Ficlets

Stella

When I woke that morning, it was to the gentle cooing song of a magenta faerie. It was so much warmer than the Weepie’s music. So much more hopeful.

She kissed my forehead and then sat crosslegged on the stump. “Good morning, Storykeeper. I am Stella.”

Storykeeper. From then on, Storykeeper. Never again would anyone here call me by my human name. The thought sent a tear of loss down my cheek.

“Morning.” I replied, not willing to call it “good.”

“I am to show you the Hall. You and I will work together.” She gave a tentative half smile. It struck me as odd, this faerie feeling empathy for me. I was used to the fickle, extremely happy or otherwise spiteful image of faeries. She seemed…almost human.

Miraculously, I managed to pick myself up off the ground. My heart was too stiff for me to notice that stiffness echoed in my muscles.

And I followed the gleaming twilight-toned faerie to the place in which I was to spend the rest of my life.

View this story's 2 comments.