Fairies. Her mother used to be obsessed with them. She could remember the same familiar face with the same familiar eyes glancing out the window that looked over the backyard. Their were mushrooms were everywhere; they were in patterns, or bunches, or circles… The circles were important, her mother had said. She knew because she had seen them; those little fairies. They would dance and sing and laugh; their heads going back and forth, their little leafy clothing loose around their pixie bodies.

Jay Glen couldn’t imagine them; the picture just couldn’t form in her mind. At seventeen, how could she imagine something so foreign and unfamiliar as that? Her mother did, when she was alive. But that only angered her; it was hard enough going through this phase with her mother- no, it wasn’t a phase; it wasn’t because her mother had secretly spoken of it all through the years she had grown up.

And now, she refused to believe such stupidity. How could she?
And yet, one day, she looked outside, and she gasped.

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