Rain

Half a dozen giggling, excited voices floated around her; each in a state of accelerated animation. Merrin sat amongst the commotion, as each maid took turns telling of one detail or another in relation to the ball. The words, "loveliest thing you've ever seen!", and, "simply beautiful", were repeated in regards to one thing or another: Lady Truth's dress, the draperies that were being finished for the occasion, the menu, the crystal punch bowl...

Merrin was finding it difficult to concentrate on any one of the voices, which had become nothing more than a high-pitched buzzing in her ears. Truthfully, she hadn't been listening to any of the conversation going on around her for the last half-hour. Her mind had been drifting somewhere between quiet familial conversations that had taken place behind nursery doors, and her own sadness that she would never be a part of them.

Eavesdropping was not something she was proud of doing, and she hadn't planned on committing the transgression. In that moment, however, with the challenge of a heavily closed door in front of her, her eagerness to know even the slightest detail of what was going on within the family suddenly became more important than whatever the consequences might have been. In that moment, she had felt oddly entitled; as if she had a right to know anything and everything that happened within these castle walls, as if her very existence demanded it. As if her birthright gave her an excuse to pry into others' private lives.

It was wrong, and she chastised herself because of it. She had come here with such hopes and silly infantile dreams of an awaiting family who would love her and take her into their home and their arms. In reality, she had come face to face with an almost mirror-image of what she had left: A broken family who's members had become brittle and cold, like a tree in Winter who's naked limbs lay scattered on the ground.

No, that wasn't an accurate description; there was Lady Truth, who bore her name honorably. If anything, she had become the roots in this family; the solitary support in this harsh, season. Where other members were withering and dying, Truth had found strength, and with her quiet spirit, she fought to extend that to the rest of her family. Even with the threat of a loveless marriage looming over her head, she kept going, kept serving, kept doing for others. She was the most selfless woman Merrin had ever known.

Merrin could only hope to one day be one tenth of the woman that Lady Truth had become, but she knew that would never happen if she continued with this guise. Every day that she lived under this roof made her deceit that much more wicked. She was torn between her own selfish need to know them; for them to know her, and what she knew in her heart was right. Hadn't they suffered enough heartache? What would her revelation do to their already beaten and battered spirits?

She was a foolish, selfish, silly girl; thinking that by coming here, she could repair her own heart, ease her own pain. Her rash behavior would only cause them more grief; but she already loved them too much to leave them. Julian, Beatrice, Joy, and *insert name*: Her family; so close, and yet so far. As long as she stayed here, she would be forced to watch them live from a distance.

It was a fitting penance for her own selfish sins.

Celia's reaction - hopefully the final draft.

I am hoping that this is my final draft of this, because I am so tired of writing it! I've attempted this so many times that I've lost count. Please let me know what you think. I still need to go over it again and edit it, I'm sure. I tried to get the punctuation right as I went along, but I was more focused on getting it written, first. Bah! I'm ready to move on! I have so many images that need to be written down, but I'm stuck on this one and I can't write anything else until I'm done with it. SO - please let me know if this is believable and makes sense and sounds half-way plausible. Any and all critiques are welcome with open arms! Thank you so much!!!


She used to love fairy tales: stories of beautiful princesses and handsome knights, who came to their rescue. They usually involved tall towers, or evil witches who cast evil spells on their lovely captors, and no matter what the peril the two lovers faced, the story would always end happily.

But Celia's life was not a fairy tale. There was no tower, just a plain, dull, drizzly town. It wasn't interesting or romantic- there was no beauty to be found in Eldon; the flowers had long ago died and the trees that still stood were withered. Eldon's people were much the same; a withered, dying lot of humanity, that went about day after day performing tasks that they cared nothing for, and living each day filled with anger and hatred. At least, that's what she saw when she awoke every morning and was forced to live amongst them and endure their ridicule each day.

There was no evil ugly old witch, but a horrible, faceless, nameless storm, that only wanted one thing: her death. She could feel it. Every memory of the horrible voice that screamed her name in unison reminded her of that fact; every memory of the words that Evan had whispered into her ear. Words that she knew - and yet didn't know.

And even if when she scrunched up her eyes in the mirror and turned her head to the side, she was still just as plain as she'd always been. Her nose was too big, her lips too small, her eyes weren't quite symmetrical, and her hair tended to frizz in the endless barrage of rain. The only beauty that she could see was the color of her hair; it reflected the shades of Autumn: browns, reds and occasionally oranges, when an occasional ray of sun would shine on it, which wasn't very often. Even with that one characteristic, she was still very plain.

And yet, there he stood: with the most sincere expression she had ever seen on another face, telling her that her life was in fact, a fairy tale.

Fairy.

At first, she took it as a joke: an awful ill-timed joke. It wouldn't be very hard to believe; the very first impression she had had of Evan had been nothing but jokes.

Fairy.

That was it, then. They boy had obviously lost his mind, and hers was quickly following. She looked away from his face and occupied herself with the wet blades of grass beneath her fingertips, desperately beating down the panic she could feel rising within her. Her face was hot and her eyes were all she could feel; the backs of them being pricked mercilessly by unshed tears.

Fairy

It was the most ridiculous... preposterous...

The boy had, obviously, lost his mind; and hers was quickly following. Images of the past few weeks came to the forefront of her thoughts and as much as she wished them to leave her be, she could not ignore them. She could not ignore the strange events that had led to this astonishing revelation: the rose that mysteriously appeared on her pillow from her dream, the odd way Evan seemed to be in tune with her emotions, the vivid nightmare that had haunted her long after she'd woken - the horrifying voice in the storm that constantly called out her name.

She swallowed back the tears that were inevitable: she never could hold them back, even when she'd wanted to, and stared at those sincere blue eyes, eyes that she knew were the wrong color.

She thought back to the dreams, the odd appearance of the rose on her pillow, the storm, how he'd saved her life - not once, but twice, the odd words he had spoken that she knew - she knew them as well as she knew how breathing.

She had never been very clever. Even with all his prodding and persistence, Phillip had never been able to teach her very much. He'd given up years ago, after her very final refusal to read poems. It seemed his favorite poet's dismissal was the final straw. He'd sighed, his mouth twitching in anger, and turned away from her with a calm demeanor that seemed to belie his true feelings. She remembered how odd it was that he'd be angry about something as silly as poetry - who wanted to read verse upon verse of nonsense, anyway? None of it made sense; it was just a bunch of words strung together by a person who was, clearly, out of his mind. What did the sun and moon have to do with love? Pots and pans and disgusting dishwater - those were what she knew of life. The sun and moon were things that were hardly every seen, here. But she could speak each word that had come from Evan's mouth, as easily as if she were reading it from a page. She knew those words. They made her feel something. Not just words jumbled on a page, but more...

Fairy

It was so far away from the reality that she knew. She had resigned herself to this life. This dull, lonely life with all it's hardships. She was built for work. It was what Faye was constantly reminding her. "Celia, you can lug those around. You've the right build for hard labor," and then she'd cackle and continue standing at the stove and pretend that she was doing something important, other than just watching carrots boil in the great big cast iron pot above the fire.

The tears continued to stream down her cheeks, as she watched Evan's expression as it constantly switched between sincerity and concern. What was he feeling from her now? Could he tell that she was in disbelief? In shock? Did he know that instead of feeling relieved at finally knowing the reason that she had been hated, scorned and ridiculed her whole life, she actually felt betrayed? With that knowledge of who she was and why they hated her so much, also came a whole slew of new questions: if they knew how she would be treated, why had they brought her here? Why would her mother and father put her in danger, put themselves in danger, to live in this horrible place with all it's ugliness and despair. Why had they let her live her entire life surrounded by people who hated her, just to leave her here alone?

It wasn't fair to them, or their memory. but the feelings of betrayal came, nonetheless. Every day they'd had an opportunity to tell her the truth, yet they woke up each morning and lived their lives as if they belonged here; as if they were part of these people. Each night, they kissed her and told her they loved her, but never once mentioned what she was. She had to hear it from a boy, whom she had never even met prior to two weeks ago. A beautiful boy who gave her vivid dreams and spoke magical words and saved her life. There would be no reason for him to lie to her now.

All the vivid images of her dreams played out behind her tear-filled eyes, as she fought to regain control over here rampant emotions, and for one long moment, as she looked into Evans' eyes, she could no longer see sky blue-instead she saw the brilliant jade green eyes of the friend who had cared for her, taken care of her. And for the first time in a very long time, she didn't feel so alone.

He held her small calloused hands in his large, oddly soft ones, and she felt safe. She had no way of knowing whether these feelings her real, or manufactured by the young man who held her hands, but at that moment, she didn't care. Apart from his mild teasing, he had shown her in every action, word and deed that he cared. He cared whether she lived or died. He cared enough to shield her from the torrent of wind and rain, put himself in danger for her own safety. Everything about him was telling her she could trust him.

She looked up to his eyes once more, and the slight flutter of her heart caused her breath to hitch in her throat and her sobs to stop momentarily. She hadn't even realized she was blubbering until then, and as she looked into his eyes, she wished once more, that she could tell what he was feeling. His expression seemed to be frozen.

And even in all her emotional turmoil, the doubt, fear, loss, betrayal, hope, the evil nuisance of self-doubt crept in; making her wonder if he would soon be tired of her never-ending sobbing.

Her question seemed to be answered quickly, and she was lost in her own self-admonishment, as he gently picked her up and and began walking away from the sodden grass and the arch of trees. It appeared he had had enough of her crying for one day, as he handed her off to Phillip. She barely heard the angry words that were exchanged between them. She barely knew it when she was laid on the large bed that stood in the center of the her ugly, borrowed room.

She cried for so long, that eventually, Phillip and Emma also tired of her and left her alone.

As she cried out the last of her tears, she remembered the way that her Papa would always brush her tears away, when she cried. She always cried. Whether she was happy sad, afraid, lonely, nervous, the tears would always fall. And Mama and Papa would always be there to dry them, with their rough, calloused hands, before they swept her up in their strong arms and did their best to put the pieces back together. She was a mess - and they'd loved her, anyway. They'd made it a point to tell her every second of every day they were on this earth. They showed it in their final actions when they sacrificed themselves for her safety.

She stared at her calloused hands and the tears streamed down her face anew as she remembered that day. And for the first time, made peace with it. She missed them - would always miss them - but she was hear, now. They had died so she could live, but she had been going around day after day as if she were dead; going through the motions of her daily life, spending every other moment with her face awash with tears - living each moment with so much guilt. They wouldn't be happy knowing that she was living so defeated.

But that realization brought a new truth: every day that she stayed here, she was putting everyone else who inhabited this dreary town at risk. It was after her. A shiver ran down her spine and she quickly wiped her face with her hands and walked over to the lone window in the tiny room. The moon which shone uncharacteristically bright earlier in the night, was now covered. Only a small sliver of light illuminated the ground, making it barely visible. She found the darkness was oddly comforting.

Exhausted and spent, she fell asleep on the floor, beside the window frame, with her head laying on her folding arms. Her last waking thought carried a determination that she hadn't felt in so long: this would be her last night in Eldon.

**********************************

I thought I'd combine these two posts, since they are, after all, supposed to be one chapter. It's not completely finished; I still have a lot of editing to do, I'm sure.

*Warning* This chapter contains all sorts of really cheesy angst.


Once again, things that are higlighted or in red text are areas that I'm unsure of, as far as punctuation and grammar. I could probably highlight the entire chapter. :) You have to start somewhere, though. I think it's much better than the first draft. So, I'm going to try to sweep my insecurities under the rug and post this, now. :)

Chapter NINE

It seemed the nightmares would continue, only this time she was wide awake. The chill of the wind that blew through the trees and into her hair and the cool, damp grass beneath her told her as much.

She looked away from his face and occupied herself with the wet blades of grass beneath her fingertips, desperately beating down the panic she could feel rising within her. Her face was hot and her eyes were all she could feel; the backs of them being pricked mercilessly by unshed tears.

Fairy

It was the most ridiculous... preposterous...

The boy had, obviously, lost his mind; and hers was quickly following. Images of the past few weeks came to the forefront of her thoughts and as much as she wished them to leave her be, she could not ignore them. She could not ignore the strange events that had led to this astonishing revelation: the rose that mysteriously appeared on her pillow from her dream, the odd way Evan seemed to be in tune with her emotions, the vivid nightmare that had haunted her long after she'd woken - the horrifying voice in the storm that constantly called out her name.

She shuddered and Evan reacted immediately, picking up the hands that she had previously removed from his grasp. He looked at her with the saddest of expressions, as if he knew the turmoil that was going on inside of her.

Of course, he does.

She shuddered once more at the memory of his words just moments ago, his odd ability of knowing her feelings. She once again concentrated on the damp earth, and on breathing in and out.

What I wouldn't give for him to be able to take the words back, she thought.

Unless it's just another of his jokes.

With only a infinitesimal shred of hope, she looked into his face, searching for any trace of mirth or laughter. Only weeks before he had taken quite delight in her misfortunes; perhaps it was the same, now. There was no explanation for the odd occurrences as the rose: or the storm, or the haunting dreams; but all rational thought had left her.

That tiny bit of hope died as soon as she looked up and regarded the grim expression on his handsome face . There was no hint of laughter in the sky blue eyes that were still on her face. The sadness in them confused her. It was she who was just told that she was some sort of mythical creature. She laughed curtly, but there was no humor in it.

She turned away from his dismal gaze, no longer able to stand those sky blue eyes. Their color, and the memories of her dreams of him now made his connection to her far too intimate. She wanted nothing to do with him; this boy who had just ruined her imperfect, yet constant world. Yet the thought of leaving him was also distressing.

The anxiety began to build even higher as the thought that she was torn from the only truth she had ever known. It was a given; a constant; something she had never had to question. Of course she hadn't! She was human; just the same as Phillip and Emma and Evan, the baker and Faye, the cook. She had no physical traits that could ever be considered otherworldly: she was plain, the only defining characteristic to her looks being the red in her hair. She walk; she ran. Didn't fairies fly? She tried to recall all the characteristics of them that she had learned from the stories her father used to read to her.

Actually, it had only been one story. The recollection amidst all the confusion suddenly alarmed her. One small memory lodged in the back of her mind seemed to float forward, like a small bubble being blown by the wind.

She couldn't remember many details of the story that her father insisted on telling her every night; only that he had. It was odd, she remembered, that he had been so emphatic in the story's telling. It was only a fairy tale, after all.

She shuddered once again at the thought of the word and focused once more on the memory, forcing herself to not meet the boys' eyes one more time. The book was very big and heavy, though many things are perceived as being large through the eyes of a child. She struggled through the fog that misted around the bubble of her memory, and it was all she could see; the book and the large sturdy hands that held it.

The vision of her fathers' hands finally pushed the tears that had been pricking the backs of her eyes, over the edge and down her cheeks. She was too mournful to even contemplate Evan, or his words, any longer. The most important face was that he was gone, and once again the realization that she was likely the cause of his death sat heavily on her heart. The storm that called her name was after her, even years ago. She was meant to die; not them. And she would cause the death of everyone around her, if she stayed in this place.

She was lost in her own bereavement and self admonition, lost in wracking sobs, as Evan lifted her up in his arms and began walking away from the sodden grass and the arch of trees. She felt as though she had left a large part of who she was in that dreary spot. The human part of her had died. The realization shook her and her entire body shook as she sobbed into Evan's shoulder.

She could faintly hear the murmurs of people near her, and vaguely felt the rain as it began to patter on her head, and legs and feet. Her own cries seemed distant in her ears.

The bubble still hovered over her, a quote began to form in her mind, slowly, until the words were so etched into her consciousness, that she could scarcely believe she hadn't known them her entire life:

"You are a fairy," he said. The young girl heard the words and soon knew what she must do: She would follow the boy wherever he would lead, just as her father had always instructed."


*************************************

The sun slowly set, teasing the plants and trees below with small splotches of light, before it disappeared completely behind thick curtains of grey clouds. Evan scowled at the sun, or more precisely, in the direction that the sun should be. He'd spent these past ten years in darkness, and though he was free for a short time, it's golden rays still eluded him.

Evening came quickly, and with it, the unavoidable darkness. It loomed over him like a black cloud, but he was used to it. My only companion, he thought ruefully. If he'd learned anything during this journey, it was that there was only one truth: no matter how far he ran, the darkness would always find him; it would always win. But he refused to let it claim Celia, as well.

He walked back to the palace as quickly as his tired legs and feet would carry him, easily side-stepping the rocks and debris that littered his path. At least he could say he'd learned something useful from living in darkness: most who tried to walk through this forest would be lame by the time they emerged on the other side.

The skies parted and despite the sudden cease of rainfall, the stingy moon spared even less light than it's daily counterpart, barely sparing enough light to illuminate the tall, stoic building that loomed before him. Now past the thick fringe of trees that completely framed the North side of the castle, Evan quickened his pace. He could barely make out the black drapes that covered all of the windows, as the occupants prepared for a time of mourning.

The black shrouds that covered the castle windows and also it's people was a farce. Most of the staff and townspeople were not mourning the Queen's death, but rejoicing in it. He had been asked to attend one of several celebrations that were held this night to celebrate the parting of the Queen and the new reign of the Prince Regent. Evan had declined He had no wish to mourn or celebrate past or present matriarchs. His fealty was only to one commoner - and in sixty three more steps, he would be outside her door.

Everett's resonated over again in his ears, as he reached out a shaking hand toward the large palace gate:

"Why don't you just marry the girl?"

He shook his head to rid himself from the words, scattering drops of water in every direction in the process. There was no future for her if he allowed such thoughts into his head. He would not damn her.

He took several deep breaths then pulled on the heavy gate and cringed at the loud screeching sounds it made as he wrenched it open. Sure he'd woken everyone in the place, he walked cautiously through to the other side and stood silent for a moment, listening for any sounds of stirring. The only noises that resonated through the large hall were the sounds of heavy drops falling from his clothes onto the stone floor - and snoring.

Evan glanced beside him and found the guilty party; a knight, clad in head to toe armor sat beside the heavy oak door, his legs dangling from the tall stool in which he sat. The man's head looked to be laying completely sideways, on his own shoulder, where a puddle of drool was quickly collecting. Rust had formed in that one particular spot on his armor, proof that this was not the first time this derelict servant of the crown had taken his nightly nap. Evan shook his head; incredulous, and laughed softly to himself. Eldon had been free of conflict for so long, he doubted they could win a boxing match, much less a battle.

He watched as the knights head lolled even further forward and the rest of his body silently followed, the dangerous tilt and his heavy armor threatening to topple him to the stone floor. Evan quickly rushed forward and slowly pushed the man backward until his head and body fell back gently against the wall.

Something solid fell to the floor and rolled several times before Evan could reach down to grasp it. He shook his head for the second time that night as he examined the empty bottle in his hand. He returned it to it's hiding place. Perhaps he was too generous when he assumed that they could win any sort of physical match at all. Still, he couldn't fault the man; he envied the man his peaceful sleep.

She was also sleeping. Fragments of feelings drifted around him, growing stronger, the closer he came to her closed bedroom door. They faded in and out, changing from one emotion to another; too quickly for him to latch onto any particular one; taunting him - much like the cursed sun. Like Celia, herself. They were both beyond his reach. They both eluded him.

He climbed the stone steps three at a time and stopped when he reached the heavy wooden door that separated him from the sleeping angel on the other side. It was very fitting; that door. It was much like the chasm that stood between himself and his Celie.

No, he thought, sadly. Never my Celie. Don't even think it.

His hand reached out for the heavy rough wood of the door, each small movement bringing him closer to those drifting illusions that for a brief moment in time, took him back to that one small moment in his life when he felt whole: loved. A sliver of white flashed in the corner of his eyes and for a split second, he was lost, his hand suspended in mid-air still reached for her door.

"She's sleeping now. You can speak with her, later."

Startled, he dropped his hand and whirled to meet the whispered voice that had disturbed his one peaceful memory.

Dark eyes that displayed far too much glee, looked up at him. He recognized the girl, but never thought to ask her name; at the time he had been more concerned about Celia's welfare; and the proximity of the walls to each other had not helped his thought processes. He remembered that she'd been kind, though. He really should have thanked her; it was rare for a human to befriend one of their kind: At least, in his estimation.

"Would you like something to eat?", she asked softly.

A small smile formed at the corners of her mouth and he felt suddenly self-conscious. Surely, it was evident to all who looked upon him, that he was malnourished. The workers here, were not underfed: quite the opposite. A few of the stable hands were too heavy to even be lifted on to a horse, but he was never able to eat much, especially with the dread of impending doom looming over his head; over her head. His loose clothes, however, hid nothing and he could not remember the last time he'd eaten; or slept.

So despite the urge to refuse and scowl at Emma's offer, he swallowed his pride and simply said, "Yes. Thank you."

Emma did not miss his backward glance as he followed her toward the large stone staircase.

"She'll be fine", she remarked quietly; It wasn't the statement that unnerved him, but the way in which she said it. Her countenance and bearings showed a sense of pride and confidence that did not usually come from one who spent their life serving others.

He followed her through the dark stair and into the large, main hall. The humming snores of the guard greeted them as they reached the bottom of the steps, and echoed faintly from the walls.

They reached the entrance to the kitchen; Emma opened the door and motioned for him to follow. Heat and smoke hit him fully in the face and made his stomach churn. Just the thought of being in the small, stuffy room made him feel ill and he stepped back reflexively, paying no heed to the curious glances of the servants inside. He turned on his heel and quickly walked in the opposite direction, ready to run back up the steps, suddenly needing to be near her again.

"Where are you going?" Emma whispered loudly from the kitchen door.

"I'm suddenly not hungry." he answered sharply. It was true. The last thing he wanted at the moment was food.

But in honesty, he could not have the thing he wanted most. And it was too late for childish longings, as he reminded himself once again that that Celie no longer existed. That part of his past, would never be his future. He was very nearly wallowing in self-pity and hating himself for it; when Emma's words halted his next step.

"I've forgotten. You don't like small spaces. We can sit in the dining hall, if you'd prefer it."

He whirled around and stared, mouth agape, at the servant girl; who should nothing of him, other than his name. No one knew of his fear: not even Celia.

"What did you say?" his voice was hoarse.

"Evan. Come sit. I know that you haven't eaten since you carried Celia in here this morning, and you probably did not eat the previous day, either."

He turned to face her, and saw once again, the small smirk forming at the corners of her mouth. A shiver traveled down his spine and he tried to hide it as he glared at the girl with curly brown hair, who knew far more than she should.

"And what else do you know?" he asked slowly, cautiously; unsure if he truly wanted an answer to his question.

He instinctively began to search out her emotions from all the colors that filtered through his vision. There seemed to be no hostility or anger about her. He could only assume that his first reaction to this woman had been correct; she was kind, but this gift was not and exact Science; and he'd been wrong before...

Colors suddenly changed and morphed, turning everything in his vision into a murky pool of odd shades that blended into each other: black, white, red, green, grey, and then the colors that had no names, the ones he could only describe as...confusion... How was it possible for this one person to feel everything at once? He'd seen emotions change quickly, but he had never witnessed anything like this. There were so many, that it was impossible now, to point them out. It was absolutely confusion.

"Are you finished?" she asked, a smug expression on her face.

"What?"

"Are you finished trying to "see" me or whatever it is you call it?"

He stopped breathing.

"How can you know about that?"

"I know a lot of things." The smirk was suddenly gone and he saw sadness in her eyes. He realized that his gift was useless as far as this Emma was concerned. He didn't like it. It was becoming far too frequent, these lapses. First, Phillip, and now Emma. "If you are still hungry, I have a plate made for you. Follow me."

She led him to the large oak dining table that stood centerpiece in the dimly lit hall. The only light that shone in the room was from three small sconces that hung on one side of the wall. The light from the flickering flames bounced off the walls and cast an eerie glow on the dingy grey stones that made up the entire castle. It was grim and dark and matched his mood perfectly.

"I'm not hungry. Tell me what you know - now." He took a step closer, hoping that since asking directly hadn't worked, he could intimidate her into speaking.

She fought back a laugh.

"Evan, honestly. I don't think you could even frighten a small child. I can't fathom how you were able to carry Celia... although... I think I do know. She needed you, didn't she?"

"Who are you?", he demanded, though the question didn't come out nearly as strong as he had wanted it to. His voice cracked and gave him away.

"I'm the one who is going to make you," she said with a very large genuine smile, and said softly, "Sit down and eat something before you fall down. You won't be of any use to her if you're dead."

He scowled and stood, unmoving, uncertain of what to do next; and plotting ways that he could remove Celia from this woman before she had the chance to harm her - if that was her intention.

She rolled her eyes. "I realize that you are a man, and therefore, very stubborn, but you will not get a single word from me until you sit down and eat."

He didn't move.

"Evan, I am not here to cause either of you harm." Her eyes pleaded with him and the sadness returned to them as she spoke. It engulfed every murky color in his vision, until it was all that he could see. He immediately felt sorry for the girl. Whatever pain she was carrying was plain on her face. He could have seen the sorrow, even without his gift. And he believed her.

Emma had placed the plate full of steaming food at the head of the table, the seat that was reserved for the matriarch of the palace. He looked at her incredulously; his eyes never left hers as he pushed the plate over to one side and sat in one of the less important chairs.

Emma shrugged her shoulders and sat across from him.

Being away from the encroaching walls of the kitchen, made the food much more appealing and the aromas assaulting his senses reminded him that it had, in fact, been far too long between meals.

Food, however, was his least concern. His stomach grumbled in protest to his stubbornness. Emma sat directly across from him, her smirk returned, as she folded her hands under her chin, place her elbows on the table and waited for him to concede.

"Talk," he ordered.

"Eat."

He made no move to obey her softly spoken command. She rolled her eyes at him.

"You are stubborn, aren't you? I knew you would be, but really Evan, this is ridiculous. I already told you that I would tell you what I know. This tantrum is not going to help you in the slightest."

"Tantrum!"

He was tempted to get up and walk away, but the food on his plate was holding him captive in his seat. and the action would probably make him look as though he was, in fact, throwing a tantrum.

"Eat. She'll be asleep for the rest of the night. She'll be fine. Eat now or you won't get another chance."

"How do you know.."

"Eat!"

He glowered at her, but silently obeyed, forcefully putting a fork full of potatoes in his mouth. He knew he resembled a stubborn toddler, refusing to eat what was put before him, but he didn't care.

Then his hunger soon won out his need to listen. Before he'd realized it, he had eaten every last crumb on his plate. He glanced up at Emma, feeling slightly embarrassed - and angry that he had lost the ridiculous battle.

"Talk!" he ordered.

She sighed. "Would you like some more?" He shook his head, no, but she ignored him and picked up his plate, returning a few minutes later with more food.

"You shouldn't eat so much after not having food for so long, but it will keep you silent while I talk... Just eat slowly." He obeyed silently, slowly shoveling in fork-fulls of food, all the while keeping his eyes on her porcelain face. He was absolutely certain that this woman before him was no servant.

"I have a fairy tale for you."

His fork halted in midair and he nearly choked on his food. She waited patiently for him to catch his breath. She did not even flinch at his reaction. It was as if she knew already that it was coming. She knew...

"Are you.."

"A fairy? No. Well... not really...no. I'll be the one talking. You just eat."

She ignored his glare and continued.

"Once upon a time..."

He rolled his eyes at her and she smiled in response.

"...there was a beautiful young fairy named Eliase."

Evan dropped the fork. It clanged against the almost empty plate and splattered pieces of potato across the table. He shot up out of his chair so quickly, that it nearly turned over.

"How do you know of her?!" his voice was hardly a whisper, and he was suddenly conscious of the sleeping occupants of the house, and the servants in the kitchen, who he knew, would jump at any chance to retell a tale. He quickly composed himself, righted his tilted chair and sat down quietly. The food was forgotten. Emma had his full attention.

She waited for him to be seated and continued:

"Eliase had everything. She was beautiful and graceful. She had many admirers and many offers for marriage, but she was restless."

Evan stared in disbelief. She should not know this story! Everyone knew of Eliase. It was a story that parents told their children to keep them in Lorenne, and away from the world of wicked men. Evan had once doubted that any of it was even true... but now... to hear a human speak of it: he found himself questioning his own beliefs in the tale.

"Eliase fell in love with someone who was not of her people. He was a king, a very wealthy king, who was used to getting his way in everything: prideful and conceited. What he wanted was more important than anything else, or anyone else. It had been that way for generations. He learned it from his father, who learned it from his father."

"He took one look at Eliase and decided that he wanted her - but not for marriage. He was amused by her; by her gifts and her beauty, but once he tired of her, he forced her aside, and married a wealthy princess, instead. Eliase was too ashamed to return to her people. Purity is something you hold in very high regard."

Evan nodded in response. He had known of Eliase's shame, but not of her abandonment.

"So Eliase lived out her days in a poor village, under the same king who had spurned her, for she had no where else to go. She eventually married a man who did not love her and treated her worse than his own horse."

She paused and looked down at her hands in her lap. She remained quiet for a few long moments, and eventually, when he thought he would go mad waiting to hear more, she looked up at him and smiled sadly.

"And?" His patience was lost.

She got up quickly, picked up his plate and began to walk back toward the kitchens.

"And that's enough story telling for one night." she said over her shoulder.

"What was the point of that story, Emma? Why do you even know these things and why are you telling them to me?"

She stopped and he heard her sigh softly. She did not turn back in his direction as she said, "I want you to know that you can trust me, Evan. I'm going to do everything in my power to help you get her home." She turned toward him then. "That is what you're here for, is it not?"

He nodded once again.

"Good." she nodded back.

"How do you know all this: about Eliase?"

She paused for a long moment. When she spoke, he had to strain to hear her hushed whispers.

"I've always known; but that story isn't what's important right now. You have a future, Evan, where Eliase had none. Do not waste it."

They were nearly the same words that Everett had used.

He heard her footsteps retreat once more as he stared at the empty table before him.

"There is a part of the story that you do not know, Emma.", he heard her retreating footsteps stop before continuing, "There was a king who was in love with Eiase. If she had only returned to Lorenne, he would have married her."

He heard her laugh softly as she walked away. It was a sad, bitter sound.

He spent remaining hours of night, his head resting on the cold stone just outside of Celia's door, contemplating the consequences of Everett's and Emma's words. Of what would happen if he chose to stay near her, disobeyed the orders given to him by the elders and took her somewhere other than Lorenne. Would he destroy her, as he had done before? Scenes of fire and blood haunted his waking hours, until he was afraid to sleep; afraid of what nightmares his dreams would hold.

He finally drifted off to near dawn: He dreamed he was chasing the sun.

The last paragraph from my last post doesn't make much sense, so I may cut it. I'm going to attempt an update every week, but my mind doesn't always want to cooperate when I have free time to write.

Chapter NINE CONTINUES....

Ok, first of all, I have to say, that this site is far superior to fanfiction.net for writing. It auto saves!! What a brilliant idea! Why is it that ff.net, a site that is designed to function as a writing/story site cannot auto save?? Worse yet, even if you have two browser windows up with fanfiction.net in them, and you click on a link in one, it changes the screen on the other - and you lose everything you just spent hours, trying to write!!! GAH!

Ok - OFF RANT. Obviously, I'm still a tad bitter, but, I will work through that, and I'm sure if it were meant to be posted, it would still be there and all that jazz, blah blah blah - it probably stunk, anyway.

So, here's my latest venture into the lives of my characters. This one is in Evan's point of view. I'm still learning, so if you notice any punctuation errors, writing errors, if it's unbelievable and makes no sense and sounds like a 6th grader wrote it (no offense to 6th graders), then that's why. Also, the words, punctuation or phrases that are highlighted in red, are areas that I'm uncertain of, and probably got wrong. :) Learning is fun, though.

So thanks for reading as I take my little journer into "Less Awkward Land."

The sun slowly set, teasing the plants and trees below with small splotches of light, before it disappeared completely behind thick curtains of grey clouds. Evan scowled at the sun, or more precisely, in the direction that the sun should be. He'd spent these past ten years in darkness, and though he was free for a short time, the sun still eluded him.

Evening came quickly, and with it, the unavoidable darkness. It loomed over him like a black cloud, but he was used to it. My only companion, he thought ruefully. If he'd learned anything during this venture, it was that there was only one truth: No matter how far he ran, the darkness would always find him; it would always win. But he refused to let it claim Celia, as well.

He walked back to the palace as quickly as his tired legs and feet would carry him, easily side-stepping the rocks and debris that littered his path. At least he could say he'd learned something useful from living in darkness: Most who tried to walk through this forest would be lame by the time they emerged on the other side.

Clouds parted and the stingy moon spared even less light than it's daily counterpart, barely sparing enough light to illuminate the tall, stoic building that loomed before him. Now past the thick fringe of trees that completely framed the North side of the castle, Evan quickened his pace. He could barely make out the black drapes that covered all of the windows, as the occupants prepared for a time of mourning.

The black shrouds that covered the castle windows and also it's people was a farce. Most of the staff and townspeople were not mourning the Queen's death, but rejoicing in it. He had been asked to attend one of several celebrations that were held this night to celebrate the parting of the Queen and the new reign of the Prince Regent. Evan had declined He had no wish to mourn or celebrate past or present matriarchs. His fealty was only to one commoner - and in sixty three more steps, he would be outside her door.

Everett's resonated over again in his ears, as he reached out a shaking hand toward the large palace gate:

"Why don't you just marry the girl?"

He shook his head to rid himself from the words, scattering drops of water in every direction in the process. There was no future for her if he allowed such thoughts into his head. He would not damn her.

He took several deep breaths then pulled on the heavy gate and cringed at the loud screeching sounds it made as he wrenched it open. Sure he'd woken everyone in the place, he walked cautiously through to the other side and stood silent for a moment, listening for any sounds of stirring. The only noises that resonated through the large hall were the sounds of heavy drops falling from his clothes onto the stone floor - and snoring.

Evan glanced beside him and found the guilty party; a knight, clad in head to toe armor sat beside the heavy oak door, his legs dangling from the tall stool in which he sat. The man's head looked to be laying completely sideways, on his own shoulder, where a puddle of drool was quickly collecting. Rust had formed in that one particular spot on his armor, proof that this was not the first time this derelict servant of the crown had taken his nightly nap. Evan shook his head; incredulous, and laughed softly to himself. Eldon had been free of conflict for so long, he doubted they could win a boxing match, much less a battle.

He watched as the knights head lolled even further forward and the rest of his body silently followed, the dangerous tilt and his heavy armor threatening to topple him to the stone floor. Evan quickly rushed forward and slowly pushed the man backward until his head and body fell back gently against the wall.

Something solid fell to the floor and rolled several times before Evan could reach down to grasp it. He shook his head for the second time that night as he examined the empty bottle in his hand. He returned it to it's hiding place. Perhaps he was too generous when he assumed that they could win any sort of physical match at all. Still, he couldn't fault the man; he envied the man his peaceful sleep.

She was also sleeping. Fragments of feelings drifted around him, growing stronger, the closer he came to her closed bedroom door. They faded in and out, changing from one emotion to another; too quickly for him to latch onto any particular one; taunting him - much like the cursed sun. Like Celia, herself. They were both beyond his reach. They both eluded him.

He climbed the stone steps three at a time and stopped when he reached the heavy wooden door that separated him from the sleeping angel on the other side. It was very fitting; that door. It was much like the chasm that stood between himself and his Celie.

No, he thought, sadly. Never my Celie. Don't even think it.

His hand reached out for the heavy rough wood of the door, each small movement bringing him closer to those drifting illusions that for a brief moment in time, took him back to that one small moment in his life when he felt whole: loved. A sliver of white flashed in the corner of his eyes and for a split second, he was lost, his hand suspended in mid-air still reached for her door.

"She's sleeping now. You can speak with her, later."

Startled, he dropped his hand and whirled to meet the whispered voice that had disturbed his one peaceful memory.

Dark eyes that displayed far too much glee, looked up at him. He recognized the girl, but never thought to ask her name; at the time he had been more concerned about Celia's welfare; and the proximity of the walls to each other had not helped his thought processes. He remembered that she'd been kind, though. He really should have thanked her; it was rare for a human to befriend one of their kind: At least, in his estimation.

"Would you like something to eat?", she asked softly.

A small smile formed at the corners of her mouth and he felt suddenly self-conscious. Surely, it was evident to all who looked upon him, that he was malnourished. The workers here, were not underfed: quite the opposite. A few of the stable hands were too heavy to even be lifted on to a horse, but he was never able to eat much, especially with the dread of impending doom looming over his head; over her head. His loose clothes, however, hid nothing and he could not remember the last time he'd eaten; or slept. So despite the urge to refuse and scowl at Emma's offer, he swallowed his pride and simply said, (unsure of punctuation & it seems off, but I can't say why.)

"Yes. Thank you"

Emma did not miss his backward glance as he followed her toward the large stone staircase.

"She'll be fine", she remarked quietly; It wasn't the statement that unnerved him, but the way in which she said it. Her countenance and bearings showed a sense of pride and confidence that did not usually come from one who spent their life serving others.

He followed her through the dark stair and into the large, main hall. The humming snores of the guard greeted them as they reached the bottom of the steps, and echoed faintly from the walls.

They reached the entrance to the kitchen; Emma opened the door and motioned for him to follow. Heat and smoke hit him fully in the face and made his stomach churn. Just the thought of being in the small, stuffy room made him feel ill and he stepped back reflexively, paying no heed to the curious glances of the servants inside. He turned on his heel and quickly walked in the opposite direction, ready to run back up the steps, suddenly needing to be near her again.

"Where are you going?" Emma whispered loudly from the kitchen door.

"I'm suddenly not hungry." he answered sharply. It was true. The last thing he wanted at the moment was food.

But in honesty, he could not have the thing he wanted most. And it was too late for childish longings, as he reminded himself once again that that Celie no longer existed. That part of his past, would never be his future. He was very nearly wallowing in self-pity and hating himself for it; when Emma's words halted his next step.

"I've forgotten. You don't like small spaces. We can sit in the dining hall, if you'd prefer it."

He whirled around and stared, mouth agape, at the servant girl; who should nothing of him, other than his name. No one knew of his fear: not even Celia.

"What did you say?" his voice was hoarse.

"Evan. Come sit. I know that you haven't eaten since you carried Celia in here this morning, and you probably did not eat the previous day, either."

He turned to face her, and saw once again, the small smirk forming at the corners of her mouth. A shiver traveled down his spine and he tried to hide it as he glared at the girl with curly brown hair, who knew far more than she should.

"And what else do you know?" he asked slowly, cautiously; unsure if he truly wanted an answer to his question.

He instinctively began to search out her emotions from all the colors that filtered through his vision. There seemed to be no hostility or anger about her. He could only assume that his first reaction to this woman had been correct; she was kind, but this gift was not and exact Science; and he'd been wrong before...

Colors suddenly changed and morphed, turning everything in his vision into a murky pool of odd shades that blended into each other: black, white, red, green, grey, and then the colors that had no names, the ones he could only describe as...confusion... How was it possible for this one person to feel everything at once? He'd seen emotions change quickly, but he had never witnessed anything like this. There were so many, that it was impossible now, to point them out. It was absolutely confusion.

"Are you finished?" she asked, a smug expression on her face.

"What?"

"Are you finished trying to "see" me or whatever it is you call it?"

He stopped breathing.

"How can you know about that?"

"I know a lot of things." The smirk was suddenly gone and he saw sadness in her eyes. He realized that his gift was useless as far as this Emma was concerned. He didn't like it. It was becoming far too frequent, these lapses. First, Phillip, and now Emma. "If you are still hungry, I have a plate made for you. Follow me."

She led him to the large oak dining table that stood centerpiece in the dimly lit hall. The only light that shone in the room was from three small sconces that hung on one side of the wall. The light from the flickering flames bounced off the walls and cast an eerie glow on the dingy grey stones that made up the entire castle. It was grim and dark and matched his mood perfectly.

"I'm not hungry. Tell me what you know - now." He took a step closer, hoping that since asking directly hadn't worked, he could intimidate her into speaking.

She fought back a laugh.

"Evan, honestly. I don't think you could even frighten a small child. I can't fathom how you were able to carry Celia... although... I think I do know. She needed you, didn't she?"

"Who are you?", he demanded, though the question didn't come out nearly as strong as he had wanted it to. His voice cracked and gave him away.

"I'm the one who is going to make you," she said with a very large genuine smile, and said softly, "Sit down and eat something before you fall down. You won't be of any use to her if you're dead."

He scowled and stood, unmoving, uncertain of what to do next; and plotting ways that he could remove Celia from this woman before she had the chance to harm her - if that was her intention.

She rolled her eyes. "I realize that you are a man, and therefore, very stubborn, but you will not get a single word from me until you sit down and eat."

He didn't move.

"Evan, I am not here to cause either of you harm." Her eyes pleaded with him and the sadness returned to them as she spoke. It engulfed every murky color in his vision, until it was all that he could see. He immediately felt sorry for the girl. Whatever pain she was carrying was plain on her face. He could have seen the sorrow, even without his gift. And he believed her.

Emma had placed the plate full of steaming food at the head of the table, the seat that was reserved for the matriarch of the palace. He looked at her incredulously; his eyes never left hers as he pushed the plate over to one side and sat in one of the less important chairs.

Emma shrugged her shoulders and sat across from him.

Being away from the encroaching walls of the kitchen, made the food much more appealing and the aromas assaulting his senses reminded him that it had, in fact, been far too long between meals.

Food, however, was his least concern. His stomach grumbled in protest to his stubbornness. Emma sat directly across from him, her smirk returned, as she folded her hands under her chin, place her elbows on the table and waited for him to concede.

"Talk," he ordered.

"Eat."

He made no move to obey her softly spoken command. She rolled her eyes at him.

"You are stubborn, aren't you? I knew you would be, but really Evan, this is ridiculous. I already told you that I would tell you what I know. This tantrum is not going to help you in the slightest."

"Tantrum!"

He was tempted to get up and walk away, but the food on his plate was holding him captive in his seat. and the action would probably make him look as though he was, in fact, throwing a tantrum.

"Eat. She'll be asleep for the rest of the night. She'll be fine. Eat now or you won't get another chance."

"How do you know.."

"Eat!"

He glowered at her, but silently obeyed, forcefully putting a fork full of potatoes in his mouth. He knew he resembled a stubborn toddler, refusing to eat what was put before him, but he didn't care.

Then his hunger soon won out his need to listen. Before he'd realized it, he had eaten every last crumb on his plate. He glanced up at Emma, feeling slightly embarrassed - and angry that he had lost the ridiculous battle.

"Talk!" he ordered.

She sighed. "Would you like some more?" He shook his head, no, but she ignored him and picked up his plate, returning a few minutes later with more food.

"You shouldn't eat so much after not having food for so long, but it will keep you silent while I talk... Just eat slowly." He obeyed silently, slowly shoveling in fork-fulls of food, all the while keeping his eyes on her porcelain face. He was absolutely certain that this woman before him was no servant.

"I have a fairy tale for you."

His fork halted in midair and he nearly choked on his food. She waited patiently for him to catch his breath. She did not even flinch at his reaction. It was as if she knew already that it was coming. She knew...

"Are you.."

"A fairy? No. Well... not really...no. I'll be the one talking. You just eat."

She ignored his glare and continued.

"Once upon a time..."

He rolled his eyes at her and she smiled in response.

"...there was a beautiful young fairy named Eliase."

Evan dropped the fork. It clanged against the almost empty plate and splattered pieces of potato across the table. He shot up out of his chair so quickly, that it nearly turned over.

"How do you know of her?!" his voice was hardly a whisper, and he was suddenly conscious of the sleeping occupants of the house, and the servants in the kitchen, who he knew, would jump at any chance to retell a tale. He quickly composed himself, righted his tilted chair and sat down quietly. The food was forgotten. Emma had his full attention.

She waited for him to be seated and continued:

"Eliase had everything. She was beautiful and graceful. She had many admirers and many offers for marriage, but she was restless."

Evan stared in disbelief. She should not know this story! Everyone knew of Eliase. It was a story that parents told their children to keep them in Lorenne, and away from the world of wicked men. Evan had once doubted that any of it was even true... but now... to hear a human speak of it: he found himself questioning his own beliefs in the tale.

"Eliase fell in love with someone who was not of her people. He was a king, a very wealthy king, who was used to getting his way in everything: prideful and conceited. What he wanted was more important than anything else, or anyone else. It had been that way for generations. He learned it from his father, who learned it from his father."

"He took one look at Eliase and decided that he wanted her - but not for marriage. He was amused by her; by her gifts and her beauty, but once he tired of her, he forced her aside, and married a wealthy princess, instead. Eliase was too ashamed to return to her people. Purity is something you hold in very high regard."

Evan nodded in response. He had known of Eliase's shame, but not of her abandonment.

"So Eliase lived out her days in a poor village, under the same king who had spurned her, for she had no where else to go. She eventually married a man who did not love her and treated her worse than his own horse."

She paused and looked down at her hands in her lap. She remained quiet for a few long moments, and eventually, when he thought he would go mad waiting to hear more, she looked up at him and smiled sadly.

"And?" His patience was lost.

She got up quickly, picked up his plate and began to walk back toward the kitchens.

"And that's enough story telling for one night." she said over her shoulder.

"What was the point of that story, Emma? Why do you even know these things and why are you telling them to me?"

She stopped and he heard her sigh softly. She did not turn back in his direction as she said, "I want you to know that you can trust me, Evan. I'm going to do everything in my power to help you get her home." She turned toward him then. "That is what you're here for, is it not?"

He nodded once again.

"Good." she nodded back.

"How do you know all this: about Eliase?"

She paused for a long moment. When she spoke, he had to strain to hear her hushed whispers.

"I've always known; but that story isn't what's important right now. You have a future, Evan, where Eliase had none. Do not waste it."

They were nearly the same words that Everett had used.

He heard her footsteps retreat once more as he stared at the empty table before him.

"There is a part of the story that you do not know, Emma.", he heard her retreating footsteps stop before continuing, "There was a king who was in love with Eiase. If she had only returned to Lorenne, he would have married her."

He heard her laugh softly as she walked away. It was a sad, bitter sound.

He spent many hours outside of Celia's door, contemplating consequences. If he chose to love her, and the small spark of love that she felt for him continued to grow, what would that mean for her? Would she truly be lost? Perhaps he could take their advice: leave and take her anywhere - anywhere but Lorenne. Would she go willingly? He finally drifted off to sleep near dawn. He dreamed that he was chasing the sun.

The elusive Chapter NINE

It's beginning to become a curse word. Chapter NINE! Although none of them are easy; I usually feel as though I'm picking through a hay stack to find words to create the images that are running through my head; but this chapter is the absolute worst! I've rewritten it countless times, and lost the second draft because fanfiction.net is stupid! Three hours of work vanished with a single click of the mouse. I didn't even have it as my browser window, and it was gone. That was, I'm sure, part of the reason why I have struggled so much with this one. It's been months since I've posted and every time I think of editing or tweaking Chapter NINE, I just want to throw up my hands and leave the story at an unfinished eight. But I can't do that. "You only fail if you quit." I learned that from the very intelligent and profound, David Hasslehoff, a couple of weeks ago, by the way. I thought, well, if the Hoff doesn't quit, then neither do I! On with the show! :)

(Seriously, I've read so many beautiful quotes in stories recently, and all I can come up with is the Hoff??)

But, we'll discuss my odd pension for remembering useless trivia and facts later.

Oh, and you know what else is ridiulous? Twenty small notebooks filled with nonsense, and I can't find the one that I need! Ah! Ok, it was hidden beneath some beautiful artwork made by two lovely little princesses.

Chapter NINE

It seemed the nightmares would continue, only this time she was wide awake. The chill of the wind that blew through the trees and into her hair and the cool, damp grass beneath her told her as much.

She looked away from his face and occupied herself with the wet blades of grass beneath her fingertips, desperately beating down the panic she could feel rising within her. Her face was hot and her eyes were all she could feel; the backs of them being pricked mercilessly by unshed tears.

Fairy

It was the most ridiculous... preposterous...

The boy had, obviously, lost his mind; and hers was quickly following. Images of the past few weeks came to the forefront of her thoughts and as much as she wished them to leave her be, she could not ignore them. She could not ignore the strange events that had led to this astonishing revelation: the rose that mysteriously appeared on her pillow from her dream, the odd way Evan seemed to be in tune with her emotions, the vivid nightmare that had haunted her long after she'd woken - the horrifying voice in the storm that constantly called out her name.

She shuddered and Evan reacted immediately, picking up the hands that she had previously removed from his grasp. He looked at her with the saddest of expressions, as if he knew the turmoil that was going on inside of her.

Of course, he does.

She shuddered once more at the memory of his words just moments ago, his odd ability of knowing her feelings. She once again concentrated on the damp earth, and on breathing in and out.

What I wouldn't give for him to be able to take the words back, she thought.

Unless it's just another of his jokes.

With only a infinitesimal shred of hope, she looked into his face, searching for any trace of mirth or laughter. Only weeks before he had taken quite delight in her misfortunes; perhaps it was the same, now. There was no explanation for the odd occurrences as the rose: or the storm, or the haunting dreams; but all rational thought had left her.

That tiny bit of hope died as soon as she looked up and regarded the grim expression on his handsome face . There was no hint of laughter in the sky blue eyes that were still on her face. The sadness in them confused her. It was she who was just told that she was some sort of mythical creature. She laughed curtly, but there was no humor in it.

She turned away from his dismal gaze, no longer able to stand those sky blue eyes. Their color, and the memories of her dreams of him now made his connection to her far too intimate. She wanted nothing to do with him; this boy who had just ruined her imperfect, yet constant world. Yet the thought of leaving him was also distressing.

The anxiety began to build even higher as the thought that she was torn from the only truth she had ever known. It was a given; a constant; something she had never had to question. Of course she hadn't! She was human; just the same as Phillip and Emma and Evan, the baker and Faye, the cook. She had no physical traits that could ever be considered otherworldly: she was plain, the only defining characteristic to her looks being the red in her hair. She walk; she ran. Didn't fairies fly? She tried to recall all the characteristics of them that she had learned from the stories her father used to read to her.

Actually, it had only been one story. The recollection amidst all the confusion suddenly alarmed her. One small memory lodged in the back of her mind seemed to float forward, like a small bubble being blown by the wind.

She couldn't remember many details of the story that her father insisted on telling her every night; only that he had. It was odd, she remembered, that he had been so emphatic in the story's telling. It was only a fairy tale, after all.

She shuddered once again at the thought of the word and focused once more on the memory, forcing herself to not meet the boys' eyes one more time. The book was very big and heavy, though many things are perceived as being large through the eyes of a child. She struggled through the fog that misted around the bubble of her memory, and it was all she could see; the book and the large sturdy hands that held it.

The vision of her fathers' hands finally pushed the tears that had been pricking the backs of her eyes, over the edge and down her cheeks. She was too mournful to even contemplate Evan, or his words, any longer. The most important face was that he was gone, and once again the realization that she was likely the cause of his death sat heavily on her heart. The storm that called her name was after her, even years ago. She was meant to die; not them. And she would cause the death of everyone around her, if she stayed in this place.

She was lost in her own bereavement and self admonition, lost in wracking sobs, as Evan lifted her up in his arms and began walking away from the sodden grass and the arch of trees. She felt as though she had left a large part of who she was in that dreary spot. The human part of her had died. The realization shook her and her entire body shook as she sobbed into Evan's shoulder.

She could faintly hear the murmurs of people near her, and vaguely felt the rain as it began to patter on her head, and legs and feet. Her own cries seemed distant in her ears.

The bubble still hovered over her, a quote began to form in her mind, slowly, until the words were so etched into her consciousness, that she could scarcely believe she hadn't known them her entire life:

"You are a fairy," he said. The young girl heard the words and soon knew what she must do: She would follow the boy wherever he would lead, just as her father had always instructed."


And since fanfiction.net is not loading tonight, I can't finish this post, but a part is better than nothing, so here we are, once again stalled, due to fanfiction.net. Bah!