Fae

Blue and green flames engulf the enchanted forest. The once beautiful trees with leaves of orange and purple are now covered in ash and smoke. Plumes of smoke cover the night sky as a castle burns brightly in the distance. A haggard old woman struggles through the forest and the flames, carrying a small bundle in one arm and a cane in the other. The bundle squirms and wiggles under the heat of the fire surrounding them. 

Removing her cloak, the woman places it over the bundle, shielding it from the flames. Hobbling out of the forest, she turns and glances at the destruction behind her. The forest is entirely ablaze, and the castle in the distance collapses under the weight of the blue and green flames.

Blue sparks surface from the nearby lake, most certainly water nymphs rushing from their homes to extinguish flames. The haggard old woman raises a hand to the sky, and she cuts the sky before her with a single black fingernail. The atmosphere shreds like a piece of fabric under a knife, leaving tattered threads in its wake. There is now a rather large hole in the sky revealing another world, another realm. Taking a final glance at her home, the woman steps through the tear in the fabric. Looking down at the bundle in her arms, a small pair of icy blue eyes peer back up. A long burn streaks across the child’s pale skin, and small, pointed ears peeked out from beneath curls of jet-black hair.

A jet of frigid air runs up the woman’s spine as she pulls the threads of the fabric between the realms and weaves them back together, closing the portal between the realms. Her arms and legs suddenly feel weak. The magic from her realm is draining from her body. The bundle in her arms struggles as the magic seeps her from her tiny form. The woman gazes behind her to where the portal used to be. The yellow and orange sky is replaced with a dark sky speckled with little white dots. The woods are no longer filled with colorful trees but with brown trees that twist at odd angles. A single full moon hangs in the sky, much smaller than the two moons from her realm.

As she strains her eyes against the darkness, the old woman can barely make out the cabin in the forest clearing in the distance. A flickering candle lights a single window, and a small stream of smoke drifts from the chimney. Tiny blue flowers illuminate the dirt path under her feet. The trail snakes through the jagged trees to her destination. She hugs the bundle closer to her chest and protects it from the night air. The woman staggers along the path, stumbling her way to the cabin.

The short journey to the cabin is difficult for the woman. Air in this realm is thicker than the air in the Mystical Realm. With each step, the woman feels more of her magic drain from her body. It escapes with each breath from her lungs. Reaching the wooden door, the old woman no longer has the strength to knock.

Instead, she calls out for her sister. “Sybil, it has come to pass,” those are her last words as she collapses against the door, cradling the bundle in her arms.

Flinging the door open at the sound of her sister’s voice, Sybil looks down just in time to see her sister’s form turn to ash. The bundle that was once in her arms cries out against the cool night air. Sybil gasps when she sees a pair of bright blue eyes staring back at her. Scooping the bundle into her arms, she glances suspiciously around the darkness and carries the baby inside.

Once the child is safely inside, a gust of wind picks up the ashes. The wind blows the ashes through the forest. They are weaving through the trees, tickling the leaves. The wind carries the ashes to their final resting place.

The prophecy has come to pass, the one she warned the Elven King about many moons ago, the very prophecy that had her thrown from the Mystical Realm. But her prediction had been wrong; the child did not survive in her visions. The child had burned to death among the flames of the castle. Someone has been tampering with the future.

Tampering with the future is strictly forbidden, even between the sisters. Sybil cringes at the thought of how her father will react to this newest situation caused by her sister.

Looking around her cabin, she sighs. She has nothing for a baby. Tucking the baby snuggly into her arm, she flits around the cabin collecting anything that can be used. She puts the baby in a small box and tucks her in with a woolen blanket to protect her from the drafty cabin. Tomorrow, she must head into the town to find bottles and nappies.

***

As the days fall into weeks, the weeks into the months, and the months into years, Sybil and the baby fall into a comfortable routine. But Sybil also waits. Since her sister passed on her doorstep four years ago, Sybil waits for the Elven Guards to emerge from the woods. She waits for the moment in her nightmares where the guards drag the child away, kicking and screaming.

Each year when the fabric between the realms is as thin as a blade of grass, she hides the child beneath the floorboards and teaches her to remain silent, but the guards never come. Even with four years of silence, it did not stop the dreams from coming.

The nightmares become more vivid and certain with each passing day, week, month, and year. Visions of green and blue flames that engulf the Elven Castle, leaving nothing but ash and rubble in its wake, shake her from her sleep. The sound of a tiny baby screaming as the flames reach the tips of her forbidden wings haunts her sleeping moments, tormenting her for the prophecy she had misread.