinted as one flew close to his ear and realized: these were not fireflies. These were fairies. The one perched just above his shoulder locked its gaze with mine, and I realized it was the fairy from the stump. 

The tall, gray-skinned creature stumbled back a bit, eyes wide. The rest of the group seemed to tense, eyeing the mini army behind Ghillie Dhu warily. 

Kaalund merely snorted a derisive laugh. “Safety Sprites. Really, Ghillie Dhu?”

“Don’t push, redcap. Those things are killers,” the gray-skinned creature snapped, voice hoarse with fear. 

One of the goblins huffed a laugh. “But they’re so tiny.”

“Some would consider us small, too,” another one of the goblins told his laughing companion, weariness and a tinge of somberness in his fearsome features. “Besides, I spoke with Kaztesis last week. Apparently, he was out for some bloodlettin’ with his mates and they came upon a Safety Sprite. They’d managed to kill it, but it killed one of them first. He said-”

“Does it even matter? Safety Sprites are only deadly when they have someone or something to protect!” The first goblin spat out meanly. 

“Well, they’re protecting Ghillie Dhu right now, aren’t they?” The second goblin fired back. 

“No, they’re just protecting the forest in general, methinks,” the third goblin (who had previously been the quietest and probably dumbest out of the whole lot of them given the fact that he’d been toeing at the ground instead of looking around and taking in the conversation until he heard that last bit) said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. 

The gray-skinned creature with the too-thin body shook his head almost frantically, returning to the conversation. “Either way, we shouldn’t risk it. I once heard that–” 

“This is not a gossip session,” Kaalund growled, cutting in and making them all go silent. “I want to pluck this human’s bones from her body and suck the marrow from it! If you lot are going to give me trouble and keep me from doing so with your pathetic whining over a mass of simple sprites, then I might just take your bones instead.”

The half-horse creature puffed up his human chest. (It was a centaur, right? But it had no skin, there had to be another term for this creature.) He seemed to think that Kaalund wouldn’t dare to take his bones. It reminded me of two frat boys I’d seen in a college tour last year who had puffed up like peacocks at the slightest offense. That was one of the many things that dissuaded me from going to college for at least a few years. 

Anyway, it mildly decreased my terror for them (if only for a moment) simply because I was so exasperated that they were acting so immaturely. But the terror soon returned when Kaalund spoke. 

“If you’d prefer to lose your bones as well as your skin, nuckalavee, I suggest you pipe down.” 

Ah, nuckalavee. Not centaur. I’d have to research that. If only I wasn’t frozen in fear. Then I might have been able to take out my phone and Google a question instead of running away. (It occurred to me then that the fear may have been muddling with my brain along with my fight or flight skills.)

While I mused to myself, Kaalund had said a few other things that made the nuckalavee shrink. The threat was effective and Kaalund whirled back around to face me. 

“Stop this, Kaalund. You are not allowed to touch her,” Ghillie Dhu reiterated, sounding tired. 

The frustration at being interrupted again from potentially devouring me rolled off of Kaalund in waves as he turned around to face one of his ilk once more. “Yes I am, Ghillie Dhu. I have grown quite tired of your interruptions. Refrain from doing it again. I assure you, you will not find my wrath pleasant.”

“The King’s laws prevent this. You cannot touch her,” Ghillie Dhu said, finally offering some new information that I latched onto desperately. So, they had a king. And that king was at least slightly inclined to keep humans such as myself alive. 

Something flickered in Kaalund’s expression, but he still growled and snapped his odd teeth at the forest guardian. “I will take her flesh and her bones, forest-keeper. I will drink from her marrow and dip my cap in her crimson blood. You and your little entourage of sprites can not save her from her fate.” 

“I’ll take her.” A voice speared through the night and noise, and the faeries parted for him– for with that voice, it was undoubtedly a “him”– like he was a monster they both favored and feared. It was strange how quickly the bloodthirsty ones became meek and mild once they realized who had interrupted them, Kaalund already in the middle of snarling in protest before the light guttered out of his eyes and he paled, bowing his head slightly in wary submission to the new figure. Still, despite the faeries stepping away from me like I was a lick of flame burning them with my proximity, I could not see the creature they parted for. 

One particularly bold sprite spoke up in a voice trembling like a leaf. “But she must be brought to the King first-”

“There are no laws saying she must be taken to the King first,” the male voice interrupted, voice cutting and sharply annoyed. It changed to something more languidly threatening when he continued, “In fact, His Majesty’s laws on the matter specifically states that a human believer above the age of fifteen must be taken to the King or a member of his court upon seeing a faerie. As I am a member of his court, you may wash your hands of her. I will take her.”

The sprites exchanged a look, while Ghillie Dhu eyed the newcomer (still out of my sight) thoughtfully. “How did your nightwork fare, Dreamweaver?” He asked in a careful, level voice, those glowing green eyes trained on someone I could not see. 

There was a long enough pause that tension coiled in the air. “It fared well enough,” the creature– Dreamweaver– answered tersely. 

Ghillie Dhu dipped his head in a quiet nod, acknowledging the Dreamweaver’s silent yet pointed refusal to elaborate. “We will report to the King that a human found us and you have claimed her. I wish you a safe journey to your home.” Ghillie Dhu bowed at the waist and turned to vanish into the trees. One by one, the others followed. Kaalund gave me a sharp glare before disappearing into the darkness, while a few of the sprites whispered things I couldn’t make out and flew away swiftly. Soon, it was just me and the Dreamweaver. 

He was silent. In the silence, I worried. What if “Dreamweaver” was just faerie slang for “eldritch vampire”? What if the Dreamweaver was a monster with talons for hands and scales for skin edged with fur where there would normally be hair on a human’s head? What if the Dreamweaver was really a deformed faerie who liked to pick apart humans and make them live through their worst nightmares?

“You’re afraid.” It wasn’t a question. 

From what I’d gathered from the cryptic conversations he and his ilk held, I was just saved from one fate only to be condemned to another, and my life was now in the hands of someone I didn’t know, had never seen, and was apparently scary enough to make a group of stubborn, mostly law-abiding fairies submit. So, yes. I was afraid. But what if that’s considered weakness to fairies? What if he saw opening my mouth and admitting that I’m afraid as being insubordinate and killed me for it? 

I found words spilling from my mouth. “It’s reasonable to be afraid.”

“Yes. Yes, it is. Are you reasonable?” His voice was smooth and as dark as the shadows he was covered by. 

Okay, so he was one of those stereotypical faeries who knew how to twist their words to get people to tell the truth. “I am smart, not reasonable.”

I felt something shift in the darkness. The knot of worry in my belly loosened. “Is it smart to dismiss reason?” 

I raised both of my brows, leveling a serious look at him. “Is it smart to walk alone in the night, Dreamweaver?”

His mass of shadows rippled slightly in a way that I took to mean he was surprised. “Is it smart to talk to a stranger like you know him, dynol?”

Dynol. What in the world did that mean? “Maybe,” I finally said after a pause. 

A huff of laughter came from the darkness. I felt for a moment like I’d dreamed it. When the next moment came, I was certain that I had.

Something flickered in the mass of shadows that was the Dreamweaver, and I could’ve sworn he blurred at the edges. “It’s time to go,” he said, voice cold and leaving no room for argument. 

Well, that was a quick mood change. All the fear that had been starting to slowly shift away came back to me, flooding my veins and making my stomach flip. “Go? Where?” 

“To the faerie realm. I said I’d take you. I will do that now.” The shadows seemed to slump and blur again. I worried for a moment that it was a way to communicate his displeasure or wrath. But then his words truly sunk in. 

“Hang on– could we not? I mean, could you just leave me here and say you never saw me or something?” I asked desperately. 

“No.” His voice was stony and certain and I hated it. 

Anger bubbled up in me, and I found myself speaking in a way I knew I shouldn’t be speaking to him (or any faerie for that matter). “Listen, I have a whole life here. I have a family, I have things I want to do, I–”

“I don’t care. Nor will the Faeryking. His law dictates you must be taken. I am taking you. We will go now.” I wished I could see his face if only so I could punch it. I feared if I tried to do so with the shadows still there, they would evaporate around my hand and it’d do nothing but piss him off. 

Every emotion welled up in me and went to war until the only victor was defeat. “Can I at least go inside and pack a bag?” I asked pathetically. 

“No. We will have everything you need in the faerie realm.”

My annoyance returned. “Including food?” I fired back, hating how bratty I sounded. 

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I put my hands on my hips and inhaled deeply, trying to curb my anger as I puffed out my cheeks and let them slowly deflate as I exhaled. I was aware that I looked like a clown doing this but I couldn’t find it in me to care when it meant the difference between punching him in the face (and dying by proxy) and keeping my cool. “How does one even get to the faerie realm?”

Even with the shadows covering that face I hadn’t seen yet, I could tell he was giving me a rather annoyed look before he delved into explaining in an equally annoyed tone. “Well, I tend to travel via what you humans call teleportation. However, with you– a human– travelling with me, I will have to take a faerie path. Lucky for you, it isn’t too much walking since you live right by one.”

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What?”

A portion of the shadows moved collectively. It looked a bit like a limb, so I figured that was his way of waving his hand dismissively. “You live right by a forest. Forests are chock full of faerie paths. It’s no wonder all of those faeries came to you once that poor sprite’s alarm sounded, not that she could help it.”

“What?” I asked again. I found myself with more questions every time he opened his mouth. 

“Just walk with me,” he said brusquely, his annoyance coming to a peak I had not yet reached with him. He began to walk towards the forest, but I lingered, feeling like my feet were rooted to the ground. I looked back at my house, thinking of Elena’s sleeping figure and how I’d never get to indulge her silly-turned-true fantasies ever again, of how my mother was waiting for me to come back in to empty the dishwasher, of how they were all a thing of the past now because of one decision I’d made without knowing the consequences. 

Knowing it wouldn’t be of much use since I didn’t have my charger with me, I laid my phone down on top of Elena’s fairy stump and followed the Dreamweaver into the forest.

“Is this a faerie path?” I asked, pointing at a collection of moss-covered trees in an odd pattern as I stopped by it. 

The Dreamweaver didn’t even look at it, walking right past it. “No.”

“Is that a faerie path?” I asked, pointing at a circle of mushrooms on top of a log. 

“No,” he said again, his voice filled with annoyance. 

I hurried to catch up with him, seeing that he had made no plans of stopping to adhere to my curiosity and seemed to actively be moving faster.  “Is there a reason why you’re moving so briskly and not answering any of my questions?” I questioned, tripping over a root right as I finished the last word.

The Dreamweaver turned swiftly and caught my arm, gently and smoothly lifting me upright like I was a bumbling toddler. (My cheeks definitely did not burn from rage. I definitely did not wonder how it would feel to snap at him that I am nineteen years old and can handle myself, thank you very much.) I yanked my arm out of his grasp. He didn’t seem to care. “Other than the fact that we need to be getting home, no.” He turned back around, stepping clean over a large root. “There’s a root there.”

I bristled. “I could see that one, it’s obvious,” I snapped. 

“Well, you couldn’t see the other one,” the Dreamweaver responded, voice annoyingly neutral. 

“The other one was smaller and covered by grass,” I tried to defend myself. 

“The faerie path is just a bit further away. Do try to avoid tripping till then.”

I came to an abrupt halt so I could glare at his back. Then, I hurried up and followed after him. I didn’t know what would happen if I was left alone in this forest and those faeries returned. We stopped in front of an ordinary looking patch of grass. 

A small portion of his shadows spread away from the others, seeming to extend toward me. “Hold my hand.”

I tore myself away from scrutinizing his shadows to give him an incredulous look. “What?”

“You need to hold my hand to get through the faerie path.”

“Can faeries lie? Are you pulling my leg?”

He ignored my questions but finally turned to look at me. “If you don’t go through this path with me within the next few seconds, I’m sure the faeries in this forest would love to express their interest in you.”

I knew a threat when I heard it. It appeared I would actually have to hold his hand. I didn’t see his hand though, just the shadows. Would I be touching the shadows? I jumped out of my thoughts and put my hand somewhere in the the shadows offered to me. My fingers curled around something smooth and warm that felt like skin (thank God he wasn’t skinless like the nuckalavee) and was definitely a limb. But it was a big one, my fingers not even touching to make it all the way around like one could do with a wrist or a hand. I frowned to myself, confusion and sympathy twinging in my chest. Did he have a stub for a hand?

“That’s my arm,” he said quietly. 

Embarrassed, I quickly slid my hand down and, lo and behold, felt slender fingers twine through mine. 

He didn’t waste any time, making sure I was actually holding on before saying, “We’re going to start walking now. Don’t stop.” He began to walk, pulling me with him. My legs actually worked (despite having frozen to the ground the moment he’d offered me his hand) and I walked after him. One moment we were in the forest that I was at least slightly familiar with, the canopies of the trees harboring very little light except the slightly rosy hue of the sunset creeping in. The next, we were in a forest topped with trees taller than I’d ever seen. I tried to look up to attempt to see how far into the sky they stretched, but the darkness obscured my vision and a firm tug on my hand made me turn my gaze back to the ground so I could squint at it and try to make sure I didn’t trip on anything. 

“Don’t try to look up yet. You might go mad,” was all the Dreamweaver said, continuing to pull me along. I opened my mouth to ask how that made sense when he quickly added, “And don’t try to speak yet, either. They won’t like the noise you make quite yet. It might wake them up.” He turned around then, and I could only tell he did because of the sound of fabric swishing. 

I rolled my eyes at the ground, thinking sarcastically to myself, And your voice is keeping them perfectly asleep, hmm?

“Stop being skeptical. I’m the Dreamweaver. Did it not occur to you that when I wish it, my voice can be an instrument of sleep?”

What, was he going to sing me a lullaby? I thought to myself sarcastically. 

An eerie creaking sound filled the forest and he stilled, his hand tensing in mine. I gripped on tighter. Anything that made him go still like that could probably kill me. 

“Remember when I told you to walk?” he asked, voice a hushed murmur. 

I nodded, looking over my shoulder to try to see what had made that noise. 

“Now I’m telling you to run. Don’t let go of my hand.”

And then we ran. 

~

I could not hear anything other than my breath and the wind. I couldn’t see anything other than the ground, and even then, it was blurry and dark. The Dreamweaver kept my hand in his, even when mine became slippery and clammy with sweat and his stayed annoyingly dry. When he first felt my sweat, he stiffened. “It’s only been a mile,” he said disbelievingly. 

“The most exercise I’ve been getting for the past few years is running after my little sister and her friends,” I managed to say between pants. When we made a sudden turn through a field, I managed to gain enough breath to snap, “Did you think I’d be Usain Bolt?”

“I have no idea who that is–”

I squeezed his hand tighter to get him to be quiet. I figured if I was going to die anyway at the hand of the thing chasing us, I could stand to be a little sharp with him. “Shut up, are we almost there yet? Will you tell me what we’re running from?”

“Yes and no. Only another mile.”

“Another mile?” I managed to say before doubling over a bit to gasp. 

“You can make it that long, yes?”

“Not all of us are faeries who turn every day into leg day, Dreamweaver,” I snapped, looking up from the ground to glare at him. My face fell slack. There were no shadows covering him. Just… 

I must’ve stayed like that for a long time, because annoyance flitted across his pale face and a huff fell past his lips. “Alright then,” he said under his breath before letting go of my hand. In a bit of a panic, I tried to grab at his hand again. (He was my only link to safety in this godforsaken new place– he’d better not try to let go of my hand when squeezing his was the only way I knew I’d be safe from the faeries that had already tried to kill me.) His arm looped around my waist and his hand (previously in mine) settled on my hip. He took my hand in his other one and began to run again. 

I shook myself out of whatever fog I’d been in. “What are you doing? I can run by myself.”

“Apparently not since you just stood still for a good fifteen seconds. Time is of the essence. I told you to not stop running.” His voice was just as brusque as it had been before. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was getting tired (and cranky). 

I opened my mouth to snap back at him, but my lungs decided I needed more air in them than out. 

After a few minutes of running (and, in my case, gasping for breath), we reached what looked like a mini castle. The grand doors opened without us touching them and we ran inside. The minute the doors closed, he let go of my hand and stepped away from me. I doubled over to catch my breath. That might have been the most running I had ever done in my life. I didn’t like it one bit. I straightened up and opened my mouth to tell him so, but he was already looking at me with an odd expression on his face.

“What’s your name?” 

I gave him an incredulous look. “You’re only thinking to ask for my name now?”

“You never asked for my name,” he pointed out. 

“Because I’d heard the other faeries use it!” I said defensively. 

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “My apologies. May I have your name?”

I narrowed my eyes and thought of saying no. The sound of hooves on marble floor interrupted my thoughts. I turned to look at the barely lit entryway to the hall. A woman stood there. Well– not a woman. She had the lower half of a goat and two spiraling horns on either side of her head. She gave me an assessing look with her startlingly yellow eyes. Then, she turned her gaze to the Dreamweaver. “How did your nightwork fare, Dreamweaver?” she asked him, voice neutral.

“Well enough,” the Dreamweaver answered, and this time he sounded so tired that I found myself speaking. 

“Jane.”

They both looked at me with a questioningly arched brow. 

I pursed my lips before clarifying, “My name is Jane.”

The Dreamweaver nodded, that sharp, pale faery face annoyingly neutral. “Myfanwy will be taking care of you, Jane. Goodnight.”

And with that, he walked away. I blinked after him. 

The satyr– Myfanwy– cleared her throat and began speaking swiftly in a clipped tone. “Well, it appears that you’ve put him in quite the mood. Good for you, miss. Up we go now, can’t have you wandering the grounds right now– it’d be a terrible fright for the rest of the staff milling about.” She clopped on out of the hall.  After a moment’s hesitation, I followed her. She led me up a staircase, through a passageway, and up another flight of stairs. At last, she opened the door to a room. “Here we are. You’ll be staying in here. It’s a fine bed. I’ll be up with a proper sleeping dress in a minute.” She moved to leave, but after looking at her with bewilderment, I managed to get a word in. 

“Wait!”

She paused in the doorway and gave me an impatient look. “Yes?”

“Do you have, um, toothbrushes or toothpaste here?” I asked weakly. 

She looked at me with mild irritation. “We bloody well do, girl, we’re not savages. I'll bring that to you as well, then, since it’s evident you need it so much.”

I winced. Wow, she did not mince words. “Thank you.”

She clopped away without another word. 

I looked around at the room I was given and didn’t think too much of it, too focused on the bed in the center with the headboard pressed against the wall. I curled up in the middle of it, thought of poor Elena waking up alone, and cried myself to sleep.

Surprisingly, the sound of birds twittering woke me up in both the human realm and the faery one. 

I blinked my eyes open blearily, rubbing the sleep out of them and wondering why I was on top of the covers and not below them. Then, I remembered being so overcome with exhaustion the previous night that I'd simply flopped down onto the bed and hadn't bothered to change or cover myself up, and I pursed my lips. While this definitely wasn't the worst way to wake up, I found myself missing being torn from my dreams by Elena pouncing on me from atop my covers. I sighed and rubbed my eyes again, this time to try and stop the stinging of tears beginning to form in my eyes. 

When I'd finally gotten my eyes to dry up a bit, I sat up and looked around the room. I remembered that even through the veil of darkness covering it last night, the Dreamweaver’s residence looked surprisingly like one of those normal old manors one would see in a regency film, though the interior shattered the illusion a bit with its woodsy, natural feel. In the room I'd been directed to as my own, there was a wardrobe, a bedside table, and handcrafted bookshelves that covered almost every wall and appeared to be carved out of the wood in them. The bed I had thrown myself on top of last night was a nice big, fluffy one that looked like it had come right out of a Disney movie. The covers were a dark green with embroidered swirls that reminded me of moss. The pillows were cream-colored and appeared to be made of satin. 

What was the point of all this if the Dreamweaver lived alone with only servants to keep him company? Were his rooms grand like this simply because he was a member of the Faeryking’s court? 

A slip of paper caught my eye on my bedside table. I rolled off of the bed and snatched it up quickly. 

The door beside the wardrobe leads to your washroom. You'll find your items there. 
-Myfanwy

I put the note back down on the table and tilted my head to look at the wardrobe. It looked normal, though old and slightly warped around the edges. My mind flashed back to when I read the Chronicles of Narnia to Elena. 

“What's a wardrobe?” She had asked, inquisitive even at the age of four. 

“It's a closet that can be moved and isn't in the wall,” I had explained. 

“Is it bigger on the inside than a closet?” 

“Not all of them are, but this one is,” I had replied mischievously, waggling my brows and grinning when she giggled and gestured for me to keep reading. 

I looked at this wardrobe and felt a hollow aching in my chest. 

Elena would have loved seeing a wardrobe in real life. She would have opened it up and gone inside to see if it led to Narnia. I smiled softly to myself. She would have loved the faery realm. Despite all the danger and terrifying creatures, she would have loved it. She would have thought of it as her own chance at Narnia. 

The wardrobe’s brass handle curved easily under my touch, opening the door as I peeked in. Sadly, there was no Narnia hidden in the depths of this wardrobe. There were barely any clothes, either– just a single nightgown hanging on one of many empty pegs. Sighing, I closed the wardrobe and opened the door beside it, as instructed in the note. 

My eyebrows shot up on my forehead in surprise when I saw what was inside. 

It looked every bit like modern plumbing. There was a modern toilet, a modern sink, and a modern bath. Naturally, they looked like they were more from the eighties or something, but it was still modern compared to the bucket and washbasin I thought was going to be awaiting me. On the ledge of the sink, I saw a toothbrush and a tub of toothpaste. Bewildered, I picked them up and brushed my teeth, turning the water on in the sink to rinse away the frothy toothpaste now at the bottom of the basin. 

“Ma’am--”

“AH!”

I whirled around to find Myfanwy standing in the doorway of the washroom, giving me an unimpressed look. She continued to speak without a care in the world for my racing heart and heightened nerves. “As I was saying, I trust you found everything alright, ma’am?”

I nodded, my mind still whirring with anxiety from the jumpscare. “Y-yes.” When I got my brain back, I added, “Though I didn’t expect to have an actual toilet. I didn’t know the faery realm was so updated with inventions from the human world.” 

Myfanwy appeared to be mildly annoyed. “Just because your internet and electronics don’t work here doesn’t mean we’re completely behind on human inventions. Plumbing is like carpentry. We have it.” 

I nodded again, this time a bit weaker. “I understand. Thank you.”

She ignored my semi-apology and held out the bundle of fabric in her arms. “These are your clothes for today. A tunic and a pair of trousers. Should you wish to go outside, you may. The Dreamweaver suggested you maybe go for a walk through the gardens. He said it might build your cardiovascular endurance.”

I felt my cheeks burn from embarrassment at the obvious jab at my running skills. The gentle way I took the clothes from her contrasted with the sharp way I said, “Well, you can tell the Dreamweaver that my cardio endurance is just fine, thank you. I will, however, take him up on his offer to walk through his grounds.” I should learn the layout of where I’m going to be living. 

“Fine by me,” she said with a sniff. She turned and walked away without another word. Cheeks still burning, I got dressed. I folded up my very human clothes (a cotton T-shirt, a pair of jean shorts, and a fluffy coat) and put them at the bottom of the wardrobe before making my way out of my new room in my dirty, doodled-on sneakers and new faery clothes. 

~ (Week Two writing ends here while Week Three writing starts here)

The gardens were just as annoyingly lovely as the rest of the Dreamweaver’s residence. Lilies, roses, dahlias, and other flowers I was too tickled by to name bloomed in the flower beds. Jasmine climbed up the pretty handcarved wooden trellises. When I made my way to another side of the garden, I saw strawberry and blueberry bushes along with rows of carrots, cabbages, and cucumbers in the soil. The sunlight hit it all just so, causing the gardens to look like they were glowing. 

I leaned down to smell a delightfully purple orchid when my foot caught on a clump of dirt. My center of gravity spun and I braced myself for the impact of falling, squeezing my eyes shut. 

The impact never came. I slowly opened my eyes, peeking at the orchid that was now a lot closer to my face than I’d intended it to be. (Plus, it was almost in my eye instead of almost in my nose. Not at all where I had wanted it to be.) I heard soft grunts of effort from behind me and I straightened, my brow furrowing as I realized I felt small, prickly things that felt a bit like a cluster of pointy flower stems brushing the back of my neck. As I straightened into a standing position, the prickly things stopped brushing against my neck, and a pressure I hadn’t even realized was on the collar of my tunic was released. I turned around slowly so I wouldn’t frighten away whatever little being had saved me. My eyes widened when met with the sight of the faery from the stump. “You!” I exclaimed softly, surprised. I gave the faery another once-over and noticed the pretty little dress made of purple lotus petals adorning her tiny body. 

The faery winced. “Me.” Her voice was pleasantly high-pitched and slightly melodic. She licked her lips nervously and began to prattle on, hesitant at first, then bursting into a solid stream of words. “I– I am sorry for bringing you into all of this. I didn’t mean to. You see, when a faery senses it has been seen by a human, an alarm goes out to the other faeries in the area for help. I am so dreadfully sorry, miss.”

Oh, what a sweet little faery. Not at all like Myfanwy, who huffed and puffed and obviously hated my guts. I ensured my voice was soft and quiet so I didn’t scare her as I said, “I didn’t know any of that. Thank you for telling me.” I paused. Then, I asked, “What is your name?”

The light green of the faery’s cheeks became a few shades darker, and I figured that was her way of blushing. “Cynthia, miss.” 

I mentally crossed my fingers as I tried to go about this delicately. “I beg your pardon, Cynthia, but what exactly are you? I’m obviously new to the faery realm and I don’t know the different types of faeries.” 

Thankfully, she didn’t seem offended at all by my lack of knowledge. Quite the opposite, really, considering the fact that her face lit up and her wings fluttered slightly as she straightened and began to speak in a soft, controlled babble, “Well, technically, I am a Safety Sprite. My father was a full-blooded garden sprite, but my mother was a Safety Sprite and her genes carried more, hence my categorization.” She paused then added with a slightly sad smile, “My father’s traits make me bigger than most Safety Sprites though. I’m the size of a full-grown human’s forearm rather than their hand, as is more common with Safety Sprites.”

My curious expression softened and I gave her a warm smile, saying, “Well, I quite like your size.”

She beamed at me, fidgeting bashfully with the hem of her dress. “You are too kind.”

I shook my head and smiled fondly before asking, “Where did you get that dress? It looks absolutely stunning on you.” 

Her wings spread a bit further out as a look of pride took over her face. “I made it myself, actually. I know a really lovely seamstress. She was a good friend of my mother’s before she died, so she’s basically my aunt.” 

My eyes widened. “Wow. Um, I’m so sorry for your loss,” I stammered, caught off guard by the unexpected lore drop. 

“It’s alright. I never really knew her.” She paused, looking up at me hesitantly with big blue eyes. I gave her an open, encouraging look. Fidgeting with the hem of her dress again, she continued, “My father says Mum was an angel– willing to do anything and everything for the faeries she protected. He says she died taking a blade for a baby goblin…” she trailed off. “I hope I can one day be as selfless as she was every day of her life– most of all when she died. It would be an honor to die to protect someone.”

“I think it would be an honor to live for someone, too.” The words slipped from my mouth and I immediately closed it. It was thoughtless of me to speak so quickly when she was in such a thoughtful state of mind. 

She looked up at me in soft surprise, and her expression melted into one of admiration. 

I hastily changed the subject, mildly alarmed that she seemed to like me so much when I really wasn’t that much to like. “I have another question,” I blurted out. 

She gave me an open, encouraging look– mirroring the expression I’d given her before in a way that had my heart melting in inexplicable fondness for this sweet little faery I’d only just met. 

“Why were you in my backyard last night? And– and how come I could see you then in the human realm but I couldn’t see you before that when I was with Elena in front of her stump?”

“Well, younger humans tend to be more whimsical than older humans and therefore more susceptible to witnessing faeries. You’re in that middle spot where your whimsy sort of flickers in and out because older humans tend to force younger humans to lose their whimsy as they grow older.” Cynthia gestured with her hands a lot while speaking. It was adorable and made it mildly hard to focus on what she was saying. 

I blinked. “So… whimsy is, like, a superpower?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” she confirmed lightly. (Week Three writing ends here while Week Four Writing starts here)

I hummed and nodded thoughtfully before realizing she hadn’t answered my other question. “Alright… so, why were you in our yard, again?”

~

Cynthia babbled sweetly about pomegranates and how much she adored dancing as we walked around the gardens. Apparently, the reason why she’d been in my backyard that night was because of the pomegranate tree we had above Elena’s stump. She showed me how she let the air catch her wings when she fluttered them and how she could float on the currents of the air to dance. She tried to teach me a traditional faery dance called caoithma, but after I almost ruined two rows of cabbages, we decided to take a break from dance lessons. (Cynthia feared for the cabbages. I feared for my life if Myfanwy came out and saw I’d trampled all over the cabbages.)

My stomach grumbled and I felt my cheeks flush in minor embarrassment when Cynthia paused in her babbling to give me a surprised, wide-eyed look. “Goodness, Jane, have you not eaten yet today?”

“I haven’t eaten since I’ve come to the faery realm, Cynthia,” I told her. 

Cynthia’s eyes flashed with indignation and she rolled her shoulders back like she was going to fight someone. “You need to take care of yourself and eat, Jane.”

I tried to smile instead of wince as I imagined what could be considered food in the faery realm. Maggots with chopped-up turnips? Bloody deer carcasses with cabbages? “I’m fine.” I lied. 

Cynthia’s eyes narrowed at me. I gave her a smile, and it wouldn’t have been so weak if I hadn’t started to feel the nausea coursing through my body at the lack of food in my body (also at the idea of having to force the unpleasant faery food I’d imagined down my throat). 

“You need to go inside and ask for food,” Cynthia said bluntly. 

I shook my head, feeling even more nauseated at the idea of asking Myfanwy for food. Hey, Myfanwy, I’m really hungry because I haven’t eaten since I’ve come to the faery realm. Could I please have food that’s actually safe for humans to eat? Food that I, a human, am used to eating? No? That’s alright, thank you. I’ll eat the maggots and pig brains you’ve prepared for me. No way. I shook my head again, repulsed. 

“Jane,” Cynthia said in a warning tone. 

It was the sound of her sweet, high-pitched voice giving me a warning that had me relenting and going inside to ask for food. In that moment, her voice reminded me so much of Elena’s that I had to remove myself from her side to keep from crying. The large double doors creaked open and (despite the crushing sense of unbelonging I felt) I let my eyes flit around the foyer for Myfanwy. 

Glowing silver eyes met mine and I gulped, taking a small step back. A slow, guttural growl came from the darkness as those eyes inched forward into the light, bringing the rest of the faery’s body into my line of sight. Silky black fur covered a sleek, muscled body. Not Myfanwy at all. I would have assumed it was some sort of panther or jungle cat if it weren’t for the odd dark tendrils curling out from beneath its ears. It kept prowling forward, slow as molasses.

A small, fearful peep sounded in my throat and I bolted out the door, running past a bewildered-looking Cynthia and praying I wouldn’t become faery fodder. Not wanting to destroy the gardens and subsequently die at Myfanwy’s hands, I raced across the plain fields the Dreamweaver and I had crossed the previous night and aimed to go into the forest. I heard the faery/giant-cat-thing panting and snarling behind me and ran faster, squinting at the clump of trees I saw on the horizon line. Just a few more fields. Then I could maybe climb a tree or something to get away from this terrifying faery. 

My lungs burned and my every muscle ached, but I kept running. I found myself wishing that I had actually followed the Dreamweaver’s advice (given to me via Myfanwy) and tried to warm up or something before being forced to run for my life. Goosegrass brushed my calves and I winced as I heard the faery’s teeth snap together in an attempt to bite me, the sound scarily close and clear.

Tears prickled in my eyes. My heart ached as I thought of how it would feel to be ripped to shreds in this creature’s mouth. Visions of Elena being ripped apart by the beast cloud my mind and I shook my head, forcing the thoughts out. I dared to look over my shoulder and immediately wished I hadn’t, catching a glimpse of yellowed fangs and hungry silver eyes before I whipped my head back to face forward. The wind dried the tears tracking down my cheeks and I gulped in the air, pretending it was because I needed to fill my lungs and not because I was sobbing and it was an action derived solely from impulse.

I heard the goosegrass swish in a way that made an eerie feeling slink into my gut, and I veered to the left as I ran, dodging a swipe of the faery’s claws. A sob escaped my lips, making my chest cave in on itself and my feet stumble as I ran. With another leap, I was in the forest. 

As I jumped up into one of the tall, many-limbed trees I had so admired when I first arrived here, I wondered if I would die at the claws of the faery chasing me or at the hands of whatever faeries that lived in this forest. I climbed up the tree, not allowing my legs to falter when my heart skipped a beat every time a branch snapped. I forced myself to keep climbing, hearing the terrifying beast claw at the base of the tree. It began to snarl viciously, but the sound was cut short. I looked down and nearly started to cry again from sheer relief. Cynthia was standing over the slumped body of the beast, a look of fury on her pale green face that melted into something much kinder when she tilted her head up to look at me, flying up to my level. “How did you get a phobotor to start chasing after you, Jane?” she asked. 

“It was in the Dreamweaver’s manor,” I explained through heaving pants for breath. 

Cynthia’s eyes widened and she looked like she wanted to say something, but she stopped when she saw how out of breath I was. She put her small, needle-like fingers on the back of my trembling hand, smoothing her fingers out to comfortingly rub circles onto my hand. Only when I had stopped shaking did she softly ask, “Are you ready to come down now?” 

After taking a moment to assess my (still trembling, but slightly less so) legs, I nodded and began to climb down. With her sweet, coaxing voice talking me through it, I managed to get down from the tree, carefully avoiding stepping on the passed out beast. 

“What did you say this faery was again?” 

“A phobotor,” Cynthia said as she helped me step over it. “They force the minds closest to them to live through their worst nightmares. It’s very odd that one was in the Dreamweaver’s residence.”

“Did you kill it?”

“No. Just smashed it on the back of the head with a rock. I’m not hugely fond of killing.” 

An arrow whizzed past my ear and embedded itself in the wood of the tree I’d just climbed down from. Cynthia made a noise of shock and mild terror, clutching a hand to her heart. The poor sprite would be startled by a tree branch snapping. Being ambushed by the goblins now surrounding us would not be good for her heart. 

“Hullo, there,” one of the goblins leered at us. “You look mighty pretty. Been here long, have you, human?” 

Cynthia bristled. “Go back to where you came from, goblin.”

The goblin that spoke chuckled and signalled to the rest of them with a twitch of a finger. The other goblins began to slowly circle us, arrows notching. “I don’t think so, sprite. Not when I’ve got a pretty meal like this all plump and waiting for me to use her bones as toothpicks.”

The goblins loosed their arrows, and I curled in on myself, wincing as I prepared to die under the volley of arrows. They never came. I dared to look around. The arrows were frozen midair. With a flick of Cynthia’s hand, they spun around and sunk themselves into the goblins that had fired them. 

The ringleader goblin growled and unsheathed a long, wicked-looking knife while his companions groaned, clutching their wounds. “It’s a Safety Sprite! Knock her out!” He snarled before launching himself at me. I yelped and jumped away from his attack, but the tip of his knife still dug into my arm. 

Lips bared in a sneer, the goblin advanced on me as his companions tried and failed to kill Cynthia, who turned their every arrow back on them. I pressed my palm to the wound now on my upper arm. Pressure helped to slow the bloodflow, right? 

The goblin lunged for me again and I kicked my leg out, landing my foot in his gut and forcing him back a few feet. I shakily pulled my hand away from my arm, my fingers trembling as they came back bloody. The goblin got up and attempted to take a stab at me again, but I put my bloodied hand on his wrist and squeezed, forcing his hand away from me. He howled and dropped the knife, scrambling to scratch at my hand to take mine away from his. His claws cut small scratches into my skin, but he didn’t stop, a frenzied look in his wide eyes. “Stop– stop–” he tried to speak, but white flecks of frock began to bubble up past his lips. My eyes widened in horror, but I kept my hold on him, reaching down and grabbing his fallen knife in my other hand. His hands scrambled to grab my wrist, trying to stop the blade from finding its home. “No– human, don’t–” 

I cut him off by sinking the knife into his gut, twisting it when he shrieked. Releasing my grip on his wrist, I pulled out the knife, watching the blood flow. After a few moments, his eyes grew lifeless and he slumped to the ground. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you, Jane–! Oh.” Cynthia paused in her hasty flight over to me. “Is he… is he dead?”

“Yup.”

“Did you kill him?” she asked, a curious note in her voice. 

“Yup.” 

After a pause, Cynthia nodded, giving me a beautiful, beaming smile as she said, “Good job.” I cracked a small smile at that only for it to be replaced by a concerned look when Cynthia’s smile vanished, her eyes widening. “Oh, Jane… your arm–” 

Hastily, I put my hand back over my upper arm. “It’s fine,” I said quickly. “Nothing too bad.” 

“We’re getting you back home. The Dreamweaver’s sure to have a housekeeper or something to help us find bandages.” Cynthia got behind me and began to push me along, her wings working overtime as she tried to shove me forward and out of the forest. 

I blinked and slowed down, turning around to force her to stop. “Cynthia,” I said, my tone gentle and chiding. “I can walk on my own.”

Her cheeks darkened to that deep, embarrassed green, and she deigned to walk by my side rather than behind me for the rest of our journey back to the Dreamweaver’s residence.

Hurray, a great start to LMS avimoon! I'm enjoying the combination of the whimsical and the grounded in your faerie realm worldbuilding.

He was thin and reedy, but not like the gray-skinned creature who had also stepped out of the woods. No, this one seemed more ancient, with the sort of wisdom written in the lines of his elegantly angled face that reminded me of the rings of age inside a tree.

Oh is Ghillie Dhu like an Ent (a la Lord of the Rings)? I feel like I rarely see stories have both fairies and treekin/tree people at the same time, and to have them allied as well (even though with both having a forest motif, it's such a fitting combination).

Despite all the danger and terrifying creatures, she would have loved it. She would have thought of it as her own chance at Narnia.

Elena seems like such a sweet kid. I hope Jane will get to see her again soon!

I also really like Cynthia. Like Jane I wonder if there's some special reason she was in Jane's backyard, and if she knows Elena tells other people about what she sees at the faerie stump . . .

Best of luck with LMS, Pilot! You can do it!