Original Fairy Tale Challenge: "The Girl Who Fell In Love With Death" -- by Hazel West

(Warning: rather dark)

The Girl Who Fell In Love With Death

By Hazel B. West

Once upon a time a girl met Death on the corner of a busy street.

            He had come to take the life of a homeless man but did not notice the eyes on him until it was too late to hide.

            It was not often that Death had to worry about people seeing him. He usually was able to keep to the background and simply do his job. But some had the ability to see more than normal humans and this girl just happened to be one of them.

            Death was not at all what the little girl had pictured. Yes, he was dressed in black and had a long scythe in one hand, but he was tall and young, and very handsome. Raven black hair fell against his pale face, partially hiding eyes the color of eternity as he stooped in the act of reaching for the man. The girl stood in awe as he turned toward her, deed done.

            “Are you afraid of me?” he asked. It may have been an odd question because, of course, she should be afraid, and yet, he was taken slightly aback because this child didn’t seem to fear him at all.

            In fact, the little girl simply shook her head. “No.”

            Then Death, perplexed, simply disappeared.

~~~

It was several years before she saw him again. This time there was a car accident outside of her school. The children gathered at the edge of the playground despite their teachers’ attempts to pull them back, wide-eyed with horrified fascination.

            The girl stood slightly to one side of the children (as she always did for she never truly fit in with any of them) waiting for something else.

            And sure enough, he appeared.

            Death reached inside the car and touched the woman on the cheek, a gentle caress, before he straightened and turned around, his eyes meeting those of the girl. 

            “You again,” he said.

            “Yes,” she said, feeling something from looking into his eyes that she never felt before. She felt alive, which was odd. But the truth was she never felt like she belonged like she did when looking into Death’s deep eternal eyes.

            His mouth turned up slightly at the edge and he nodded to her silently before he disappeared again.

            The girl felt as if something had been pulled from her chest. She wondered if she would ever see him again.

~~~

The girl met Death the third time when she was sitting in a hospital, outside of her grandmother’s room.

            She felt a settling as if a puzzle piece had been fitted back inside of her and she knew who was standing beside her before she even looked up.

            “You may want to rethink making a habit of this,” Death said, a note of teasing in his voice. “Some don’t think it’s good luck to see me. Especially more than once.” He stood straight, looking down at her, his scythe in one hand, held casually. 

            The girl blinked up at him. “Did you come to take my grandmother?”

            He nodded once, raven hair caressing his cheek. “Do not be sad, it is just that it’s her time. She will go peacefully.”

            The girl nodded, having already known this. She had found over the years that she had an uncanny ability to know when something would die. Her pet cat, her neighbor’s dog. Her friend’s grandfather in kindergarten. She wondered if it was because she had looked Death in the eyes. Or, rather, if she could look Death in the eyes because she had the ability.

            He moved toward the room, and she felt something in her chest breaking again. Something she knew she couldn’t get back until she saw him again. On impulse, she reached out to grip his hand. Death froze and looked down at her as if scared for her sake, but nothing happened. She only stared up at him, holding his pale, cool hand.

            “Can you stay? Just a moment?” she asked.

            Gently, he curled his fingers around hers as if also reveling in the touch. “I’m afraid I cannot,” he replied, though there was the ring of regret in his voice. “My job dictates a strict schedule. But fear not. I have a feeling we will meet again.” Then he pulled her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it softly.

            This was when the girl realized that she loved Death.

~~~

As the years stretched by, she tried to find as many opportunities as she could to see him again. She grew older, got a job at the hospital. She wanted to be around the dying, just to catch a glimpse of him. She still possessed the uncanny ability to tell when someone was going to pass on and it was easy to be there at the right time to see her beautiful reaper in his dark suit and fathomless eyes.

            But every time she saw him, she always wanted more. Her very soul was empty unless Death was there with her. She felt sometimes as if she lived with one foot in the real world and one on the other side. She lived only to meet Death for a few brief moments at a time. But those few moments of bliss became more and more unsatisfying as she became more and more broken when Death was not by her side. Fading farther from the real world, but never quite in his. 

            She needed more than a few spoken words, a gentle caress, a soft press of lips. She wanted to be beside him forever, it was the only thing that could make her truly happy.

~~~

The desperation drove her to an overpass, to a bad man, and dark shadows to hide her deed.

            She stood there in the dark, watching blood spill across the ground as the gunmetal cooled in her hand. 

            “My, my, you have grown very impatient, haven’t you, my dear?”

            She looked up and Death stood there, scythe gleaming in the moonlight. 

            The girl fell to her knees in front of him. “Please. I can’t stand to be away from you anymore. I’ve waited too long already.”

            “It is not your time,” he said simply.

            “You know that is not what I mean,” the girl replied.

            Death stared down at her, considering, but she saw the longing in his own eyes. “It will be for eternity, love,” he said softly. “For I am, more than anything, eternal.”

            “I only long for eternity with you,” she replied.

            “It would not be life or death,” he continued. “For those would not exist anymore for you.”

            She shook her head. “My life is death when I am not with you. I already walk a path between.”

            “You would only ever me mine, my love,” he whispered, holding out his hand.

            She took it. “I only ever wanted to be yours.”

            “Then let it be so.”

            He smiled and pulled her into his arms, pressing his lips to hers, to seal the promise.

            Then Death, and the girl who loved him, spent the rest of eternity together, as they were meant to be.

Original Fairy Tale Challenge: "The Corruption" -- by Marlene Simonette

The Corruption

         Alright, little ones, your usual storyteller is out with a pretty girl tonight, and he’s asked me to fill in. With the help of assistant Tarron, of course. The storyteller wouldn’t trust me to this all by myself. Though he seems to trust me with protecting not only him, but the rest of the village—yes, children, I’m a patrol warrior. Closer, I don’t mind! Ah, you want to handle my weapons? You may (so long as you don’t tell your mothers and sisters), but only after the telling of this tale.

Tonight, hear a tale of…well, it’s about separation.

Long ago, when the dragons danced in the sky and churned the fires of the deep, the elven people were one. No division of darkness separated them; all were called by one name, none of this ‘Woodlander’ and ‘Starlighter’ business. What were they called, then? Say it slowly; savor it on your tongue: Aelaellae. Does it taste strange? That’s because the language is so ancient, only a few fragments of it remain.

During this ancient time, there were no kings, and no queens, save in distant warring human groups. Perhaps this distance is what brought about the Darkness. The Great Sorrow, as some call it.

The Elven Mother—Janis, after whom this land is named—ruled not as a queen, but as a judge. She heard the Voices, and often secluded herself in the forest to commune with them. When she returned, she had much wisdom to impart to those seeking restitution.

However, she had but one fault: she took things for granted. This may not seem like a great sin, but it led her to neglect her family. Her younger brother, in particular.

This lad remembered the humans, the world he’d once lived in. (If you don’t know the history of the elves, and how we first came about, I’m afraid that will have to wait; this tale is complicated enough as it is.) The sadness and death that permeated the humans’ lives quickened his heart in pity.

He did many things for them; made paths through treacherous forest and mountain, provided them with animals in the lean seasons, and even gave some children lessons in woodcraft. This sometimes went awry, as the humans aren’t attuned to the purity of the Voices as we are. Some mistook him for a rogue, or a beast intent on stealing their young (how humans can mistake an elf for something like that, I haven’t the faintest idea.).

Each time he requested an audience with his sister, he was turned away.

Janis’ neglect of her brother hurt him a great deal. He tried to find a way of helping the humans further on his own. Evidently, the tale of Michi the Matchmaker had not yet been told, or he would know that beginning such a task alone was sure to lead to ruin.

And to ruin his path did lead. After monumental efforts, he was exhausted. How exhausted, you ask? He was so exhausted, he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t even sneeze properly.

When he finally did sneeze—he’d been trying for hours, you know how it is when you feel like nothing else will help that stuffy feeling in your head—he was so bedraggled that he fell flat on his back.

The Winds were having one of their arguments, so the clouds above were hazy and thin. The great ribbons of light that followed the dragons as they flew had faded, for the dragons had gone to their caverns to sleep. The moons were half-lidded, so their purple and blue gaze didn’t illuminate as they normally did.

He waited. He could have closed his eyes, or gotten to his feet and returned home, but he didn’t. He saw something, there in the sky. He disobeyed the First Command—to never seek out the stars, to never search them for answers.

The first of their secrets seared into his mind. Like fire it coursed through him, stronger than—er…the excitement of a foosball match. 

(What, Tarron, I can’t tell them what goblin ale does to someone?)

Where was I? Ah, yes, the first pangs of the Sorrow.

Janis’ brother used what he’d learned for what he’d intended it—to help the humans. Little did he know what he’d set in motion.

In the wake of his help came Shadow. Solid, sneaking, and set to strangle any who dared venture out when the moons were covered. The Shadow was slow in revealing itself, so it was some time before word of it reached the elves. 

Though she didn’t speak with him much, Janis noted a change in her brother. He seemed harsher, haughtier, and ever willing to question. I don’t think she thought much of him questioning her own authority; she expected that on a regular basis. But when he questioned the Bakeres family recipe for snow-berry pudding? Tempers flew!

Barely able to restrain her people from shedding her brother’s blood right then and there, she took him aside. She questioned him. He met her questions with scoffs, diverting her attention from time to time with questions of his own. With neither of their tempers cooled, they parted.

That night, Janis sought guidance from the Voices. Unfortunately for her, only the East Wind answered, and he’s such a curmudgeonly fellow that I shan’t repeat what he told her. Suffice it to say, she waited a few days for a Voice with more…temperance, and less temper.

The North Wind told Janis of her brother’s doings, and that while the deeds themselves were good, they tasted of death, and stank of deceit. The Voice suggested—among other things—that Janis go out among the humans.

And so she did.

The sky was overcast with the first clouds of winter, threaded through with the faint trails of the dragons. There were a few humans about, holding lanterns lit from their sacred…

(Tarron, what was it called? Just a firepit? That seems silly. Wait, really? That’s almost worse. Alright…)

…their sacred Flame.

The Shadow leeched out from the forest as ooze from a sore. Only, much faster, and far deadlier. It was more like someone had given a weasel a shot of coffee.

It entered the man, snuffing out the light and killing him before he’d hit the ground.

Eyes aglow with a dead light from the source it had eaten (the Shadows’ get brighter with each life source they devour), it went for Janis. She used her power, then. Her voice. She sang. 

(Tarron! Stop chuckling. I’m not going to sing.)

The notes stretched about her, a shield and repellant against evil things. Her hair and cloak whipped about her, carried by the force of her voice.

The Shadow stumbled back. It shriveled in the lush, warm light of Janis’ music. 

But her light revealed more Shadow. Many eyes glimmered silver among the trees. These were stronger Shadows, ones who could drink up her attacks as a deer laps up water.

Hurrying back to her people, and mourning the growing net that drew about the human community, Janis called a meeting of the judges.

Now, this meeting of the judges was swift—not like the human councils, where they debate and argue for hours without tiring. The judges spoke. They shared stories of the past in an attempt to find a common thread. After they discussed a bit, they came to a decision: Janis’ brother was to be found, and confronted. They also reprimanded Janis for her neglect, for they could see that she had some fault in this.

Thoroughly chastened, Janis set out to find her brother. First, she searched the forests. There was no sign of him. Next, the mountains. Still, neither hide nor hair of him was to be found. Cautiously, she reentered the growing Darkness that surrounded the human community. 

He found her first. Coming from behind like a Shadow himself, he clasped her shoulder. His eyes gleamed wild in his gaunt face. In a whispering cry, sounding almost like a dead man, he said, “I never meant for this to happen!”

Janis clasped his shoulders. “Neither did I. But what’s done is done. Come, the council is gathered, and we shall find a way to remedy this.”

He came willingly. Janis doubtless talked with him on the way back, in heartfelt attempts at apology. And doubtless, though he was sorry for what he’d done to the humans, he was still cross with her. (If my sister treated me like that, I would be cross with her for a while, too.)

Janis and her brother arrived at the council. They entreated the Voices. Alas, the only solution the Voices could offer: sleep. The Shadows could be sent into sleep for a time, but the people must prepare for when they would arrive again.

And so, the council channeled their power into the growing net—though it was more of a nest by this time—of Darkness in the human community. Their efforts were successful: the Shadows receded. 

Having overexerted themselves, some of the council members fell into sleep themselves (and yes, what came of them afterwards is the subject of another legend).

During the aftermath, Janis’ brother vanished.

Some say that he sought to turn the Shadows to his will. Others say he went out in self-imposed exile, or continued aiding the humans from a distance. Whatever the case, the land had peace for a while.

For the humans, it was a restless sort of peace. The council did not specify the time given to them by the Voices. And so, the humans busied themselves in preparations to combat the Shadow. They gathered together, set their sacred Flame in the center of their city, and made sure that guards were posted day and night.

Unfortunately, the peace the elves had was…different.

The council told them of the time limit, of the foretold day the Shadows would return. What did they do? They decided to dally. They decided that idle chatter, future promises, and neglect were preferable to heeding the wisdom of the Voices.

In other words, they followed the actions of their judge: Janis. When a leader neglects, the people tend to follow suit. 

Dallying is one of the worst mistakes anyone can make, little ones. It breeds apathy. It allows wounds that need healing to fester and rot like so much fruit left out to pop in the summer sun. And it sucks the very life from your bones.

So if any of you have chores that need doing—Ahaha, I’m only partially joking. Get along with you. I will need those nun-chucks back…

Original Fairy Tale Challenge: "Four Knights of the Land" -- by Benjamin Leskey

Four Knights of the Land

Many, many years ago, there was a small western kingdom beset with woes. Every eighth night, two of the best cattle would vanish with only large boot prints left behind; every full moon, a man would disappear from the most distant village with only great footprints left behind; and on the last night of winter every year, an entire house would be trampled with only tremendous claw prints left behind.

So, when winter was coming to an end again, the king called the four knights of the land to his castle, one from the south, one from the west, one from the north, and one from the east and told them (for he had no child), “Whoever shall put a stop to these woes will become my heir.”

The eldest knight, the knight of the south, took up his mace and said, “I will go on this next eighth night and defeat the cattle thief!”

“Then go with good fortune,” said the king, and he sent him on his way.

The knight of the south waited among the fattest cattle all night, and an hour before dawn he saw a beastly ogre come down from the hill. But the ogre saw the knight hiding and growled, “Who is this I see?”

The knight sprang out from behind the cattle to slay the ogre, but his shout made one of the cows kick him and he fell on his face. When he got up again, the ogre had taken two cattle under his arms and was gone back up the hill. The knight of the south had to return empty-handed and was so ashamed that he took off his armor and lived in the desert as a hermit ever after.

So when the knight of the south was gone, the knight of the west who was next oldest took up his sword and said, “I will go on this next full moon and defeat the man stealer!”

“Then go with great strength,” said the king, and he sent him on his way.

The knight of the west went to the most distant village and stood under the moon all night, and two hours before dawn he saw a giant man with the head of a bull come down from a cave in the mountain. When the bull-man saw the knight standing, he growled, “Who is this I see?”

“I am the knight of the west,” replied the knight of the west. “You will steal no more, foul beast!” And he leaped forward and would have cut the bull-man in two, but when his eyes met those of the bull’s head he could not move. Now he would have surely died except the force of his swing made his sword pass between his eyes and the bull’s eyes, and he was able to turn and run away faster than his enemy. When he looked back, the bull-man had stolen another villager and was gone back up the mountain. The knight of the west had to return empty-handed and was so ashamed that he took off his armor and lived in the desert as a hermit ever after.

When the knight of the west had departed, the knight of the north, who was the older of the two remaining, took up his spear and said, “I will go this winter’s end and defeat the house crusher!”

“Then go with much valor,” said the king, and he sent him on his way.

The knight of the north went to the place where the houses had been crushed and sat on his horse all night, and three hours before dawn he saw a great worm fly down from the top of the mountain. But the worm saw him too, and it landed before him and growled, “Who is this I see?”

The knight of the north did not reply, instead he charged forward and would have pierced the worm were it not for his horse which threw him off and bolted when the worm turned and roared. But he stood his ground when the worm came at him again, and since it did not want to bite his armor or be pierced with his spear, it turned away. Then the worm trampled a house, ate everything inside, and flew back up to the top of the mountain. The knight of the north had to return empty-handed and was so ashamed that he took off his armor and lived in the desert as a hermit ever after.

Now there was only one knight left, the knight of the east who was youngest of the four and weakest also. When he was ready to go forth, he took no weapon but rather a long rope, a thin cloth, and a pouch of gold coins, and said, “I will rid you of all three in a single night.”

“Then go with all wit,” said the king, and he sent him on his way.

When the knight of the east had come to the hill, he took several cows and tied the rope around them, then led them a little way away into the forest and tied them to a tree. Then he climbed up to where the ogre was sitting and gnawing on a bone.

“Look here,” said the knight to the ogre. “Why gnaw on old bones when there are fine cows to be had, just left in the forest down there?”

And the ogre smelled the cows from afar and said, “Why indeed? Down I go!”

Then the knight of the east took from under the ogre’s tree a lump of bone and fur which only ogres make and tucked it away as a token.

Next he climbed up to the mountain cave, but before going in he wrapped the cloth around his eyes. Inside he found the bull-man, but the knight was not struck immobile because the cloth was between his eyes and the bull’s eyes.

“I will eat you!” shouted the bull-man, seeing the knight, for he was always hungry.

“Wait!” cried the knight. “Why eat me, a thin man, when there is an ogre in the forest below?”

And the bull-man smelled the ogre, but was not satisfied and said, “I would not travel down for only one ogre when you are right before me.”

“Certainly not!” agreed the knight. “But there will surely be a gathering of ogres, do you not smell the large number of cows?”

The bull-man did smell them, and believed him, saying, “So it seems. Down I go!”

Then the knight of the east took from the cave an old horn of the bull-man and tucked it away as a token.

Next he scaled the mountain all the way to the summit, and found the worm resting.

“What do you want?” hissed the worm. “Why should I not crush you at once?”

“No, no,” said the knight. “Why crush me when I have come to tell you about a rich feast? There is a bull-man down in the forest below, which surely is better than any ordinary man.”

“I am not very hungry, despite it being a bull-man,” said the worm. “I am angry at being disturbed.”

“Ah, but even the full could not turn down such a feast,” argued the knight, and he presented the pouch of gold to the worm. “Take this, surely the bull-man will have more.”

And the greedy worm snatched up the gold and said, “Well then, I suppose the feast will be rich indeed: the flesh of a bull-man and gold as a bonus. Down I go!”

The knight of the east looked around, but could not see any of the worm’s scales to use as a token. However there was a small metal egg, and he took it and tucked it away. Then he descended the mountain by another path and returned to the king.

“Have you, too, failed?” asked the king.

“No, behold!” replied the knight of the east, and presented first the lump of bone and fur, then the old horn, and finally the metal egg.

And the king, seeing these tokens, shouted with joy and would have made him heir on the spot. But the knight stopped him and said, “No, I do not deserve it. Give me rather two sacks of fine gold, and that shall be my only payment.”

“Be it as you will,” the king said, and gave him two sacks of gold.

The knight took them, and the very next day he set off on a journey eastward, knowing that the worm would return the next year and his lie would be uncovered. But now he was wealthy, and in distant lands would make a comfortable life.

However as he left the borders of the kingdom rejoicing, the worm appeared behind, for it had pursued him after discovering no more gold and a missing egg. He urged his horse into a gallop, but the worm was faster.

“Liar! Thief!” cried the worm. “Give me what is mine!”

The knight feared for his life and threw the metal egg, but the worm kept pursuing.

“Deceiver! Robber!” it hissed. “Give me what is mine!”

He threw one sack of gold, but the worm kept pursuing.

“Cheat! Burglar!” it growled. “Give me what is mine!”

He threw the other sack of gold, but the worm kept pursuing.

“Trickster! Bandit!” it roared. “Give me what is mine!”

He threw his armor and the last of his belongings, and the worm smelled that he had no more and let him run. But now, penniless, empty-handed, and ashamed, he could not return and rather lived in the desert as a hermit ever after.

Original Fairy Tale Challenge: "Oh Marissa" -- by Abigail Leskey

Oh Marissa

I

Once upon a time, in Verizon store (more red, more black, and more white than Snow White herself) that had just closed, Marissa had her first kiss and felt as if she were in the hall of a castle. Keith gazed down at her, his blue eyes brighter than the tropical seascape screensaver on the desktop behind him. “I love you,” he whispered.

Marissa’s eyes widened and she slid one foot back. She felt romantically toward Keith, but they had only met a month ago, when they had both been hired. She had most definitely not instigated him to kiss her. “I-I love you,” she said awkwardly. “Too.” 

Keith smiled, leaning closer.  He was wearing aftershave that smelled like the sandalwood furniture polish that Marissa’s grandpa had bought at a dollar store and had taken back because it kept gluing the dusting cloths to the piano. “I picked up our marriage license two days ago,” he said, and she felt him pushing a ring onto her finger.

“What?!” Marissa pulled her hand away and stepped back, almost knocking over a shelf of premium smartphones. “I—you haven’t proposed—what?!”

“I just did.” He clenched her wrist and shoved the engagement ring onto her finger. No twenty-five-year-old Verizon employee could have afforded it, a ring with five large diamonds, Marissa realized as she was trying to get away from him without cracking the screens of phones that were so expensive she wouldn’t want to buy one even after she had paid off her college debt. Had he stolen it? Was he secretly wealthy? 

“Keith!” She pulled her hand out of his and out of the ring. Both his nails and the ring scratched it. “We are not engaged. And we—we aren’t even dating. I mean, we’re stopping dating.”

Keith suddenly stood much straighter, and she realized he was beautiful. He normally was charmingly handsome, but he was not usually beautiful. Or two inches taller than usual. She took another step back, and was about to run when the ring in his hand expanded as if it were the mouth of a balloon, until it was as large as a hula hoop. Marissa was transfixed.

She stared at him like a mouse stares at a cat until he flipped the silver circle around her neck and his eyes lit cerulean. Then she screamed, and tried to duck under the ring and run. But she was physically paralyzed. This had to be a nightmare. It had to, it had to, it had to. 

“I’m a wizard, Rissa,” Keith said, smirking at her. “I’m a wizard. And I’m putting you in a phone.”

“What even,” Marissa gasped, and stared in incredulous fear as Keith gripped the newest, most expensive phone he could reach and held it up. Its screen blazed with cerulean light. 

“You’ll never get out unless someone intentionally smashes it to let you out,” Keith said. “And—we both know nobody will do that. It costs a thousand and ninety-nine dollars. And ninety-nine cents.”

Suddenly Marissa could no longer feel the weight of the ring, and could see nothing but cerulean, and could not scream. Then she was turned off.

II

                  Norma Heaberlin was shopping for her first phone, which her grandson Nick was giving her for her eighty-second birthday. She tottered around the white cases of technology, squinting at phones and tablets though large round glasses and nearly knocking things down with her flowing black lace shawl (hand-knit of finger-weight bamboo-cotton yarn). 

“What are you looking for, ma’am?” 

Norma looked up to see a handsome young employee, with a name tag that said he was Keith. 

                  “A phone I can use to text my grandkids,” she said, at the same moment as her grandson, a prosperous programmer who had once gotten his beard caught in a vintage record player, said, “Your premium phone.”

                  Keith smiled, elegantly gesturing toward a sleek silver phone. “This one has a new voice assistant, that is only being released to our most valued customers. All you need to do is say, “Oh Marissa,” and she will help you with anything.”

                  “Hmm.” Norma tipped her glasses up and looked at the phone from under them. “What if she talks to me when I’m sleeping? Or when I’m in the—”

                  “She can’t,” Keith assured her. “She can only speak if you say “Oh Marissa,” and she can’t say anything unless it’s an answer to what you said.”

III

Oh Marissa, how do I look up the weather?

I’m in a phone. I’m in a phone. I’m in a phone.

I am bringing up the weather. The high today will be sixty-four degrees. The low will be fifty-five. There is a ninety percent chance of rain at eleven p.m.

Help! Please destroy the phone!

Please let me out!

Oh Marissa, text Sarah, “Do you have enough shampoo? Love, Grandma.”

Oh Marissa, what are the symptoms of mass hysteria?

Oh Marissa, what mordant should I use to dye yarn with dandelions?

Oh Marissa, is it normal for a cat to cough up three hairballs?

Every time I can answer. Every time I can’t say anything that is not an answer...I can’t even use contractions or informal words…. But what if I—

Oh Marissa, what is fifty times thirty-four, minus four? 

Fifty times thirty-four minus four is1696, which is approximately ten times the number of hours I have been trapped in this phone.

Oh Marissa, what are home remedies for dry eyes?

A home remedy for dry eyes is crying, which can be accomplished by sadness, such as that caused by being trapped inside a phone. 

Oh Marissa, how do I keep kittens from tearing up carpet?

One way to keep kittens from tearing up carpet is to magically trap them in a phone. 

Oh Marissa, why do you keep talking about being trapped in a phone?

Finally! 

I keep talking about being trapped in a phone because I am not a voice assistant. I am a woman who was trapped in a phone by a wizard named Keith who wanted to marry me. 

Please ask me how to free me.

Oh Marissa, good grief!!!Can I get you out?

You can get me out if you destroy the phone.

Oh Marissa, I’m going to destroy it right away! 

IV

Norma had heard that phones broke when people dropped them, so she dropped her phone. The phone did not crack. She dropped it again, then threw it at the floor, then threw it at the wall. It dinged the wall. Norma picked the phone up and carried it over to the sink. She’d heard that phones died after they were dropped in water. But would that be considered destroying it?

“Oh Marissa, I’ve dropped and thrown this thing, and it’s fine and dandy. Would dropping it in the sink work?”

“Dropping it in the sink will not work, because this phone is from the Premium Collection and is waterproof,” Marissa answered, and fell silent. 

Norma stepped over a cat that was pretending it was a rug and laid the phone down on the floor, jumped on it five or six times, and then bent to look at it. There was one crack in the screen. Norma’s bones felt like they had fifty cracks in them. Eighty-two-year-olds should not jump on phones. 

Norma sighed. Hitting it with her cane wouldn’t work; her cane had a rubber tip and a rubber-covered handle. Hmm….

Norma limped into the kitchen and returned with a white marble rolling pin that had belonged to her great-grandmother. She held it directly over the phone, moved each of her loafered feet to the side, and dropped the pin. The phone splintered like an eggshell. 

There was a blur, and then a trembling young woman with unparted curls was covering her face with her ringless brown hands and sobbing. 

Norma patted her shoulder. “Do you want cocoa? Tea? Coffee? You can just call me Grandma Norma. Do you want green tea? Cognac? Sillabub?”

Marissa looked up with a surprised, tearful laugh. “Cocoa would be nice, thank you. Um, thank you so much for—I can’t replace—”

Norma shook her head firmly, and picked up the broken phone and threw it into the trashcan. One cat and two kittens ran to the trashcan and sat near it, trying to see through the opaque plastic. 

Norma patted Marissa’s shoulder again. “Do you want regular cocoa, dark cocoa, or mint cocoa? You can think about how many charges you want to press against that awful wizard while I heat the milk.” 

                  

  

Original Fairy Tale Challenge: "The Spider and the Fairy" -- by Marlene Simonette

The Spider and the Fairy

There once was a spider so bulbous and large, that even the most short-sighted fool could see it coming. Because of this, the spider soon starved and shriveled til it was the size of a dime.

Intending to die, it found a small crack in the rocks, and crawled inside. There, it found an abundance of small beetles and insects. Soon, it began to grow again.

When it was about the size of a quarter, the spider moved house to a better crevice further up. The occasional fairy flew into this new crevice; the spider caught the occasional fairy. It began to grow quite fond of the sweet, tangy magic that flowed through their veins.

The spider grew bolder (or perhaps more desperate, for fairies came less and less often to its abode). Now the size of a half-dollar, it crawled from its crevice, and set up home in the trees.

The very first fairy it caught—near dawn, shortly after the dispersion of a nearby fairy ring—struggled and pleaded. Her delicate wings fluttered and tangled in the spider’s sticky threads. “Please,” she gasped. “I can grant wishes!”

Legs poised above the fairy’s head, the spider paused. Even the spider’s weak eyes could tell that she seemed fair; slim, with long dark hair, and a gown covered with things that glittered in the light.

Slowly, the spider set its legs by the fairy’s head. Resisting the urge to inject the fairy with venom, it asked, “Will you grant me the wish to always have prey available?” If the spider had been a bit clever, it would have specified what kind of prey, or at least said “desired” prey. But, alas, it was not (though this may have been because of its extreme hunger, for fairy blood leaves behind it a hollow emptiness.)

The fairy shied away from the spider’s touch as much as she could. Shivering, she shrieked, “Yes!”

The spider cackled as only spiders can: a rattling, hissing sound that sent nearby insects scuttling away, and even caught the attention of a few birds which quickly flitted to another tree. The spider began untangling the fairy, imagining the troops of food that would doubtlessly be forthcoming. When the fairy was almost freed (only one leg and part of a hand remained stuck), the spider noticed something.

Some of the glittering baubles were hard, like rock. Some were sharp, like broken glass. Some brushed away as soon as they were touched, like the morning dew.

Now freed, the sharp-featured night fairy (for that’s what she was) giggled deviously. “I’ll still grant your wish. Though you probably won’t like it.”

The spider was cursed to remain small—about the size of a pinhead.

More often than not, the insects that came by were large enough to break its delicate web. But it always had food coming to it.

Original Fairy Tale Challenge: "The Mortals and the Fae" -- by Anne Leskey

The Mortals and the Fae

by Anne Leskey

Once upon a time there were two Faeries. They were both beautiful and clever, but one was wicked and the other was good. They had charge of the two most important girls in the entirety of the kingdom: Princess Aithne and Princess Ciara. The Faeries themselves were known as Isolde (that’s the wicked one) and Neala (the good one). Of course, the King and Queen didn’t know that Isolde was wicked; she was clever and powerful, and they thought that she was the best fit to have charge of Aithne, who was going to be the Queen someday. As for Neala, she was a Faerie and good enough for Ciara. Nobody thought much of the younger princess, she was dark, had a tendency to be sullen, and was moreover capable of impertinence. 

The sisters had been removed from the castle to the Faeries’ abodes, in order to protect them from wicked Fae. Princess Aithne was tall and fair, and learning much cleverness and bitterness under the hands of the wicked Isolde. Ciara was slowly overcoming her sullenness with the tutoring of Neala. It wasn’t until their sixteenth and fifteenth year that anything happened. 

Ciara was still dark. Brown hair, brown eyes, and even a darker complexion then her sister who was blond, blue-eyed, and pale. Their Faerie godmothers were as different as the princesses, though they, too, were sisters. Isolde had a thick lot of black curls, black eyes, and was as pale as snow. Neala was blond, her eyes were pale pink, and she was also very pale. They both had long, tall wings, that created a refreshing breeze wherever they moved. 

“Faerie godmother,” Ciara said, walking down the steps of the house, “I should like to visit my sister in her place.” 

“Mortal goddaughter, your request shall be granted,” answered Neala, albeit with misgivings about taking her charge to the house of such a wicked Faerie. 

“Faerie godmother,” continued Ciara, “I worry over my sister Aithne.”

“That is not sensible, mortal goddaughter,” replied Neala.

“I know; but she is becoming insufferable,” answered Ciara, “I would like, Faerie godmother, for you to give her something that will fix her.”

“Why I, and not her own godmother, child?” queried Neala, for, despite Ciara being the princess of the mortals, she held no power over the Fae, and Neala was not obligated to obey her every wish nor to address her by ‘princess’ and ‘your highness’. 

“Because I’m not sure if Isolde would admit to her training coming out wrongly,” sagely answered Ciara, “Faerie godmother, can you do it?”

“Alas! She is not my charge, and I dare not undertake to give her something which my sister does not allow.”

“Why do you say things such as ‘Alas’, Faerie godmother, none of the rest in the kingdom do, and if I do, they laugh,” Ciara wondered. 

“Ah, little mortal goddaughter, but the Fae are so much older then you mortals, we become accustomed to speaking in a different fashion, little mortal goddaughter.”

“Oh. When shall we go, Faerie godmother?”

“On the morrow, mortal goddaughter,” answered Neala.

“Why can’t you call me Ciara, as do Mama and Papa?” the young princess inquired a trifle sullenly, “It is my name.”

“I shall attempt to call you thus in the future, little princess,” Neala agreed.

“Faerie godmother, how do we find my sister and her godmother?”

“Easily enough,” snorted Neala, “Bartram, good fellow, where does the castle of my sister the Faerie Isolde lie?”

The raven fluttered towards her ear and made some harsh croaking noises before vocalizing the best he could, though it was well mixed with caws and croaks: “Five miles caw east.”

“Five miles to the east? In a straight line? I didn’t expect Isolde to make it so easy.”

“You caw sister,” Bartram tilted his glossy black head, apparently considering it a good substitute  for a shoulder shrug. 

“True,” trilled Neala, “We could go there on foot.”

“Oh, but magic, Neala,” pleaded Ciara eagerly, “Magic.”

“Very well, Ciara,” Neala agreed reluctantly, “We shall take the flying coach, once I make it.”

“Must you make it, again?”

“Yes. Fetch me the dust, Ciara.”

Ciara grimaced, “Can’t you just, like, magic it over?”

“You are getting lazy, little mortal goddaughter, go and fetch the box,” rebukingly dictated Neala.

Ciara morosely went, and picked up the small, black box and handed it to her godmother, who stared for a long time at the picture embossed on the cover.

“This box, Ciara, is the most precious thing I own.”

Ciara looked more respectfully at the box, and nodded, “Because of the dust?”

“Yes. The dust is very valuable. But if it weren’t for the box I couldn’t retain it. If anything happens to me, will you guard the box and dust?”

“With my life?” suggested Ciara.

“If you must,” nodded Neala, “Promise me.”

“Oh, alright,” carelessly agreed the young princess, “Now, can we go?”

“Not yet, you impatient girl. I must prepare things. Now, run along to your room and pa-oh, never mind, you’ll just creep down to watch me.”

“Yes, I will. So do it for me,” Ciara was a little commanding, after all, she was a princess. 

And so the princess stood and watched as the Faerie took a small ball out of her box, and sprinkled it on the ground, her face twisted up in concentration. A white ball appeared and enlarged and stretched until a good sized carriage was sitting on the floor, with bouncy, blue velvet seats inside. Then the unicorns trotted in, and the vines curled around them elegantly and formed a quite proper equipage. 

“Are you not the princess?” was the light comment that Neala returned when Ciara exclaimed at the beauty. 

“Caw you?” Bartram the Raven croaked.

“Aye, little birdie,” Neala responded, stretching out her wings with a flap, “My wings, Ciara, get stiff.”

The Princess gasped as they spread to their full extent, looking precisely like enormousmonarch butterfly wings. To Ciara’s surprise the Fae woman decided that they would go immediately, so the princess and the Faerie got into the carriage, and the raven flew above it. Directly, the unicorns, who were white with twisted horns that emitted sparkles, proceeded to charge forward. Glowing mushrooms sprouted from the carriage and lit the way. Ciara’s dark eyes sparkled as she took in the whole magical lot of it. Despite her Faerie godmother, she very seldom got to see what she termed ‘real’ magic. 

The carriage bounced as the unicorns pranced forwards, tossing their heads and attentively listening to the harsh directions of the raven Bartram. The unicorns were named Ginessa and Vanora.  The carriage bounced down the dark road and arrived at a solitary black tower, which was attached to a house, but the tower was enormous and attracted the most attention. 

“Faerie godmother, this is the place.”

“Yes, mortal goddaughter,” agreed the Faerie, looking around sharply. 

They got out of the carriage and went towards the tower. The tower was the home of Isolde, who often sat at the top, brooding over her imaginary misfortunes, and teaching Aithne to be just as discontent and miserable. But the two sisters met amiably enough, and even squeezed each other’s hands. Aithne kindly inquired how her younger sibling did, and her younger sister responded favorably. The two Faeries had a rather more curt meeting.

“Isolde.”

“Neala.”

“May I come in?”

“Come in.” 

The princesses and their godmothers entered the house in apparent toleration of each other, but the two Faeries were meditating revenge and ruin. Neala was patient to a degree, but her sister made her ruthlessly vindictive, while Isolde was just naturally nasty. 

The staircase dropped from underneath their feet and they were pushed into the dungeon, which was outfitted with squashy sofas. Isolde tranquilly mentioned that it would be more comfortable down there. The frog on the steps boldly agreed in a bellowing sort of way.

“Did the frog…speak?” Ciara said, “I mean, I’m used to the raven, but frogs?”

“Yes, frogs, Ciara, don’t display your ignorance,” commanded her older sister, “When I am queen the castle will be filled with frogs.”

Ciara snorted, remarking that she wouldn’t be queen for a long time, as their parents were but in their thirties. Aithne was not fazed,

“Isolde says that there may be occasion for me to rise to the throne earlier, Ciara. But hush! don’t speak a word of this to anyone, will you, sweet sister?”

Ciara smiled, but made no promise. Aithne didn’t look troubled by this lack of assurance, and chattered gaily on, but it seemed to Ciara that she looked worried. Meanwhile, the two Faeries were staring maliciously at each other.

“Not bellowyoung bellowmore,” croaked the bullfrog thoughtfully.

“You say what?” snapped Isolde, “I’ve a good mind, frog, to turn you into a cockroach, and there, I think I will.”

“If bellowyou bellowlike,” the bullfrog amiably consented. 

The Princess Ciara, who was a kind being at worst, bemoaned this, “No, no, Aunt Isolde, don’t turn him into a cockroach. I’m sure he’s much better as he is, don’t you think?”

“Well…but any more impertinence out of that, that creature and into a cockroach he goes, mind that,” Isolde shrieked. 

Aithne made the ill-natured comment that the frog would look better as a cockroach, but here the frog put in his opinion that he’d much rather remain as is, thank you. Just then a pixie tumbled in, bearing a collection of wobbly cakes on a stacked up platter that resided upon its head.

“I told you, Pi, this was not to be tolerated. I told you decoration, and you brought muck,” the Faerie sent the cakes zooming into the pixie’s face, and the pixie grimaced a fearful grimace, “Return with requestedones, you know what I mean. Make sure they look appetizing.”

For she intended to poison her sister, such was their mutual dislike. The poor pixie, who was actually named Pierette, did not wish to poison the visitors, and so thought that if she continued bringing the wrong thing perhaps they might get away. But fate, as usual, did not allow this in little Pierette’s case. Poppy was waiting for her at the kitchen door, holding a spoon, which she promptly applied to the little pixie’s head.

“Dunce!” Poppy denounced, “Taking the wrong cake to our mistress. There…and there!” she smacked her with the spoon a couple more times before thrusting a large lemon cheesecake into the little pixie’s hands, “Take that, and be quick about. Thatis what the mistress wanted.”

“Poppy, what flavoring is in it?” Pierette quickly asked, turning her head half way around to question her superior.

“Lemon,” snarled Poppy.

“Ah!” Pierette scurried out of sight, and mumbled something very quickly under her breath, snapped her fingers, and drew out a long thread of scarlet liquid, laced with purple. She shuddered, “Oh, what a wicked mistress I have!” she sighed, putting the liquid into her pocket, and stumbling in her haste down to the dungeons.

“Thatis not the cake, Pi.”

Pierette tittered, “But…mistress…Poppy gave it to me.”

“Tell Poppy to bring the lemon chiffon one. And tell her to bring it herself. We’ll be having a nice little chat later on, Pi,” Isolde assured her.

Pierette scurried off. Poppy calmly took the deadly dessert and walked into the dungeon with it, cutting generous slices. Isolde shook her head, and lamented the fact that Princess Aithne had a stomachache, and would be unable to eat. 

“Perhaps she ate a poisonousmushroom, sister dear,” observed Neala. 

Ciara, fond of her desserts, reached for the cake, and had her fork in it before anyone could say a word. She took a deep breath of the lemony scent, smelled something like a burnt mass of rice in an equally burnt cooking pot, and tumbled over in a faint. 

“Ah! The little princess has been taken ill,” Poppy exchanged a smile with her mistress, who was putting on an affected look of concern. 

In reality, Isolde felt that if the younger princess was poisoned that would be nearly as good as if it had been Neala. She casually moved her fingers towards a small locket she wore around her throat, and suddenly Princess Ciara found herself awaking with a deep gash over her eyebrow which her godmother was attempting to heal, only making it hurt, though the blood was stopping.

“Oh, dear, what did Pierette put in that cake? I always knew she’d be troublesome when I, out of charity, took her in,” lamented Isolde, who did not care for Pierette and wanted to lay the blame, for the time being, on someone else so that her sister Faerie would not be even more vengeful. Besides, she suspected, with abhorrence, that Princess Aithne still was, in some degree, fond of her younger sister, and therefore it would not do to be the cause of that younger sister’s poisoning. 

Isolde had a wicked, plotting mind which was forever thinking of betrayal, subtly done murder, and various other evil things that were fitted to a Faerie that had black wings. She now thought that, if she laid the blame to another, she could have much more success at a second attempt. The gash had just been to relieve her feelings when she found that the young princess was not dead. It was really very annoying. 

Neala by this time had healed the forehead of Ciara, and was now contemplating whether they had better not leave at once.

“Poppy,” Isolde interrupted her sister’s thoughts, “Poppy, who made that cake?”

“Oh,” drawled Poppy flippantly, “Oh…Mistress, that was Pierette. She told me she would slaughter me, and very disgustingly, too, if I didn’t let her make the cake, and what could I do? I thought to warn you, but she was too cunning.”

“How too cunning, Poppy?” Ciara, who had rather liked the little pixie Pierette, inquired.

“She forestalled my attempts by saying that the mistress had ordered it, and I could but obey,” sniffled Poppy.

Isolde was delighted. Here was her favorite pixie working a more beautiful lie then she could have thought up herself. Neala, on the other hand, was suspicious still, and half-inclined to remove immediately, but she was detained by anxiety about her goddaughter, who was looking pale and weak. 

“That must have been some powerful poison,” chattered Aithne graciously, “Didn’t you say, Isolde, that the kind that knocks you out or kills you by scent alone could only be the red apples soaked in vinegar and mud for ten weeks? And then joined with ashes of a fallen star and the hair of a stag?”

“Silence, Aithne, you know nothing,” commanded the wicked Faerie, seriously alarmed at this revelation of the extent of knowledge Aithne had of her evil brews. 

“For knowing nothing,” commented the good Faerie, determining to alert the King and Queen to this poisoning of the mind in their oldest daughter, “She certainly recollects the details of the concoction well, Isolde.” 

“An imaginative girl,” assured Isolde. 

Here they were obliged to stop because Ciara, regaining her health, was whisked off by her godmother, who determined to travel directly to the castle, knowing that after her sudden disappearance which she had effected by using a little magic and some dust out of her box, Isolde would have her followed, and in all probability killed. The king’s forces combined with Neala’s power might do wonders, though. 

Ciara was quite out of breath, but was pleased to learn where they were going, innocently chattering about what a surprise it would be to ‘Mama’ and ‘Papa’ who were in reality the kind rulers Queen Alyda and King Curtice, a pair of fearsome objects to many of their subjects simply because of the grandeur with which they conducted themselves. 

“Wasn’t Aunt Isolde strange about the cakes? And Aithne never has stomachaches,” remarked the young princess, her eyes wide.

Neala sighed, stretching her hand out with the dust still on it from when she’d healed the princess’ forehead, and started to sing quietly. Princess Ciara fell asleep, and Neala knew she would not remember most of the visit, when she awoke. It was best that way, for all concerned. 

The Faerie was greeted with kindness and surprise at the castle, which was exactly what she had anticipated, and the Queen was all delight to see her ‘dear Ciara’ again. Queen Alyda was a pretty, plump, queenly sort of woman, who delighted in Faeries and said that they were ‘whimsical’. She was not at all acquainted with the evil ones like Isolde, and would have laughed at the thought, up to now. 

But the Faerie godmother of Ciara was determined to make known her suspicions, and told them that she was not sure, but believed―and there followed the tale of their visit with the added conjectures of the good Faerie. The Queen instantly went into hysterics, weeping and sniffing into an enormous silk handkerchief.  She was not prepared to meet with the fact that the Faerie who had charge of the heir to the throne was wicked. It quite astounded her, in fact.

“What steps must we take to remove Aithne from her clutches?” dramatically demanded King Curtice, waving his hands and stomping up and down the hall in what was supposed to be a ferocious pose. 

“Invite her back for a visit. Easy enough to do, Ciara’s birthday is coming up. Her fifteenth one, you know, her sister should be there for it. Then, have Isolde go looking for the glowing fish, for a present, and then I will hide Aithne, making it very hard for my sister Faerie to find her,” answered Neala promptly. 

This was carried out in a truly royal style. The Princess Aithne entered with ceremony, riding on her winged steed, with her godmother riding calmly on a rhinoceros, her bullfrog in hand.

“Oh, Auntie Isolde,” Ciara clattered out on her unicorn to meet them, “I was so glad when I heard you were coming.”

She had not been present when the king, queen, and Neala discussed the probability of Isolde being horribly wicked. Isolde returned an answer, and gazed angrily at the castle, suspecting something was different in this summons. And she was proved correct. A couple hours after her arrival, she was asked to go looking for the glowing fish, and furthermore, to bring one back for Ciara. She agreed, and started on her journey. Meanwhile Neala took Aithne, and descended with her into the very cellar of the castle, and then she threw a little dust into the air out of her box, and vanished into the portal it had created. But, unknown to Neala, the younger princess Ciara had followed, and walked in, too. They all landed in a heap in the ground.

“Ciara,” groaned the Faerie, “How am I to get you out, now?”

“Is not Aithne returning?” queried the princess.

“No, Aithne is not returning,” grouchily returned Aithne, “Aunt Neala says that I am being targeted by a wicked Faerie, and if I am not hidden, then Ishall be killed. Me, imagine!”

“But if Aithne is gone, then the danger would fall to me, I should remain hidden here…too,” reasoned Ciara.

“Alright. But mind yourselves. I’m just going to run back and tell the Queen and King that we’re safely here and all that, and then…come back.”

She followed her own words to the letter, and returned quicker than any human could do, accompanied by the two unicorns (Ginessa and Vanora)  a winged horse (Wings), and Bartram the Raven. There was a small cottage.

“That?” Aithne sniffed, “That’s a pathetic place.”

They moved towards it and then Pierette, who suddenly popped up, shrieked,

“Oh, Faerie and princesses! My mistress is wrathful and ruinous! She will be coming with anger, do not tarry in this place, I implore you!” the little pixie agitatedly started running around on the rim of the birdbath she was seated on. 

Princess Aithne started snapping angrily at the pixie, accusing her of deserting her post, spreading falsehoods, and being the worst little pigin the world. Neala shook her head, knowing that every word Princess Aithne spoke of a nasty nature would tend to make her more under Isolde’s power, thus enabling Isolde to get to them quicker, when she had such a human under her control.

“There! I don’t care what you say,” Princess Aithne gave Pierette a shove, and Pierette shrieked, tumbling over the edge of the fountain, but managed to catch herself with her small golden wings. 

“Aithne,” remonstrated Ciara, going over to her, “I like Pierette, leave her alone, won’t you?”

“She’s a scandalous gossip about Isolde,” sniffled Princess Aithne. 

A clicking sound was heard, and Neala groaned, burying her face momentarily in her hands, knowing that the clicking meant that Isolde had almost found the place, and would be there in a few minutes.

“She’s just a harmless pixie,” Ciara answered.

“She tried to poison you,” hesitated Aithne.

“I don’t think it was her, Aithne,” Ciara answered.

Aithne frowned, “But…”

“Aithne, Isolde is a wicked Faerie,” mumbled Neala.

“Don’t you start! You’re just going on the information of that biased pig of a pixie.”

“I am Isolde’s sister, I think I know her disposition,” Neala answered, “And, Aithne, Pierette is not a pig.” Neala had heard a louder clicking sound, and knew that she only had a few minutes left until her sister arrived, “Your highnesses, do not interfere, and don’t let Isolde take you, no matter what she says. Make sure you stick together, too, and go stand by the unicorns.”

The girls exchanged frightened looks, for Neala sounded very serious, and they went to the unicorns, grasped their horns gently, and then, as Isolde billowed into the place, Ciara grabbed her sister’s hand, attempting to make sure that Isolde couldn’t get Aithne, without getting her. 

“A premature trip for the birthday girl?” silkily inquired Isolde, fluttering golden butterflies into the air with a single gesture, “I brought the fish,” she threw a bulging bag of something directly into Ciara’s stomach, causing the latter to tumble over, but her hold on the unicorn helped her, and Aithne pulled her back to her feet, clinging somewhat tighter to her palm. The glowing fish soared out of its bag and landed in an enormous pond, making a brilliant golden light flash all over them, and the scene looked incredible in it. 

The two Faeries’ wings fluttered out to their full extent, and their ears pointed forwards accusingly. Pierette moved cautiously over to the princesses, hoping to remain undetected, but she knew it was too much.

“Pierette!” a sharp call made her move back to the Faeries, “Kill the Princess Ciara.”

Pierette trembled, and shuddered as a knife was thrust into her hands, but she dropped it, and looking up timidly out of her large purple eyes, “No.”

“What?” snapped the Faerie, “I shall kill you, if you don’t.” 

“Leave the pixie, Isolde,” drawled Neala, “There will be no fighting amongst any of the others until one of us is vanquished.”

“It will be you, little sister,” Isolde laughed, “We both know I’m more powerful.”

“We both know you’re more wicked,” corrected Neala, “There’s a difference.”

“I have much more magic.”

Neala had prepared for that though, with the contents of her black box, some of which she held in her hand. A fight followed, each sending bursts of light into the other; black, green, yellow, and pink sparkles fluttering through their faces. Sharp spears of orange light slashed into Neala’s wings, and she let out a shuddering gasp, before driving a blinding pole of white into Isolde’s wings. It remained quivering there and her wings started slowly turning to ashes.

“NO!” she shrieked, launching herself at her sister, with a common butcher knife. That was soon flung out of her hand, and Isolde resorted again to her lights. Meanwhile Poppy the Pixie had turned up, and was engaged in a somewhat violent fight with Pierette.

“Mistress Isolde will be avenged,” snapped Poppy, “For your failure with the cakes, Pi.”

“PIERETTE!” shrilled the little pixie, barreling to her opponent with fury. 

“Face it, Neala,” smiled Isolde, as a well-plunged bolt of green light ripped close to Neala’s heart, and caused an oozy, sticky yellow substance to pour out, “I’ve killed you.”

Neala’s mouth barely moved as she uttered these words: “Not…yet.”

She flung the handful of dust she had full into Isolde’s face, and the Faerie crumpled with screeching wails, she shriveled up like a raisin, and black ooze swam out of her as she got more shriveled. She then landed completely on the ground and a sudden blaze of fire burst from where she was. Neala coughed raggedly, and Ciara burst from her sister, running towards her, falling on her knees. She didn’t know what to do in this situation.

“Neala!” she screamed, “What’s wrong?”

“I fear I am killed,” responded Neala, “There’s a bit of dust left in the box, Ciara…the dust is made when a Faerie voluntarily does a good deed. It appears in these special boxes and is one of the most powerful bits of magic…because it comes from good, which means it must be powerful, you know.” she reached into the box feebly, and pulled out a handful, and then she put it into Ciara’s mouth. Ciara would have coughed, but the Faerie told her that if she chewed it while she spoke she could make three wishes.

“It’s my dying gift to you.”

Ciara clearly spoke through her mouthful of grainy dust, “I wish that my sister was good and kind and altogether fit for the throne, when that comes.”

Aithne felt an immense load fly off of her, and she too fell to her knees, weeping. 

“I wish that Pierette could be free from her persecutions,” continued Ciara.

The little pixie suddenly felt joyous, and knocked Poppy over with a well-aimed punch from her little fist. Then she started to sniffle because Neala was dying.

Ciara made her last wish, speaking very clearly, “And I wish that Neala should heal completely, and not die prematurely.”

Neala’s wound healed, the golden ooze flying back into her, and she stood up, her wings mending miraculously. Ciara looked up, tears still running down her face, and she swallowed the dust.

“I feel queer,” Ciara said suddenly.

“That’s because you swallowed dust! My dust is gone, but look at your hands,” answered Neala.

The Princess looked down and saw piles of golden dust, which she instantly put into the box, and handed it back to Neala.

“There! Now you have dust.”

More dust appeared in her hand, “What’s this?” she fearfully inquired.

“Now whenever youdo a good deed voluntarily you get dust,” replied Neala, “I shall fashion you a box.”

She did so, and Ciara put hers into it, locking it carefully with a ruby key. Then they went back to the castle, and they took the pixie Pierette with them, and everyone was astonished at how gracious and good Princess Aithne had become. The two sisters now shared Neala as their godmother, and the little pixie lived happily in the castle with them.