《Wands and Chimneys》


 Her Glasses

    Clelia gently placed the glass of milk in the corner of the reception room, an operation that wasn''t made any easier by her elaborate wedding gown, nor by the crowd of guests staring at her with bated breath as she did so.


    A little galvanised by the power she seemingly held over her audience, she firmly ordered, "From now on, all of you refrain from looking towards this corner."


    The silence that followed protracted a little too long for comfort, so she walked back toward Damian, the groom, the only person in the room she had met only twice before, instead of never.


    She adjusted her big round glasses and cleared her throat. "Music?"


    As the musicians started playing a waltz, the tall boy in front of her elegantly extended his big hand and tried asking, "Shall we da¡­"


    "I said no looking towards the corner," Clelia bellowed, interrupting him and pointing her finger at a middle aged lady standing besides a table.


    The woman defeatedly pointed her eyes downwards, hiding her arms behind her back, like a child being reprimanded by her teacher.


    The boy in front of her tilted his head a little. "Alright, let''s try that again. Shall we dance?"


    Clelia''s head sank a little in between her shoulders as she took his hand. "Sorry about that. The lutin are quite timid, they won''t take the milk if they think they''re being observed."


    "Timid you say?" He chuckled. "Didn''t they just pour anchovy paste in the shoes of some of the guests?"


    "And they did so without being noticed, did they not?" She pointedly remarked.


    "Fair enough." He conceded.


    Damian tried grabbing her by the waist, to which she instinctively retracted.


    "Is everything fine?" He asked.


    She looked around them and saw that every couple was dancing with the man holding the woman by the waist and the woman holding her hand on the man''s shoulder.


    "I''m sorry." She hesitantly placed her hand on his shoulder, "this is the first time I danced a human dance."


    As he grabbed her by the waist, she nervously adjusted the veil of her pointy hat.


    "Follow my lead then." He winked with his grey eyes.


    She tried keeping up with him, her eyes glued on the ground to observe his feet moving, which, once again, was not made easier by her wedding gown.


    He chuckled. "Hey, careful, you might gouge my eyes with your hat if you keep your head down like that."


    Without missing a beat, she asked, "How am I supposed to follow you if I can''t see where you put your feet?"


    "Come on, the steps are not complicated. Just keep doing what you''re doing now, but eyes on me instead."


    Clelia tried obeying, but every one of her muscles felt stiff. She tried replicating the few steps she had been following up until then, while following both Damian and the music, but she was still somewhat busy understanding how she felt about being touched like that, especially by a boy, a human boy no less, and one that was much more handsome than she had anticipated before meeting him.


    He was very different from the wispy and willowy faerie boys she had grown up with, but at the same time he was a far cry from the boorish image of human men that all other fairies in her life had always painted to her. He was tall, with wide shoulders and solid arms, but he kept his back straight and chin up, his dark hair in order and his face clean shaven. He looked sturdy, yet distinguished, elegant even. His clothes were made out of some thick and yet smooth black fabric, extremely finely woven. Some sort of soft and thin white scarf wrapped around his neck and then went down his chest and into the dark suit. A small grey gem, the same colour as his eyes, was pinned on the dainty little knot keeping the scarf in place, right where the neck meets the chest. Being raised in the Arania gens she knew all about fabrics and cloths, and there was no doubt that what he was wearing was really high quality. Yet, despite her knowledge, she wasn''t quite sure she could pinpoint the exact material of his clothes: was it cotton? Perhaps, but even if that were to be the case it definitely had been prepared through some process she had never seen before.


    When the music ended, she let out a sigh of relief. "I hope I didn''t embarrass you too much in front of your family with my poor dancing."


    "Well, you didn''t step on my feet," he shrugged, "which may not be much, but it still makes you not the worse dancing partner I had to date."


    She would have snickered a little to that, but she was still extremely stiff both from the dancing as well as from how taxing the day had been up until that point.


    She sneaked a glance toward the corner where she had left the milk earlier.


    "What?" He asked her.


    "Looks like they got our offering." She adjusted her glasses again. "For a little while, our guests should be free from worrying about lutin pranks."


    Her newly wed husband looked her in the eyes and said, "You look truly exhausted. Do you want to go and have a seat? Right now we''re no longer the centre of all the attention, so you may be able to find a few minutes to breathe a little."


    "You don''t have to ask me twice."


    Being able to finally rest on a chair in a corner was a godsend for Clelia. Damian had been stolen by some cousin, but having a little time to herself wasn''t unwelcome at all, even if everyone else but him were strangers to her. Well, not like she knew him very well either. And, in any case, the crowd of humans around her felt in some ways less intimidating than her own family. For one, she had soon realised just how on guard most of them seemed to be about her. She was, after all, probably the first fairy they had ever seen in their lives. She was well aware that she did not impose the same level of authority as her mother did, but she also knew that humans were wary of faerie creatures in general, and even in their ignorance humans definitely respected the famed power of noble fairies, such as her.


    Then again, the reason why her mother had decided that Clelia could be pawned off to some lowly human was that she was, by far, the weakest fairy of her gens, but there was no need for any of the humans to know any of that, was there?


    She hadn''t been alone with her thoughts even for a full minute before a towering woman decided to sit besides her.


    "Hello and welcome, miss¡­ well, I guess Mrs Neumann, since you married little Damian."


    The woman''s age was difficult to pin down: she could easily pass for someone in her thirties, but Clelia wouldn''t have been too shocked if she turned out to be fifty. She had an elegant dress of a soft shade of red and a wide extravagant hat with long feathers of matching colour. Of the same red, she also wore extremely long sleeves separated from her dress. One detail that captured Clelia''s attention was that the woman''s long eyelashes seemed to shimmer a little, as if there were tiny dew droplets trapped in between them.


    "Um, thank you, miss¡­"


    The tall figure, way taller than even Damian was, giggled. "Oh sweetie, you don''t need to be so formal with me, call me auntie Lucia."


    "You''re, uh¡­ Damian''s aunt?"


    "Indeed, indeed," aunt Lucia chirped enthusiastically, "on his mother''s side. Can I call you by name too?"


    Clelia was a little taken aback by the level of familiarity that the woman was showing to her, but felt that she couldn''t say no. "I''m Clelia."


    "Hmm, what a pretty name you have", cooed the apparition in red. "So, Clelia, can you tell me a little about the ceremony today?"


    "The¡­ ceremony?"


    "Yes, the vows, the rite, the wedding. If I absolutely must share a tiny secret with you, sweetie, I am a little upset that I didn''t get to be at the ceremony of my beloved nephew''s wedding." Aunt Lucia emoted every word as if she had been an overly enthusiastic actor giving their life''s performance on stage.


    "Unfortunately," the dramatic woman continued, "it seems that your family didn''t want anyone outside of the two betrothed and their parents."


    Clelia fidgeted with the bridge of her glasses. "That''s customary for a traditional faerie wedding: the feast after the vows have been exchanged is public and usually involves everyone willing to participate, but the actual ceremony is an intimate affair."


    "Hmm, is that so? My my, your kind lives so close to us, and yet we barely know each other, it seems. Isn''t that such a shame?"


    Caressing the temples of her glasses, Clelia nodded, staring at the ground. Was "auntie" Lucia ever going to leave her alone for a moment? She really desperately wanted some breathing room, but the tall woman didn''t seem to have any intention of leaving.


    "Hmm? You seem to touch your glasses a lot, sweetie. To be absolutely honest with you, I did not think fairies wore glasses at all."


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    Clelia''s hands snapped off of her glasses and settled on her lap instead. "We¡­ usually don''t. These were¡­ a present."


    The young fairy expected aunt Lucia to resume interrogating her, but, to her surprise, she didn''t. At first, the stiffness in her shoulders lightened up a bit and she breathed a little easier. However, as the silence protracted, Clelia''s uneasiness started building up again: she hadn''t been looking in the woman''s direction for a while, but she had the distinct impression that she, on the other hand, had been staring at her. Her shoulders tensed up again and each breath seemed to bring in less and less air. Against her better judgement, she glanced toward the woman sitting besides her.


    As soon as Clelia''s gaze met aunt Lucia''s, the latter gave her a big warm smile. However, for just an instant, the fairy had been able to see her true expression, before she had been able to change it: her grey eyes, almost identical to Damian''s, had been indeed staring at her, with an impenetrable coldness that contrasted heavily with the sappy warmth she had been showing not a few moments prior. She felt something crawling on the back of her neck: that cold stare reminded Clelia of her own mother.


    ***


    Damian swiftly downed a full glass of Prosecco. He didn''t usually drink alcohol, he much preferred keeping a cool head, but that day was seriously testing his ability to keep sane and he hoped the sweet white wine would help him, somehow. He put the glass back on the table. It did absolutely nothing, except sending a light shiver through the back of his neck, and, perhaps, making it a little easier to ignore his cousin Umberto''s chattering.


    He was a married man. Married. As in, he now had a wife. A wife. Of course, it had been in planning for quite a while and he had been aware of it all along; in fact he had taken active part in the negotiations at some points. But, for some reason, only now it really felt, well, real. He had only a few months prior graduated from school and now he was married.


    He had taken a carriage ride all the way to that shrine in the forest where the traditional faerie wedding, the one that was negotiated with the mother of the bride, took place, and on the ride back the seat on his side was occupied by that girl, that girl that was now his wife. That''s the first time it actually all felt real. Before that, the concept that he was going to get married was nothing more than a subject of conversation, ink on documents at most. But, on that carriage, despite the fact that technically it wasn''t the first time they had met, it really sunk in the fact that a living, breathing, thinking, feeling girl was now supposed to be his life partner. Not just any girl either, an actual fairy. Of course, that had been part of the plans, part of his own plans too, but¡­


    "¡­ In any case, man, they really dumped the runt of the litter on you, huh?"


    His musings were interrupted by this one sentence in Umberto''s endless gabble. He responded to it quite in the same way he did all the other rhetorical questions in his cousin''s word flood: by politely smiling and nodding. But, unlike all the other such questions, he was unable to completely ignore that one sentence. Because, well, that one felt true.


    The image and prestige of the fairies: that was the whole point behind his father wanting to organise that wedding in the first place. In the last few years, it had become somewhat fashionable for industrialists, such as his father, to set their sons up with a fairy. Powerful, beautiful creatures, with a mystical aura to them. They appeared in all sorts of tales, and in the picture books they were depicted as tall, gorgeous, and elegant beings, dressed like dames from a bygone era, sometimes with a long magic wand.


    The month prior, him and his older brother had been given audience in the castle of his soon-to-be bride''s family and there they met her mother, the famed Lausenna the fay. Suffice it to say, they both felt that she lived up to the legend. Then, they met Clelia.


    Clelia was¡­ cute. She was cute quite in the same way that some of Damian''s former classmates, the ones he had gone to school with up until a few months prior, could have been described. In other words, when saying that she wasn''t the kind of beauty they were expecting from a fairy, he didn''t mean that she was ugly or anything, she was just¡­ mundane. And she was also quite small. Not in the sense that she was especially short, he had known shorter women and girls, nor that she was excessively skinny. No, she just had a small frame: small shoulders, small waist, small hips. She was perhaps a couple of years younger than him and absolutely looked like it. In other words, instead of a fairy she resembled more¡­ just some kid in the the same age bracket as him.


    That fact made things very difficult for Damian.


    He poured himself another glass of wine, but stopped just before drinking. He had noticed aunt Lucia sitting right besides his bride. He put the glass down, excused himself from his cousin and took off towards them without giving it a second thought. He knew the best way to deal with his aunt: giving her a taste of her own medicine.


    He put on the biggest smile he could muster. "Hi, auntie, I can see that you''re getting along with the bride."


    "Oh, Damian!" Sang his aunt. "You found yourself such a cute little wifey¡­" Damian had to seriously restrain himself from shuddering in disgust hearing that phrase.


    "Indeed," he interrupted, "and it is now time for the two of us to¡­ go take a commemorative stroll."


    Aunt Lucia raised a brow. "Commemorative stroll, dearie?"


    "Yes, it''s, uh¡­ apparently a tradition in faerie weddings for the bride and groom to take some time off during the reception, to let the emotions of the day sink in. We will be back in time for dinner, of course."


    Aunt Lucia adjusted one of the long feathers in her huge hat. "Ah, but can''t you wait just until I got to know her a little better? I''d like to learn more about¡­"


    "I have to insist, auntie," he interrupted again, "for you see¡­"


    Uttered calmly, one single word made both Damian and his aunt stop in their tracks. "Enough."


    Both turned to face Clelia. Her gaze was calm, focused, intense, and the air around her almost seemed to tremble like it does around a flame. She had spoken quietly, and yet her tone carried with it some kind of powerful pressure, stronger than any amount of shouting.


    The fairy''s focused expression turned into a polite smile. "It has been truly nice to meet you, aunt Lucia, but my husband requires my presence, and I shall respond to his request."


    "¡­Very well. Then, I wish you two a nice¡­ stroll." Responded the woman, still visibly shaken by Clelia''s display of power.


    "Commemorative stroll, huh?" Asked Clelia as they stepped on the bridge over the green pond.


    Looking at her now, she once again resembled a regular girl their age, but Damian couldn''t completely shake off the wariness caused by her little trick a few minutes earlier.


    "I didn''t know about that faerie tradition myself," she continued.


    "Of course you didn''t, I just made it up. You seemed in trouble and so I found some excuse to get you out of it." He cleared his throat, trying to find the courage to go to the next step in his program. "Plus, I would appreciate a little quiet time, away from the crowd and our respective families, to get to know you a little better."


    Clelia fiddled with the frame of her glasses. "I guess this really is the first time we get to speak with one another away from anyone else."


    He nodded. "So, I know it''s a little strange to ask only after it''s all done, but how do you feel about this marriage?"


    She leaned on the banister, staring at the still water beneath them. "I feel¡­ fine. To be quite blunt, the idea of me being married feels strange. But, at the same time, I''m not nearly as afraid as I thought I might be."


    "I see¡­"


    They remained silent for a little while. And yet, despite the fact that he couldn''t think of anything else to say right away, for some reason Damian did not feel awkward, and Clelia seemed pretty relaxed too. A dragonfly floated in front of her and, for the briefest instant, he thought he saw sorrow in her eyes.


    "Ah!" She suddenly turned toward him. "I just remembered that I didn''t give you my wedding present yet."


    Damian tilted his head. "Wedding present?"


    "Yes," she nodded enthusiastically, "to reciprocate. I''m very grateful for the glasses you and your mother bought to me the second time we met, so, in these two weeks that passed between then and now, I''ve been working on something to give back."


    She pinched and pulled a thread in her wedding gown, which somehow came off without damaging the beautiful dress. The string danced and swirled in the air for a few moments, then it solidified in Clelia''s hand, becoming a magic wand. There it was, right in front of him: the entire reason why Damian had accepted to go along with the whole idea of marrying a fairy long before meeting Clelia.


    She lightly touched his head with it, but had to stretch her arm to do it due to the fact that he was almost a full head taller than her. "It''s not much, but I will grant you a small boon. Do you have any trouble sleeping, like suffering nightmares or not being able to fall asleep? Or maybe certain kinds of food upset your stomach? Or any other kind of small everyday inconvenience such as those?"


    "Aside from having to deal every day with my brothers and cousins you mean?" He deadpanned.


    She chuckled. "Be serious, please."


    He shook his head. "I can''t think of anything right now."


    "Oh." She lowered her wand, which turned back into a thread and floated back in her gown. "Well, if anything comes up do let me know, please."


    "I sure will."


    Then she went back to leaning on the banister and he followed suit. Another gentle silence fell between them for a few moments. When she started toying with the frame of her glasses again, he found his chance to ask something he had been wondering for a while: it reminded him of the first time he met her. It was extremely obvious just how visually impaired she was, since she always squinted her eyes and had visible trouble following what was happening around her.


    "Say, Clelia, why does a fairy need glasses anyway? Isn''t it possible to correct eyesight with magic?"


    "It is but¡­" her gaze turned somewhat gloom. "You see, not all fairies can do everything with magic, our families tend to specialise each in one area of spell-crafting. I¡­ I was never able to negotiate a favour from a fairy capable of dealing with eyesight."


    "Well, couldn''t your mother arrange something for you? Isn''t she very influential?"


    Clelia sighed, but didn''t respond. Damian knew better than to insist.


    ***


    As the silence protracted, Clelia started feeling a little guilty over not giving a full answer, but at the same time she didn''t think it was wise to reveal how much of a failure her family considered her to be. And yet, she felt like she needed to open up to him somewhat. After all, all he ever did until then was showing her nothing but kindness, and all she had been able to reciprocate with was¡­ what, offering to stop some nightmares? How pathetic. And it was all the more pathetic in light of the true reason why she enthusiastically accepted the plans for the marriage long before even meeting Damian. Even though she didn''t know him yet and didn''t know if she could fully trust him, she still felt like he deserved better.


    "You know," she started, without even considering what she was going to say next, "when you and your mother brought me and my chaperone into town, I though it was just to show me around the place I would be living in after the marriage. But then we went to that¡­ opto-something, and he started trying lenses on me. I¡­ I simply could not believe just how much these little objects would be capable of improving my eyesight. I saw, for the first time in my life, the world around me with absolute clarity. I really, really cannot put into words how I felt back then, I was¡­" she realised she was welling up and her voice was cracking up a bit,"¡­completely speechless." She moved away her glasses a little to wipe away a tear that was forming. "I was astonished that you humans managed to achieve something like that without having to use magic. I¡­ cannot express just how grateful I am for this gift that you gave me. I swear, I will try my best to do something to return this little miracle."


    She turned away from him, sniffling and trying to calm down, since she really didn''t want to look that way in front of him. His hand materialised in front of her, offering a handkerchief. She thanked him and accepted. What was wrong with her? She had long outgrown her crybaby phase, why was just recalling that moment in the glass shop enough to make her burst like that? Could it be that the exhaustion from the rest of the day, as well as the long stressful days of preparation before, were also taking their toll?


    "It''s alright," she heard his voice tell her, "I certainly didn''t give you those glasses to expect something in exchange. However, if you still feel the need to return the favour, you''ll have plenty of time to come up with something. After all, we are married now."


    A tiny hint of guilt poked her chest. It was true, she did have time, but not quite as much as he seemed to think. After all, the reason why she happily went along with the whole idea of marrying a human in the first place was to get out of her mother''s castle; and then, as soon as she could, to flee as far away from her family as possible, with or without her new consort.

 Her New Neighbourhood

    Clelia woke up and she immediately realised she wasn''t in her bed. She squinted her eyes, looked around, and couldn''t distinguish any of the shapes and lights that surrounded her as anything familiar. Eventually, she remembered that she no longer was in her family''s castle, and that the prior evening she had gone to sleep in her new home for the foreseeable future. She reached for her glasses on the night table and scanned the room, faintly illuminated through the window shutters. Aside from herself and the single bed she was currently occupying, the only thing in the small but cosy room was some of her still-to-unpack luggage.


    She remembered being somewhat uneasy at the thought of having to share a bed with a boy she barely knew, even if he was her husband, but fortunately voicing that concern had been unnecessary, since Damian himself had proposed her to sleep in separate beds and separate rooms, at least for the time being. Needless to say, she had accepted the proposal with no small amounts of relief.


    When she got out of the room she was wearing a long pale green dress, much simpler than the extravagant wedding gown she had the day prior. On her head, she had another pointy hat, one that matched her dress colour, embroidered with the shape of spiderwebs. The small, quiet corridor just outside of her room felt so different from the huge, cold stone spaces she was used to. Instead of the massive tapestries hanging on every wall of the castle, Clelia could only see some small frames with modest painting representing rural scenes. Instead of the never ending bustling activity of servitude and the rest of her mother''s court, nothing outside of her footsteps seemed to produce any sound.


    Right next to her room''s door, there was another one, identical in almost every detail, which Damian had told her was his. She wondered if he was awake too, considering whether or not she should knock and find out. Eventually, she decided not to, and chose to go downstairs instead, to explore what would be, for the foreseeable future, her new living spaces.


    She had been under the impression that she and Damian would go and live with his entire extended family, which was custom in fairy society, but instead Damian''s family had given them one among several small houses in a little neighbourhood next to the factory that they owned. Apparently, his family owned the whole neighbourhood too and those houses were where the workers lived.


    On one hand, not having to deal with too many new people at once was a very welcome prospect. On the other hand, though, the living spaces were so small, compared to what she was used to, that they felt somewhat cramped. As she stepped on a squeaky step on her way down, her shoulders stiffened. After all, it appeared that the quiet was a little unnerving too, in its own way.


    She found Damian sitting at the dinner table, reading some booklet while drinking out of a white mug. Judging by the faint aroma pervading the room, she guessed the content of the mug to be some kind of infusion. The dining room was a bit bigger than her bedroom and had open access to the kitchen. On one side of the room, she spotted a shrine with a low relief of what looked like a human man and a human woman in funny clothes, plus a snake beneath the both of them.


    Damian acknowledged her with a poised wave of his hand, still holding the booklet. "Ah, good morning. Did you sleep well?"


    She heedlessly nodded. She had fallen asleep almost immediately after getting in bed, tired as she was, but had then been woken up a few times by anxious dreams before finally completely passing out until morning, eventually. Still, she didn''t feel like getting into that conversation with him.


    "Glad to hear that." He gulped down the remainder of the mug''s content and then laid down on the table everything he was holding, so he could interlock his fingers and face her. "Sit down, please."


    After she did as he had asked, he started, "There is enough tea for you in the kettle over there, in the kitchen, and the entire pantry is yours to browse for breakfast. Before that, though, I''d like to present with you a few short-term plans concerning our life as newly-weds."


    She furrowed her brows. "Why not having the discussion over breakfast instead?"


    "Because I''m in a bit of a hurry, unfortunately, and I only have a few points to present to you. We''ll be able to discuss them more thoroughly later, that was the original plan in fact, but seeing that you''re up, I feel that anticipating some of it now may give you some time to ponder before having the full discussion."


    "What hurry?"


    He sighed. "If you recall, my family and I actually wanted to have the wedding in winter, it was your mother who insisted on having it in late summer. It''s a bit of a messy time for us, for me especially, and having just wed doesn''t absolve me from certain things I need to do. I''m starting a new course of study and, right now, there''s a lot of bureaucracy and meetings I can''t avoid. I would have much preferred having the wedding at a date that allowed me to just dedicate some time together with you, so we could get to know each other, but to meet your mother''s demands that wasn''t possible."


    Clelia nodded again. Getting married in winter wasn''t that strange in faerie culture, so she suspected that her mother insisting on having a different wedding date from what the humans proposed was done on purpose just to inconvenience them. Very typical of her.


    She leaned against the back of the chair, in a way that would have earned her a scolding for being inelegant back at home. "Go on then, I''m listening."


    "First point," he raised a finger, "the honeymoon."


    She blinked a few times, confused. "The what now?"


    "In the last few decades, it''s become somewhat of a tradition for the newly-weds to go on a vacation trip together immediately following the wedding, but, due to the timing concerns I was just talking about, that won''t be possible. We have a trip scheduled for the middle of winter, at the turn of the new year, to make up for it. We''ll go and visit some distant relatives that weren''t able to participate to the ceremony."


    What did any of that have to do with honey and moons, though? She wanted to ask, but failed to muster the energy to do it.


    "Second point," he raised a second finger, "housekeeping. For the time being, we won''t be able to get any hired help, so the two of us are going to be on our own, and our home will be our responsibility. We''ll have to figure out a fair way to split the labour. For example, I may be wrong in doing so, but I assume that you probably don''t know how to cook, right?"


    She avoided his gaze. "No, I don''t."


    He nodded. "That''s fine, I expected that. Considering the size of your family''s castle and how much servitude you seemed to have, I imagined you''d always find all meals ready. No matter though, it happens that I''m a passable cook myself, so I''ll be able to have that covered and, if you want, to teach you. When we''ll have the full conversation later, we''ll discuss all other aspects of housekeeping as well."


    Beforehand, she had given no thought to stuff like that, but him mentioning it made her realise that those were real concerns in the absence of a whole legion of servants to do all of that necessary work. Now she felt like their living space being small could actually come in handy.


    "Finally, and after this I''ll have to go, unfortunately, we''ll have to introduce you to the neighbourhood, have you meet some of the people you''ll be meeting on the regular from now on, and help you find your place around here. As for today, until I come back in a few hours, you''re free to do as you please. In my study, right next to our rooms, you can find my personal library; feel free to browse it to your heart''s content, if reading is something you enjoy. You''ll notice that there''s one more room aside from my study and our bedrooms: it is completely empty and you''ll be able to fill it up however you want. If you feel like it, you can give it a look and start thinking how you intend to use it."


    That wasn''t even a question for her: she''d be setting up her loom and all of her weaving material there. Not being a very powerful fairy and not living with her family anymore were no excuses to neglect spell-crafting altogether.


    "Is there anything you need to ask me before I go?"


    She shook her head.


    "Then, I''m afraid it''s time for me to go. If you need anything or have any trouble at all, go knock on the door right in front of us: my aunt lives there and she''ll be glad to help. In fact, feel free to go and have a conversation with her, I''m sure she''d be happy to get some company."


    As he got up and gathered a few things, including the booklet he had been reading before she came and a briefcase she hadn''t noticed before, he added, "I expect I''ll be back in time to put something together for lunch, so wait for me."


    After he had left, Clelia went to the kitchen to help herself with some tea. If someone had asked her what she expected from her first day of marriage, she really wouldn''t have been able to respond, because she had no idea of what kind of expectation was realistic to have. And yet, despite her lack of any specific expectation, she couldn''t help but feel¡­ underwhelmed. The conversation she just had with her new husband was a very reasonable one to have, necessary even. She couldn''t think of any reason to not have that kind of conversation with him, and it would have been unreasonable to expect him not to fulfil any other duty he might have had before getting married, so there was no reason to be mad about him leaving her alone.


    And yet, she couldn''t help but feel that that conversation had left her with a bitter taste in her mouth.


    A sudden booming gravely voice coming from behind startled her out of her musings. "Can you believe it, Calpurnia? A young wife who can''t cook. What is the world coming to? Why, I swear in the good old days¡­"


    She quickly turned towards the source of the voice and saw that the figures in the shrine had started talking between them.


    "In the good old days what, you big oaf?" Responded the woman figure in the low relief, fiercely placing her hands on her hips, "I''ve been hearing you yammer on about the good old days since the day that I met you, when were these good old days, exactly?"


    The man figure waved his hands around with agitation. "You know what I mean, woman, back when¡­"


    "Don''t you ''woman'' me, you old sponge." She admonished with her finger.


    Beneath them, the snake engraving shook its head and sighed, "Oh man, here they go again¡­"


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    "Um, hello?" Clelia waved, hesitantly.


    "Hello what? Is this how you brats these days are taught to address the Lares of the house? What will the world come to, I swear¡­"


    "Lares, Lares¡­ Ah!" Clelia snapped her fingers in realisation, "You must be the spirit protectors of the hearth, right? I did hear that humans had those, but never actually met any before."


    "What do you mean ''humans''," croaked the man figure, "are you trying to tell me you''re not human?"


    "Yes, that''s correct. I''m a fairy." She confirmed, adjusting her glasses.


    "Fairy or no fairy," intervened the woman figure, "it''s very rude to just waltz in a new home, as a newly-wed wife, without giving an offering to the local Lar of the Crossroad. I heard from Priscilla and she said you didn''t stop to give her an offering. What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?"


    "See what I mean, Calpurnia?" The man started again, "These young generations¡­"


    Calpurnia interrupted him. "You shut up."


    "I didn''t know that an offering was required," Clelia tried to explain, "I never heard of anything like that back home. In fact, if anything, passing travellers sometimes left offerings on the crossroads to us, hoping that we wouldn''t curse their travels or make them lose the way. What kind of offering was I supposed to give?"


    "Well," Calpurnia started, waving harshly one finger while her other hand was still on her hip, "since you married into the Neumann family and come from a family who lives in a castle, you''d have to offer at minimum three cunias, at the shrine of the Lar of the Crossroad."


    Clelia scratched her head, confused. "Three¡­ what now?"


    "Are you serious?" Laughed the little man figure.


    "Cunias!" Calpurnia threw her hands in the air, "Three golden coins! Money! Do you not know what those are?"


    Clelia backed up a couple of steps because of their aggressive reaction. "Coins? You mean those little round metallic things that humans are obsessed with? I''ve only ever saw one of those displayed as a curiosity at another fairy''s castle."


    That stopped the little man''s hearty laughter. "What, do fairies not have money?"


    "Why would we? I mean, what do you even do with money?"


    "Well, you trade it for food, drinks, housing, ice cream, pretty much everything," the man continued, "do you fairies not exchange things for other things?"


    Clelia shrugged. "We mostly trade favours. Boons in exchange for service and assistance, curses in exchange for violations and offences."


    "Anyway," interrupted Calpurnia, "I suppose that, if you didn''t even know what money was, you wouldn''t have any with you, right?"


    "Right." Clelia confirmed.


    "That''s a problem," sighed the little woman, "because the Lar of the Crossroad wants an offering and it''s not going to be pretty if they don''t get it."


    Clelia didn''t ask what would happen if she didn''t provide the required offering: she had dealt with spirits and faerie all her life, so she knew better than to disobey the customs on how to treat them. "So, how do I procure some of this money thing?"


    The neighbourhood was small. Even including the factory, the school, and the hall, it was smaller than the terrain over which Clelia''s mother''s castle stood. There were a few dozen houses, most of which identical to her new home. A white cloud of smoke came out of the factory''s tall chimneys. Clelia walked on the stone paving of the central street cutting it in half, which led to the hall where the day prior they had the reception party and, close by, the school where the children of the workers got their education.


    She thought she heard a strange noise, but before she was able to focus on it, a nasal voice came from the little purse she was carrying with her. "Hahah! Yes, fear us you puny mortals! I can see you cowering from us even from here!"


    "Be quiet, please." Clelia whispered to the snake hidden in it.


    The Lares had instructed their snake thingy, named Horatius apparently, to accompany Clelia, both to keep an eye on her and to aid her in her quest. She wasn''t too happy about the idea of having to go to her in-laws and ask them for some money, but, like the Lares pointed out, since she didn''t have any, it was only right for them to provide it, since they accepted her in their family.


    In any case, it was true that people around the neighbourhood, mostly women and children, seemed to still be wary of her, to the point that some got back in their home when they saw her walking around. She even saw one elderly lady doing some weird gestures with her hand, moving it quickly and repeatedly from her heart up to her forehead, then back down to her stomach, while muttering something to herself.


    Trying to dissimulate the fact that she was talking to someone, she cautiously asked, "Horatius, what is that lady doing?"


    The little snake in her purse responded, "That is a gesture that puny mortals use to summon upon them the favours of the Lord of Light, asking Him to protect them from evil."


    Clelia snickered. "So, she''s asking to be protected from me?"


    A tiny scaly head emerged from the purse, just enough to look back at her with its round eyes. "Do you find it humorous, little fairy, that measly insignificant humans find magical creatures, like you, and powerful majestic spirits, such as I, to be terror-inducing?"


    "A little, yes." She confirmed. "I wonder if I can have some fun with that, in the future."


    "As you should," Horatius nodded in approval with its tiny head, "humans are an endless source of amusement, what with their ridiculous fears and worries."


    Clelia heard that strange rustling noise again, but it stopped as soon as she tried to turn around to investigate. Unaware, Horatius continued with his spiel. "Exalted beings, the likes of us, have no need for such things, and it is only natural to derive¡­ hey watch out!"


    Clelia stopped barely in time to avoid bumping into a pudgy middle-aged woman, distracted as she was by the conversation.


    "Oh, I''m sorry, I''ll move out of the way," the woman said.


    "Yeah, you''d better, you trifling hum¡­" hissed Horatius, before Clelia''s hand shoved him down into the purse.


    "Don''t apologise, I was distracted," responded Clelia with a practised smile.


    The woman, who wore a simple black and red dress and a white bonnet, responded in kind. "You must be the fairy everyone is talking about, right? The new Madame Neumann."


    It was then that Clelia noticed the woman''s accent, which sounded heavily Oitanic.


    "Are you taking a walk to familiarise yourself with the village? I can be your guide, if you want to."


    Clelia raised her hands to stop her. "That won''t be necessary, I''m just headed for the master''s house, to my in-laws, as I need to talk to them."


    "I''ve seen that you''re carrying with you the serpent from your home''s Lararia, which, I must say, is a little unusual for a visit to your in-laws." The woman noted.


    Horatius'' head burst out of the purse once more. "That''s right, mortal, bow down before my might!"


    The woman smiled and gently patted the snake on the head. "How lovely, I''m sure you''d be good friends with my own Lararia''s guardian serpent."


    At first, Horatius seemed to enjoy the pats, but then he hissed again, "I require not such frivolities, I command your respect and fear!"


    Ignoring his protests, the woman bowed slightly her head to Clelia. "I am Madame Guillardine, I live in the house right next to yours."


    Clelia straightened her back, the way she had been taught. "My pleasure, I''m Clelia of the Arania gens¡­ well, I''m Clelia Neumann now, I suppose. I''m not used to thinking that, in human custom, it''s the woman to become part of the man''s family, it''s a little counter-intuitive."


    For a brief moment, Madame Guillardine''s jaw dropped when Clelia mentioned the name of her gens, but then smiled and bowed again. "You come from quite an impressive name. I should have guessed from the cobweb motifs on your hat, after all, but I just didn''t think I''d ever see one of your gens being married to a human."


    Clelia fiddled with the temple of her glasses, looking away. "I thank you for your kindness, but I really think I should be on my way. I still have business to attend to."


    The woman performed a curtsy. "Of course, of course. It was a pleasure to meet you, Clelia. And don''t forget: if you need anything, I''ll be right next door."


    As Madame Guillardine walked away, Horatius whispered, "How odd."


    Clelia readjusted her hat and glasses. "What''s odd?"


    "Humans aren''t often familiar with faerie families."


    "It is my understanding that my mother is quite notorious even among humans, so I don''t see how that''s odd."


    The snake spoke with an uncharacteristic serious tone. "Individual fairies, if powerful enough, can become notorious, I''m not denying that, but family names and how they relate to decorations on your clothing are way beyond what can be expected from foolish mortals to care about. Also, human women tend to cower in fear when they see a serpent, while she, on the other hand, patronised me!"


    "Ah, so that''s the real problem." Clelia shoved him back down into the purse. "You''re just mad she didn''t show any reverence toward you. Now stay quiet: if it''s true that human women are frightened by snakes, you should try not to be seen too much. After all, people around here already seem to be frightened enough of me as is, I don''t need to give them another reason."


    He didn''t respond, but she could hear him grumble from inside his hiding place.


    As she was getting past the main square of the neighbourhood, where the hall, the school, and even a small church could be found, Clelia stopped a moment to take notice of the shrine for the Lar of the Crossroad: it was bigger than the one in her new home''s dining room, and, instead of being in low relief, every figure was fully sculpted. On one side, she could see a small opening, presumably where she would have to place her offering once she had it.


    Before continuing in the direction of her in-law''s house, Clelia heard that strange noise again, this time a little more clearly. Now she was almost positive it was the sound of tiny feet rapidly tapping on the ground. She discreetly summoned her wand from a loose thread in her dress, trying to remember if she had some kind of inhibiting spell somewhere in her luggage back home, but she was pretty sure that she did bring with her some basic stuff like that.


    Instead of proceeding toward her destination, she headed in the direction of a small, quiet alley.


    From her purse, she heard Horatius'' nasal voice again. "Hey, where are you going? Your in-laws'' house is¡­"


    "Quiet." She interrupted him.


    As soon as she heard the teeny steps following her, she rapidly turned around and pointed her wand at whatever was causing the sound.


    "Stop where you are!" She commanded.


    That''s when she finally saw them. Three minuscule humanoid figures, with small pointy hats, wrinkly skin, and long noses, fell on top of each other in order to try and obey her order. Those were lutin, no doubt about that, probably the ones that had caused a bit of a commotion during her reception the day prior.


    "Why are you following me? Explain yourselves." Clelia demanded, still pointing her wand at them.


    The three of them started whining in unison, all in the low faerie dialect, so she was unable to distinguish what any of them was saying.


    "One at a time," she interrupted them. She pointed at one of them, "You start."


    The one she pointed to started grovelling. "Pardonexcuse us, your ladyships, we din''t wants us to bothersturb you. Mines names is Mart¨¬n, him''ses is Bep¨¬n, and her''ses is Piera."


    "Why were you following me?"


    The second one, who was still standing, hid his hands behind his back and his feet started fidgeting around. "We just learnered out that a fairy ladyships wus in the vicinhoods. We din''t knows the partyfeast in yestertime wus of ladyshipses."


    The third one, whom Clelia noticed was wearing a dress, spoke with a croaky feminine voice, joining her hands in a begging gesture. "We wantsered to comes and apoloxcuse for our prankstery of yestertimes, but we wus afrightnenered of approachering your ladyships."


    Horatius peeped out of Clelia''s purse and whispered, "Do you understand a word of what they''re saying?"


    Clelia nodded. "I understand their dialect a little, though I wouldn''t be able to speak it myself."


    She then addressed the three sprites, trying her best to fake a harsh scowl. "Listen closely. Yesterday I offered you some milk as a sign of peace. However, I cannot lie, I am crossed at you for trying to ruin my feast, in the very day of my wedding no less."


    The three creatures gasped and whimpered. Clelia proceeded. "But I am new here and you clearly didn''t know, therefore I intend to be magnanimous."


    The lutin raised their heads to meet her gaze, with a hopeful smile. "So," she continued, "in exchange for my forgiveness, I want you to accept a bargain. You''ll be my help around my new house, and I''ll be your protector, if you don''t already have one."


    The three tiny figures jumped and hollered joyfully. The one who presented himself as Mart¨¬n responded enthusiastically, "Oh, we acceptsagree your bargainpact with joyppiness. Canses we gives our handssistance someways even at presentnow?"


    The young fairy smirked. "There might be something."

 His Book

    In the classic epic poem The Frenzy of Renald, the alluring Seraphine is sought after by many of its characters, including the titular Renald, who was supposed to be a faithful knight, led astray by this unfortunate infatuation. As Damian put his cini book into his briefcase, after the lecturer was done presenting the programs and schedules for the coming academic year, for some reason he found himself unable to think of anything but the image of the valiant knight falling to temptation and leaving the rightful path to pursue his misplaced love.


    For a prolonged moment, he hesitated closing down his briefcase. The rest of the students in the room, mostly composed of three chatty groups of girls, plus two more solitary and book-wormy guys, left the room in no hurry, but Damian struggled to follow them. He clenched his fist, then finally left the small lecture hall in the local public library, deliberately not looking at the words "Faculty of Alchemy program" spelled in big, tempting letters on the chalkboard. As he walked out of the library, he felt as if, no matter how deep he breathed, no air actually reached his lungs. Was he sick? Did he eat something bad the day prior? He glanced at the clock tower, emerging over the low roofs in the area. Too early. Too early to go back home. In the past hour or so, he hadn''t so much as given a passing thought to what was waiting back home, but now that prospect somehow added even more weigh to the tightness in his chest and throat.


    His feet moved mechanically, crossing the village and carrying him all the way to the edge of the fields that lay outside. Only then, when the only witnesses were the stone brick wall he was leaning against and a few cows, peacefully ruminating on the other side of a wooden fence, he loosened his grip over his briefcase and sat down. He showed no concern over where or how the case fell, nor what kind of surface was he about to sit on.


    What was he doing? Everything was going according to plan, and yet he couldn''t help but feel like some dark and ravenous chasm in his chest was slowly but surely swallowing his heart whole, suffocating it in the process.


    He sat there silently for a time, unable to tell whether it was a long or a short time, listening to the sound of his own breath, trying not to think about stuff.


    Damian opened his eyes, having forgotten ever closing them in the first place. Some kind of distorted ring, like a distant bell sound filtered through water to the point of resembling a loud and grotesque meow, had awakened him. No constellations were visible in the sky, only a pervading bright purple hue that, somehow, bathed the landscape in an eerie shade of red, turning the cows in the field into indistinct black stains in the field in front of him.


    "What''s the matter?" Boomed a gruff voice. "Are you lost, little one?"


    Damian jumped on his feet, unable to locate the source of that voice. "Who¡­ who are you?"


    Something similar to a laugh filled the air. "You could call me a friend, I suppose, since our purposes align."


    What did that voice mean? In what way did their purposes align? Damian didn''t want to ask those questions aloud, but his mind couldn''t help racing to try and find some kind of answer. Only one came to mind: this whole thing smelled of faerie shenanigans. Logically speaking, there shouldn''t be any other possible option. After all, was he supposed to believe that this was happening, just by chance, right after he married a fairy? There had to be some connection between his marriage and whatever the fresh hell was happening around him. Was his wife playing a trick on him? Maybe her innocent kid look was nothing but a facade, something he definitely didn''t struggle to imagine. Or, maybe, some other magical creature noticed his new wife''s presence in the area and got curious. Either way, he couldn''t tell without engaging further in the conversation.


    "My purpose belongs to me," Damian answered eventually, "and I don''t intend to call you friend unless you prove yourself to be one."


    The low echo that felt like a voice responded, "Hmm, collaborators, then, might be more to your taste? I don''t care much for these subtleties, I just wish for us to work together."


    Damian shook off some dust from his pants, trying to project a level of calm he definitely didn''t have. "I have everything perfectly sorted out, thanks. I don''t need a collaborator. Besides, how would you even know what are my intentions?"


    Like a lazy wave in an otherwise perfectly still pond, a gentle wind carried the voice''s response through the field. "I have many pairs of eyes, and ears, and nostrils, you see. I''d reckon I know more about you than Mr Leandro Neumann himself, your eminent father, does. In any case, this conversation is starting to veer into boring territory, so, instead of dancing around the issue, I''ll cut to the chase."


    With a quick wave of his hand, Damian gestured at the voice to proceed. "By all means, please do."


    "I have seen the boring diagrams of the stars you drew over the course of the last couple of years, and all the little experiments you carried out in the tiny room you call a study as well. Human magic is so¡­ predictable, easy to read and understand," the voice chuckled.


    Damian clenched his fists again, starting to impatiently tap his foot on the dusty ground. "What of it?"


    The voice''s use of the word "human" very obviously implied that he was right to suspect some kind of faerie shenanigans. It had been clear to him for a little while now that his interlocutor really did know what he intended to do, but he felt like he couldn''t give up and just admit to that; doing that, he reasoned, might put him in a weaker position in that discussion.


    He met a pair of scowling yellow eyes that snapped him out of his musings. In the field in front of him, one of the dark blots he had thought were still cows wasn''t, in fact, a cow, but a massive black cat, silently pacing towards him.


    Damian froze. There was no overselling how huge that cat was. Now that it was slowly emerging from the field, it became clearer and clearer that it might have been twice, maybe even three times or more, as big as a cow. Its head alone was as big as the boy''s entire torso. And, despite its size, its movements made absolutely not even the slightest hint of a noise.


    As the voice spoke again, even though the cat''s mouth gave no indication of moving along with it, Damian understood it as being the cat''s very own voice. "It means, little one, that your standoffish attitude is doing you no favours, as I know perfectly well what you intend to do. And, as I was trying to tell you from the start, I have every intention of helping you achieve it."


    The cat allowed its body to flop down on the ground, causing it to assume a relaxed position, and then started to lick its own paw with disinterested abandon. "Tell me, little one, how do you feel about spiders?"


    Damian furrowed his brows, bewildered both by the surprisingly ungraceful and unthreatening attitude the cat had just taken, as well as its sudden interest over arachnids. "Spiders? What about spiders?"


    The cat rubbed across its ears and face the paw it had been licking, with a profoundly satisfied expression, then started licking it again. "I don''t mind spiders too much, little one, for they are much tinier than even you are and, as such, pose no threat to me. I do, however, find their little webs a bit annoying. And, as I think you might have guessed from the decorations in their castle and on their garments, your wife''s family seems to be obsessed with them. I really don''t want your mother in law''s little spiderwebs all over my home town."


    Suddenly facing Damian to establish eye contact again, the cat continued, "You wish to steal the fairy magic from your wife, don''t you, little one?"


    Again, Damian didn''t feel comfortable up and admitting it to the cat''s face, but he did realise that his silence was probably as drenched with meaning as any verbal response he could conceive.


    "I, for one," continued the cat, luxuriously going back to cleaning itself, "fully support your goal. I don''t even care too much about why you want to do it, nor what you intend to do once you have it, I''m just rather happy with the very notion of you succeeding."


    The periodic and languid rasping of the cat''s tongue on its fur became the only audible sound. Once it was clear that the creature was perfectly content with the new silence, Damian started nervously tapping his foot on the ground again. He opened his mouth to try and respond a few times, but each time he found that he wasn''t satisfied with his answer, or worried over what that beast might do if it didn''t like what he had to say.


    Eventually, Damian cleared his throat. "Is¡­ is this all you had to say to me?"


    "Not quite." The huge golden eyes met Damian''s gaze once more. "Otherwise, I wouldn''t be here still. Only, what I intend to say next changes depending on what you tell me now."


    "What am I even supposed to say now?"


    The cat yawned. "What do you think of having an ally in your quest? Do you intend to accept the help I''m offering you?"


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Damian''s throat felt drier than the terrain he was standing over. He knew what he really wanted to say, but he was afraid of that creature''s possible retaliation.


    For a third time, he clenched his fists, really hard this time, almost to the point of hurting. He couldn''t keep cowering in fear, that wasn''t becoming of the kind of man he needed to be.


    "What¡­" he croaked, then cleared his throat again, "what happens if I refuse?"


    Echoes usually happen after a noise is made, but Damian felt as if he was hearing the echoes of some sound that was only about to happen. Finally, he heard it: the distorted bell ring that had awakened him into the encounter with the cat, the one that almost sounded like a grotesque meow.


    The cat chuckled. "There are many cats that walk around the neighbourhood. If you ever change your mind, find one with an M on its forehead, then say my name."


    A powerful gale suddenly hit Damian. "What name?" Shouted him, trying to make his voice audible over the howling wind.


    The last thing he heard, before opening his eyes, was the gruff voice whispering the answer in his ears.


    Damian opened his eyes, having forgotten ever closing them in the first place. The sky was blue again, and the lines of the constellations were faintly visible through the daylight once more. The cows were just cows, and there were no cats to be seen, enormous or otherwise. He sighed deeply.


    The bell tower chimed midday. The boy grabbed the briefcase he had left besides him, sprang on his feet and started to leg it. He had promised to be home to fix some lunch and, if he wanted to succeed in his goal, he needed to gain his wife''s trust, which he would never achieve if he started going back on his words during the very first day of their married life.


    On his way back, he navigated the back streets and alleys of the village with the expertise of someone who had been seeking refuge in them for years. All the while, despite the fact that on that very same day he had finally officially started his Alchemy studies, like he had always wished, school was the last of his thoughts.


    That demonic cat he had just met caused every hair on the back of his neck to stand. Despite the fact that it had shown no hostility toward him and even offered its help, the very idea of that creature profoundly unnerved Damian.


    He had been involved in the planning for his wedding for months before it even happened and he had managed to stay very focused and calm all throughout that process. He was quite sure that no one knew what his true intention had been from the start, not even his own father. But, no matter how well thought out it might be, a plan is nothing but abstract thought, as substantial as a daydream, until it''s time to follow through. Since when that time had come and his plan had started to feel real, the stiffness in Damian''s muscles and joints had been building up faster and faster. That whole speech the fairy he married gave him about the glasses he gifted her with had spread that stiffness right down to his stomach. Her looking like any regular kid his age, somehow, just made everything that much harder. And, to top it all off, the idea of that dreadful cat offering help in his pursuit only made the prospect even more questionable.


    He stopped for a moment, slightly nauseous. He slapped his own cheek, strong enough to leave a prickly feeling on his own skin. That wasn''t right, he wasn''t supposed to think that way. He had been pursuing an objective for a long time, and stealing magic from a fairy was only one step in that pursuit. He couldn''t let his feelings get the better of him. Nobody could achieve their dreams without some form of sacrifice. He needed to carry on, no matter what. He was a Neumann, someday he was expected to contribute to the family business, and conducting business, like his father always told him, required ruthlessness. He needed to not allow those feelings to stop him, or even to slow him down. He was a child no longer, he needed to think like a man.


    When he was finally about to reach his home, the head of the widow next door emerged from a window of her house.


    "Good morning, Damian, how was your first day of the new school?"


    He had to fight through the stiffness in his body to put on a polite smile. "Good morning, Madame Guillardine. It hardly counts as a first day, we only discussed matters such as scheduling and the use of the cini system to attend classes. We will be required to attend in person on university premises only a few times a month, at all other times we''ll be able to attend from remote."


    The woman nodded. "Ah, the opportunities created by modern technology. More importantly, however, this isn''t just your first day in a new school, it''s also your first day as a husband. I met your wife a couple of hours back, you know? She seems like a sweet girl, do treat her well."


    Damian felt the need to swallow, but the dryness in the back of his throat made the process laborious. "I sure will. Speaking of which, I need to go: I promised her I''d be back in time to fix some lunch."


    She smiled widely. "Have a great day, then."


    "Likewise," he croaked.


    When he had left the house, it was quiet and somewhat dusty, since he hadn''t had the time to clean it at all in the days leading up to the wedding and since he had nobody to help him with it. When he opened the door, he found it almost spotless, but he could hear several high pitched voices yelling and hollering. A tiny figure scurried down the stairs carrying a comically large pile of Damian''s dirty clothes, all the while shouting in some language he didn''t understand, and then buggered off towards the lavatory, without giving him the time of day. Another tiny figure with a pointy hat scampered through the entrance from the kitchen, presumably headed for the living room, but stopped dead in its tracks when it spotted Damian.


    "Madamina Clelia, chi ch''a l''¨¨ chiel s¨¬?" The figure yelped, holding an oversized feather duster in its hands.


    Clelia came down the stairs, with a smile. "Don''t worry, Bep¨¬n, he''s my husband. Go on, keep doing what you were doing."


    The small creature gave her a military salute, then darted away.


    "Uh," started him, unable to immediately put his thoughts into words, "wha¡­ what exactly is going on?"


    As she reached the ground floor, she proudly adjusted her glasses. "While going out today, I met the lutin that targeted our wedding yesterday and made a deal with them. Long story short, we now have some help around the house."


    Before Damian could respond, he heard some sizzling coming from the kitchen. He glanced in that direction to find a third small figure enthusiastically frying something with a pan it should logically not be able to lift, while loudly singing off-tune in whatever language those creatures spoke.


    He turned to face Clelia, then once more to the kitchen, then finally to Clelia again. "Huh. So, you solved the housekeeping problem while I was away?"


    "Not only that," she specified, "I also did the offering to the Lar of the Crossroad. Your domestic Lares gave me an earful for not doing that to begin with."


    "Wait, did the Lares speak to you?"


    She tilted her head. "Is that strange? Don''t they usually speak to you?"


    "No, only during certain specific holidays the Lares communicate with us."


    Damian was about to ask where she had taken the money to offer from, but he decided to check something first. He opened a small drawer from the bureau next to the entrance. It was empty. He shrugged. Probably the three lutin had found the money while cleaning and gave it to Clelia for the offering. He had set the money apart for that purpose after all, he had just forgotten about telling her before leaving.


    She bounced slightly on her feet and beamed. "So, how did you morning go? Are we gonna discuss some of the stuff you told me earlier?"


    Before Damian could respond, one of the lutin passed in between them, holding a broomstick just above the brush, sweeping so fast that the handle of the broom didn''t look more than a blur.


    He sighed. "It was a bit tiring, actually. If it''s alright with you, I''ll take some rest and eat lunch a little later. You don''t have to wait for me."


    Clelia''s smile faded a bit. "Ah, that''s fine. Rest well, then."


    His jaw stiffened. "See you later."


    The door to Damian''s study closed with a decisive clack, and the boy let his whole body weigh slide down from the wall all the way to the ground.


    The fairy he married was nothing like he imagined. He thought she''d be aloof, defiant, with an air of unreachable power. He thought deceiving her would be hard, dangerous, that it would require time and every ounce of carefulness he could possibly muster. He thought he would best her, the same way the heroes from folk tales managed to outsmart their faerie antagonists. Or, at worst, he thought that he''d have to face a painful end if he were to fail.


    He gathered his arms and legs together, hiding his face in between them.


    His plan would come to fruition a lot easier than he thought. She was naive and trustful, deceiving her wouldn''t pose nearly as much of a challenge as he thought.


    Damian got back up. He dragged his feet towards his desk, wobbling next to the library. He stopped before reaching his destination. He hit the library with a single punch, not strong enough to seriously hurt, just hard enough to shake off the numb rigidity that had been taking hold of his body throughout the entire day.


    The fairy he married was nothing like he imagined. He thought she''d be snobbish, haughty, that she''d look down upon him and all other humans. He thought she''d be cold, impersonal. He thought she''d only ever smile out of cruelty.


    He looked at the library, where he had hit it. Underneath his fist, he found his copy of The Frenzy of Renald. He took it out of the shelf and looked upon its cover. One small symbol on it had always caught his attention: it was a snake coiled around a cross-shaped staff, almost as if crucified to it. Only by getting interested in Alchemy he had come to understand the meaning of that symbol, or, better yet, the meanings, for most alchemical symbols held several layers of meaning. The one he cared for the most referred to an important step in Alchemy: fixing the volatile. It meant letting go of all distractions and focusing on just one purpose.


    He let the hand holding the book tiredly slide down to the side of his body. One of the main motifs of the literary classic was the constant pattern of its many characters just barely failing to reach the one goal they''d set out to achieve to the detriment of everything else. That very same day, during the lecturer''s presentation, he had thought of Alchemy, supposedly the one purpose he had always wanted to focus on, as Seraphine, the alluring woman leading the faithful hero down the path of corruption. What if Alchemy really was his doomed quest? What if he really was destined to fail again and again in its pursuit, always seeing it barely out of reach? It''s not like any of that was new to him.


    He raised the book to look at the cover again. He closed his eyes and sighed once more. This time, however, with defiance instead of resignation. He put the book on the shelf where it belonged, but with its back facing toward the wall, so that it wouldn''t show the title.


    He needed to go forward. What kind of man would he be if he just quit at the first sign of adversity? Fairies were well known to be deceitful beings, and he had only known her for a very short time. He couldn''t ignore the possibility that her seeming innocence was nothing but a front. After all, if her family accepted to marry her off to a human, there had to be some kind of ulterior motive there, right? He needed to observe her, make sure of her intentions.


    He needed to stick to the plan. Nobody could achieve their dreams without some form of sacrifice. He needed to carry on, no matter what.

 Her Spells

    The weave was fresh out of the loom and Clelia was already about to use it. She had spent the whole afternoon working on the cloth she held in her hands. All that work, she thought, for such a simple spell. No wonder she was the black sheep of the family: any of her sisters and cousins would have been able to do much better in much less time. No matter, though, she was now on her own and there were no other fairies around to be compared to.


    She carefully placed the weave inside of a wooden frame she had hung to the wall for that purpose. She summoned her wand, then she pulled a small portion of a thread from the weave she just had completed, and finally she embedded the thread inside the wand with a simple "push". After making sure there was no sound coming from outside, she sneaked out of the room her husband had dedicated to her, right next to his study.


    She shuffled her feet through the corridor, making sure not to hit any obstacles on her way. Despite the fact that the environment was completely new to her, she moved in the darkness with ease. She even avoided one squeaky step on the staircase while on her way down.


    As she raised her hand to grab on the door handle, a familiar voice hissed, "Where are you going so late at night?"


    "Horatius!" gasped she, "What are you doing here?"


    "It is my task to watch over you, so that''s what I intend to do. Be grateful for the honour of having such a majestic guardian! Still, you haven''t answered my question yet."


    Massaging the back of her neck, Clelia whispered back, "It''s an old habit of mine: I like to wander around at night."


    "It is dangerous for a young girl like you to go gallivanting all about the place all alone, you know? You could meet all sorts of dangers, especially at night."


    Impassive, she pressed on. "Like?"


    "Like thieves, and all other sorts of wrongdoers and ne''er-do-wells."


    "Please," she dismissed him, "I''m a fairy. I have my wand and my magic, I doubt any human could pose a serious threat to me. If you''re so worried, why don''t you come with me? I enjoyed your presence earlier."


    I have just the right spell ready, she thought, in case there''s any danger, fresh from the loom too. It took her a while to prepare a spell, longer than it probably should, but, once it was ready, casting it was just a matter of waving her wand while spouting some intimidating jibber-jabber, and that''s something even a weakling like her could easily pull off.


    Grumbling to himself, Horatius slithered towards her. "Fine, your magnificent guardian accepts to come with you. Do you still have that comfy palanquin you carried me around in earlier? It was quite the regal ride."


    She softly chuckled. "I''m sorry, no palanquin this time. You can wrap yourself around my neck and shoulders, if you promise not to choke me."


    Despite the late hour, the light from the stars in the sky, together with the pale lines connecting them together in an elegant celestial tapestry of constellations, made it easier than expected to meander through the village. Clelia''s new glasses helped more than she imagined too.


    Horatius had been quiet for most of the time of their aimless stroll, which Clelia was grateful for. Not that she didn''t enjoy the conversation with him, but she had an ulterior motive, aside from just old habits, to be wandering around at night, and chit-chatting would distract her from it. For that night, her most important objective was to familiarise with the layout of the village, including the smaller alleys and lanes.


    When the clock tower stroke the first hour past midnight, Clelia decided it was time to finally call it a night. She was in no hurry, after all: she didn''t imagine that her plan to run away would come to fruition before she had a few weeks to get fully accustomed to her surroundings.


    A quiet crash caught her attention while she was on the verge of reaching the entrance to her new house.


    "Did you hear that?" she whispered.


    The little snake nodded. "It came from the back. You don''t worry about it, I''ll go and take a look myself."


    Horatius uncoiled from around her neck and shoulders and slithered inside the grass of the small garden.


    She entered the house while summoning her wand. It''s not like the space inside was huge, so, even if she didn''t go out of her way to find a potential intruder, if an intruder was even there to begin with, she was likely to meet them. Under the cover of darkness, she smirked mischievously. If some creature of the night really did break in, perhaps she could have a little fun at their expenses.


    Silence. People tended to associate it with quiet, and most of the time it would be considered soothing. However, when suspecting the presence of malicious or threatening actors, like a predator, or wicked faerie, like dark dwarves, and gremlins, and ghosts, silence could be scary.


    Darkness. Most people tended to avoid darkness, many even feared it. Clelia understood why that would be the case, as it shut off most people''s primary sense, that of sight. She, however, could never be reliant on it, because of her poor eyesight, so she had always been strangely comfortable in the shadows.


    The unmistakeable creak of rusty hinges opening broke the silence. With the lightness of a prowling owl, Clelia traversed the dining room and approached the pantry, where the sound had come from. She stopped just short of entering the kitchen, listening to what was happening from a closer position. A subdued rustling, sometimes interrupted by louder but still tiny noises, like the clink of a glass jar or the shuffling of some small wooden container, came from inside.


    The fairy didn''t have many spells ready to use, but she figured that two of them would be enough. The first one would probably give a good fright to the burglar anyway, possibly leading them to run away with no further conflict, but even in a worst case scenario she still had the second one, the one she had finished weaving right before leaving the house. But, seeing the kind of effect she had on the lutin, she fully expected whatever sprite had made the poor choice of breaking into her house to not put up any serious fight.


    Clelia stepped into the kitchen, taking slow and deep breaths to wipe the giddy smile of anticipation from her face.


    "Halt!" she ordered, right as her spell activated with a flash, causing a powerful light to shine from behind her.


    "Who dares to break into my home?" she continued, trying to ape the authoritative voice she knew her sisters would have used in that same circumstance.


    The intruder froze, shielding their eyes from the sudden light with a hand. Clelia hesitated for a moment, since the intruder was larger than she expected. It appeared to be a human girl, roughly the same age as her, dressed in overalls, with messy short brown hair and dirt smeared on her face and hands.


    A glass jar hit Clelia on the forehead with astounding precision, and the girl who had thrown it escaped before the fairy''s hat, knocked over by the whole ordeal, had time to hit the ground. A blinding pulsating pain caused Clelia to stumble backwards and hit the door frame with her back, almost making her lose balance, but she managed to stay on her feet by leaning against the wall with her shoulder. Raising her left hand to massage the sore spot on her forehead, she accidentally touched a crack in the lens of her glasses. Her breath, already broken by groans of pain, became even more laboured as she clenched her fist around her wand and heat rushed through her face.


    She let go on the wand, which merged back into her dress, and, with trembling fingers, she carefully took off her glasses. She couldn''t see the extent of the damage, and not just because of her natural eyesight, mostly because her light spell was already fading away. She gently caressed the lenses with her thumbs: one was intact, the other had several cracks in it.


    "Aha! You intruded upon the wrong dwelling, mortal, for I am¡­ uh, where did the interloper go?" blustered Horatius, slithering into the kitchen.


    Clelia sighed.


    A knock on the door interrupted her line of thought as she dispassionately worked on her loom, but her hands and feet never stopped moving.


    "Clelia?" called Damian''s voice, "Is everything alright? I haven''t seen you come out or eat all day."


    She stayed silent, but shot a glance towards the small plate with still a few crumbs from when one of the lutin, she didn''t bother to remember which, brought her some food, around the time the clock tower struck midday. That, unfortunately, caused her eyes to wander onto a pile of ripped silky rags. She sighed and, controlling her breath, tried to go back to a state of complete focus.


    The knocking on the door became more insistent. "Clelia? We need to leave soon. Remember? I told you yesterday at dinner and then tried to remind you all day. Is something wrong?"


    She finally stopped the loom. "I''m fine, I just¡­ wanted to catch up on some work I''ve been skipping during the preparations for the wedding. Can''t you¡­ tell them I''m sick?"


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    The very idea of admitting to her human husband that she had been assaulted by another human made her shoulders cramp up. To cover up the event, she had to use up on the broken window the only repairing spell she had (thankfully, the jar that hit her on the head didn''t break), meaning she had been unable to repair the glasses he had gifted her. The ever growing pile of failed attempts to make a new repairing spell only solidified her unwillingness to exit the room and speak to him. And the pile of failures wasn''t the only thing that didn''t show any intention to stop growing: the red and purple bump above her left eye was something she was currently unable to address.


    "Come on, Clelia. I know she didn''t exactly leave a¡­ great impression on you, but aunt Lucia''s pre-dinner sundowners are important because all sorts of business partners show up to them, and it will be weird if I make an appearance without my newly-wed wife right after our wedding. You''re weaving something, right? You can take a pause, your work will be there waiting for you when we come back."


    Without moving from her seat, she grabbed and squeezed the hem of her skirt. What to do? She knew that, for Damian and his family, that whole marriage thing had been done for business, so business-related events weren''t something she could afford to take lightly. Keeping up appearances, at least until she had worked out a plan to run away, was paramount. But, on the other hand, going with him created a bunch of issues too. For one, the bump on her forehead was not an easy thing to hide. More importantly, she wasn''t sure what Damian''s reaction would be if she showed up without her glasses, his wedding present to her, or, even worse, if he discovered she had allowed them to break so soon after he gifted them to her. No matter how she looked at it, she couldn''t see a way to save face in that situation.


    "¡­So? Can you come out please?" Damian urged from the other side of the door.


    Frantically scanning the room around her for any solution, she stammered, "Uuuh¡­ give me a minute, please."


    Seeing a dark blur in one corner, Clelia remembered there still was one bag that she had yet to unpack. She sprung on her feet, grabbed it, and opened it with the intention of rifling through it, in the off-chance that she might find something useful.


    Inside, there was a whole mound of pieces of cloth she didn''t recognise. That was supposed to be full to the brim with previous failed attempts at making spells, which she could dismantle and recycle, but what she found instead were well crafted and fully realised spells. The quality of the weave was impressive, it was above average craftsmanship even for the standards of the Arania gens. She took one out and unfolded it on the ground. It was a beautiful piece of weaved geometries with the colours of a peaceful summer night. That definitely was not her work. She took another one, which looked like a tapestry of red skies with black stars and constellations. It took her a few moments to identify them, but eventually she recognised the former as an illusion spell and the latter as some kind of curse, probably one that doomed the unfortunate target to a life of misfortune and failure.


    Conscious of the fact that Damian was waiting for her, she knew she did not have the time to search those spells one by one to see what each of them did, so instead she embedded a tiny thread of both weaves into her wand and immediately used one.


    Even through the nasty Y shaped crack in her left lens, Clelia couldn''t help but be impressed by the magnificent red and pink colours the sky was assuming as the sun approached the distantmountaintops that covered the horizon. The illusion spell she used covered up the crack, as well as the bump on her forehead, for any external observer, but it did nothing from her own perspective. The bump still pulsated with pain too. At least she still was able to clearly see from the right eye, she tried to console herself.


    Walking towards a sizeable farmhouse complex just outside the village, Clelia alternated gawking at the pretty sky above and staring down at her own feet, sometimes glancing at Damian''s fashionable leather boots. A certain tightness in her chest made her a little nauseous as she paced forwards, her right arm linked together with Damian''s left. She wished he would say something, anything, to distract her from the awkward sensation of the inside of her elbow becoming slightly sweaty beneath the sleeve due to her body heat and his meeting and intensifying each other. But he marched on in silence.


    Clelia concealed a sigh by slowly breathing out of her nose. Even though her mind had been occupied by other things in the past two days, she had noticed how different he had been acting after the wedding day was over. Before and during the reception, he had been kind and gallant, if a little detached, which was understandable given the fact that they barely knew each other. But, from the very first conversation they had at breakfast the day prior, she had felt more and more some kind of wall building up between them. The fact that she had been actively avoiding him for the entire day certainly didn''t help, but even before that he had been acting weird. It stung a little.


    The main building of the complex resembled more a mansion than a farmhouse, but a lot lower than the tall walls and towers that she was used to. Several black carriages carried by beautiful horses waited near the entrance while elegant people came out from them. Clelia tried her best not to laugh at the ridiculously tall cylindrical hats that some of the men wore. The men, she noticed, all wore fairly similar dark getups, while no two women had the same outfit. In hindsight, the same could have been said about the guests at their wedding reception, but she hadn''t paid attention back then. How odd. She knew that, unlike in fairy society, males were the dominant sex, so she expected them to have the same variety in expression as female fairies. Instead, they all dressed similar.


    Some servants led them inside, but, before she even got a good look at the interior, they made them exit again in the inner courtyard, where small tables with no chairs around them sat in the shadow of fancy pavilions. On top of the tables lay plates with small snacks and tiny drinks. Everyone seemed to be free to help themselves to whatever they found on those tables.


    "Look closely," Damian finally said to her, "this is the kind of environment where human high society gathers. Making a good impression here can make or break someone''s career."


    Before she could answer, Clelia spotted aunt Lucia, wearing a different dress than she had at the wedding reception, but still in red. The hat, too, was different, but still sported extremely long plumage. The fairy hoped that their host would be too busy to pay a lot of attention to her.


    "Well," she finally responded, "I¡­ uh¡­ I hope I can help you make a good impression, then."


    "Yeah," he dryly acknowledged her. He then shook his head, cleared his throat, and relaxed his gaze somewhat, finally meeting her eyes. "I''m sure you''ll be fine. Just try not to get bored to death: I''m pretty sure that nobody really enjoys these events, they only participate because not doing so may mean getting left behind."


    In the past two days, he had seemed like a completely different person from the handsome young man that had danced with her in her wedding gown, but the rough smile he gave her in that moment reminded her of that kind stranger she had married. It wasn''t quite enough to make her heart skip a beat, but it did make him look a lot cuter.


    Damian''s warning proved to be prophetic. By Clelia''s estimation, only about one word every hundred that was spoken in that place was more than meaningless pleasantries exchanged with hollow politeness. For the most part, she just needed to smile, introduce herself to people whose name''s memory lasted in her mind about as long as the next word they spoke to her, and avoid showing the utter depth of her boredom. The topic of her being a fairy came up quite often, but it never got past the surface level.


    Eventually, she excused herself for a moment with the pretext of getting something to drink and booked it towards the tables. She grabbed a glass of something that smelled like oranges and downed it with no hesitation. When she loudly gasped after finishing her drink, the thought of her tutor, back home, scolding her for her inelegance, caused her to shrink.


    When she left the empty glass on the table, a servant scooped it up and carried it away. That''s when she noticed that a significant number of servants had been deployed for the event, all of them dressed elegantly, but in such a way that they wouldn''t stand out when compared to the guests. Watching them in motion, gathering empty plates and glasses, carrying new ones from the kitchens, cleaning up if some of the guests accidentally dropped something, all of it was way more interesting than the actual event.


    After she ate the last canap¨¦ from one of the plates on the nearest table, a scrawny olive-skinned servant with short brown hair approached her to take the now empty plate. When their eyes met, both of them froze.


    "You!" Clelia scowled.


    The thief from the prior night squeaked, "I, uh¡­ whatever do you need from me, Milady?"


    The fairy didn''t answer immediately. If she was to uphold the teachings of her family, what she had gone through that night was to be considered a major offence, especially coming from a lowly human. Letting such offence go unpunished would tarnish their name and make them look weak in front of all other faerie. Not even thinking about it, she controlled her breath, causing it to become calm and regular. The principle of the "tide". Breathe in, she "pulled". Breathe out, she "pushed". The air visibly trembled around her. The human girl in front of her staggered backwards, as if hit by a modest push, her eyes open wide with fear.


    The wand had appeared in her hand, but she didn''t raise it. If Lausenna the fay, famously powerful fairy, head of a family notorious for their proficiency with terrible curses, and also Clelia''s mother, had been in Clelia''s spot, she would have raised her wand to the heavens, delivered a scalding speech about needing to correct disrespect and putting the one responsible in their place, then she would have cast the nastiest curse she currently had embedded in her wand, nipping any doubt of her weakness before it could even become a bud. Clelia too now had a curse embedded in her wand, and her hand itched with the temptation to use it.


    Before she took any noticeable action, however, she thought of the kind of scene she would be causing by casting a curse on that servant girl. For one, she would have to admit to having been assaulted, which nobody, aside from her and her assaulter, knew about. More importantly, though¡­


    "Clelia, so good to see you here!" A familiar voice singsonged.


    The fairy put on the best smile she could muster in those circumstances. "Aunt Lucia, such a pleasure."


    The towering woman approached the two girls from the side, in such a way that, if she wanted to, she could embrace both with her ashen arms. "My dearest niece-in-law, why ever would you need to entertain yourself with this little monkey here instead of our eminent guests? Is she causing you some trouble?"


    Behind that sickly sweet smile, Clelia perceived a kind of threat not unlike that of her own mother. From how pale her face had become, she could see that the other girl was painfully aware of that threat too.


    Clelia deliberately widened her smile, dismissing her wand while concealing it from Aunt Lucia''s sharp eyes. "On the contrary, I was complimenting her on the celerity of her service. I''m very impressed with the efficiency of your servitude. I''m sure my mother would be as well, and trust me, that''s no small thing."


    The servant girl''s mouth went agape with a silent gasp. She quickly shook her head, as if to recover from being hit on the nose. "Thank you, Milady, I don''t deserve such praise."


    Aunt Lucia gave the little servant a clip behind the ear. "You''re right, you certainly don''t. And don''t speak unless requested to. Go back to the kitchen immediately!"


    The thief girl bowed to both of them, quickly mouthed a "thank you" to Clelia, then scurried off to the kitchen.


    "Dear, sweetie, don''t encourage her," piped Aunt Lucia, "she''s a bit of a problem child and still needs to be properly whipped into shape. More importantly, where is my dearest nephew? I''m sure you came with him."


    While dealing with the imposing woman, Clelia felt somewhat relieved. It was as if a weight she had been carrying around all day had been lifted all of a sudden, the weight of what had happened that previous night. Why, though, would she feel relieved? Her forehead still hurt a little, her glasses were still broken, and the one responsible for it had gotten away with it. Why when she had been on the verge of delivering her punishment the weight had felt even stronger, and why renouncing her revenge made it go away? That went against everything she had ever been taught.

 Her Grocery Shopping

    The turmoil around the farmer''s market was easily explainable by looking at the sky. Everyone needed their groceries, but the clouds, growing darker by the minute, promised a violent discharge in the near future. Clelia stood out among the crowd not just for her unusual getup, which would be the norm, but also by the lack of urgency in her stroll, carrying with her a wicker basket containingpeaches and small plums, as well as two jars of cherry jam and a paper bag with freshly baked bread.


    Going out for groceries was a first for her, which did put a bit of a spring in her step due to the novelty, but on the other hand the events of the day prior were still on her mind. She had a rain-repellent spell ready in case of a storm, which explained why she wasn''t worried about still needing to cross most of the village to get her groceries back home. She would have wanted to get even more stuff, but unfortunately the merchants were not as nonchalant about the weather as her.


    She caught a glimpse of something quickly hiding in an alley right before a white haired man with a bushy moustache tried to get her attention. He was dressed exactly like the servants she had seen the day prior at Aunt Lucia''s sundowner, with the addition of what looked like only half a pair of glasses pressed on his right eye. A black umbrella hung from his forearm.


    "Greetings, Mrs Clelia Neumann," the man monotend in a nasal voice, "my master, your husband''s aunt, tasked me with sending you her thanks for participating yesterday and her wishes that you will bless us with your presence again, in the future."


    Clelia evaded his impassable eyes and adjusting the temple of her glasses. "The pleasure was all mine."


    The man gave her a very formal and profound bow. "It is an honour to hear that." As he returned in his upright position, he continued, "Begging your pardon, my Lady, may I momentarily pester you with a brief inquiry?"


    "Uh, by all means?"


    He gave her another much more restrained bow. "My sincerest thanks. As unbecoming as it is to hassle you with our own internal affairs, I wish to ask if you, perchance, happened to see a certain someone around this morning."


    "Um, who?"


    "It is my understanding that you already met her, even spoke with her at yesterday''s social gathering. It would be a girl, right around your age, a gangly little rascal with uncouth short hair and a dreadful attitude."


    Clelia shrugged. "I''ve spoken to many people yesterday, I don''t remember all of them."


    Gracefully caressing his moustache, the man gave a manufactured chortle. "Dear me, I apologise for the confusion. I wasn''t referring to one of the guests, she is merely a domestic, and she has gone missing."


    "Either way," she shook her head, "I''m afraid I can''t help you. Will that be all?"


    He sighed. "I suppose so. If I may offer my sincere opinion, that brat is more trouble than she''s worth, and if it were my choice I wouldn''t be chasing after her, but, alas, my master wills me to. I bid you a wonderful day, my Lady."


    He bowed once more and she hesitantly responded in kind. When he turned around to march away, she waited for him to disappear before turning her attention to the nearby alley.


    "You can come out now, you know? He''s out of sight," she called out.


    The girl who broke Clelia''s glasses emerged from the alley, wearing oversized overalls again, her bony arms crossed and her eyes glued to the ground.


    "I seem to keep running into you," coldly remarked the fairy.


    "Ah, this time I was looking for you, actually," the olive-skinned girl tried to explain through the cracking of her throaty voice, as if she was victim of a bad cold.


    Unimpressed, Clelia adjusted her glasses. "Well, my congratulations on succeeding."


    "I, uh," the skinny girl began, "there''s a few things I''d like to say to you, but¡­" she looked at the sky, "could we find shelter before we do that? I think it''s going to pour very soon."


    "Don''t worry about that, I¡­" Clelia started saying, when something cold and strangely sharp hit her hand.


    It was slow, at first, but the ticking of something solid falling from the sky and hitting both the ground and the surrounding buildings became louder and more frequent at an alarming pace. Clelia froze in place. Her spell did not protect from hail.


    Sometimes, noise alone isn''t enough to cover up silence.


    A worn out wooden washboard sat in the only corner made by the two walls topped a small roof that provided cover over a fountain with running water. The ground outside of that small haven was slowly getting covered in hailstones, and the air was filled with the roaring shower of the hailstorm not giving the slightest hint of slowing down. Standing besides each other and deliberately looking anywhere else but one another, the two girls waited for the downpour to stop.


    Even though she occasionally tried to sneak a glance of the servant girl at her left, the crack in her glasses made it difficult. The fact that she was the one responsible for that crack made something between her stomach and diaphragm feel like it was on fire. And yet, she couldn''t bring herself to push out the words of anger that the little burglar certainly deserved.


    Eventually, an awkward cackle came from the olive-skinned girl at her side. "You know, I¡­ I''m in shock, uh¡­ Mrs Neumann, I guess? I mean, I can''t believe you didn''t rat me out yesterday, nor today with that old stuck-up grumplord of Agenore. I guess I owe you big time."


    Clelia crossed her arms. "Well, you can start by telling me your name. For now, all I know about you is that you tried to steal from us, you threw a jar at me, then today a servant of my aunt-in-law turned up looking for you, about at the same time you showed up. The least you could do would be a proper introduction."


    Awkwardly holding her own chapped slender hands together and looking down, she nodded. "Of course. My name is Rosalba and, as you might have understood, I''m in your aunt-in-law''s service."


    Clelia turned up her chin accusingly. "Would you care to explain why today you decided to come looking for me, of all people?"


    "Well, uh¡­" Rosalba faltered, "I didn''t thank you enough yesterday for not ratting me out with my master. And¡­ you deserve an apology, at the very least."


    Clelia had the distinct impression that, for the girl next to her, pulling those words out of herself was a titanic effort. Also, the longing glances that Rosalba kept on addressing to the food in her basket did not escape her attention. Her overalls were patchy and worn out, and her body was scrawny and emaciated, almost as if she hadn''t eaten in weeks. Thinking about it, when a couple of night prior she intruded in Clelia''s and Damian''s house, she didn''t go looking for anything but food.


    Clelia stared at Rosalba for a few interminable moments, then shook her head. "Here, take this."


    She took a big loaf of bread out of her basket and extended it to her left.


    Rosalba gasped. "Milady, I can''t accept¡­"


    "Fine then," Clelia interrupted, pulling the loaf away from her interlocutor, "but I''m not sure if you''re in any position to refuse my generosity right now."


    The other girl gulped. "I¡­ bumbely accept your gift, Milady."


    "It''s ''humbly'', not ''bumbely''." Clelia pointed out, reaching out to her with the bread once more.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Rosalba scarfed down the food offered to her at a speed that would put to shame a ravenous Bone Crackler in the midst of a cemetery. The fairy decided to hand a plum to her too, which suffered the same fate as the bread.


    "Now that that''s settled," Clelia started again, "let''s sort this out. Aside from your thanks and apologies, I think I at the very least deserve an explanation. Was it bad luck or bad judgement that led you to try to steal from a fairy''s home?"


    The servant girl cackled nervously again. "It was uh¡­ bad luck, I guess?"


    Clelia''s eyes narrowed. "What a stroke of bad luck, indeed. There are, how many, fifty? Sixty individual houses in this village? And, all the way from Aunt Lucia''s farms, you traversed most of the village to choose exactly that one house to come and rob? What are the odds?"


    Once again, the rumble of drops of ice relentlessly falling all around them became the only audible sound. Eventually, nervously tapping her foot on the ground, Rosalba admitted, "Well, I had heard there was supposed to be a fairy in there, but I¡­ sort of didn''t believe it. I thought it was merely rumours."


    "I see," the fairy acknowledged, her voice becoming a little gentler than before, "but this still doesn''t fully explain why you decided to come to us specifically, nor why you felt the need to rob someone in the first place."


    "All right, all right," she sighed deeply, "the thing is¡­ I was being punished. I, uh, I lost something of value a couple of days ago while I was out on errands, so they had me skip meals again. On the master''s property, they keep track of all provisions, so they''d know if I helped myself from any of it. I just¡­ couldn''t bear the hunger anymore, so I came to the village at night."


    Now, Clelia was the one who sighed. "I see."


    "I, uh¡­" her voice cracked particularly hard, so Rosalba cleared her throat, "I''m very sorry I threw that jar at you. I''m glad you appear to be unscathed, but that could have hurt pretty bad. I was startled. I didn''t know what to do."


    Hidden beneath the illusion, the bump on Clelia''s forehead still hurt a bit. She grasped at the cloth of her skirt and squeezed tightly.


    "Apology accepted." Clelia groaned defeatedly.


    The human girl cleared her throat again. "Would you get angry if I asked you a question?"


    "Go ahead."


    "Why didn''t you expose me in front of my master yesterday? You were very clearly angry¡­ I see why, don''t get me wrong, but¡­ when the master came and spoke to us, from how angry you looked, I thought¡­ well, I thought I was toast, that''s the gist of it. I still cannot believe that you¡­"


    "I didn''t feel like causing a scene," interrupted Clelia. "It would have been quite rude of me to do that at my first appearance to that kind of meeting, after all."


    The righteous anger with which she had planned to carry over the conversation had long since hidden back somewhere beneath her diaphragm, and now the fairy found herself unable to keep it up. A new silence started, and this time it was Clelia the first to become restless. She still had questions, but how was she supposed to ask them now, when she no longer had the momentum on her side?


    Eventually, Rosalba pulled up one of her sleeves. "See this scar under my elbow, Milady?"


    Clelia furrowed her brows. "Why would you show me that?"


    "This," continued the servant girl, "is from another time I was made to skip meals as punishment. I had yet to find a safe and, well, somewhat quiet way to break a window, so I got me this. I don''t envy whoever had to clean up all that mess. But, at the end of the day, I never felt all that sorry for it. People here in the village can prosper: they have a house of their own, they get paid, they have food. Their children can go to school and play instead of working. I imagine it would suck even for them to have to clean up all that broken glass, especially with it being covered in my blood and all, but when they were done they still had food on the table, you get me?"


    Clelia stared at her, her arms crossed to protect them from the cold she was starting to feel due to all the ice that surrounded them.


    Rosalba continued. "Well, if they asked me to apologise I would. But my heart wouldn''t be in it, you know? So, uh¡­ basically I wanted you to know that with you it''s different. You''ve been very kind to me, and I almost hurt you a lot, so this time I do actually feel very bad about what I did."


    Clelia gritted her teeth and stomped her foot. "Well, you should feel sorry."


    She took off her glasses, which caused them to exit from the illusion. "This is what happened when you threw that jar at me. You know what it feels like to barely be able to see at all? I''ve lived my whole life thinking I''d never be able to rely on my eyes for anything. That is, until I got this thing here. I''ve had it only for a few weeks and now it''s already broken, and I cannot fix it, even with my magic. And how am I supposed to let my husband know that I''ve already broken his wedding gift to me? It''s a miracle that I was able to cast an illusion to make it look like it''s fine. But it''s not fine, it''s not fine at all."


    Clelia sniffled and looked away, fighting back the tears that were trying to emerge. Even though letting it all out of her chest felt good, she couldn''t ignore something niggling in the back of her head, telling her she was being petty.


    When she put on her glasses again, she could finally see Rosalba again, covering her own mouth in shame. "I-I''m so, so sorry¡­" she stuttered, "I had no idea. Oh my gosh, is there anything I can do for you?"


    Trying to sound angry still, Clelia muttered, "You''ve done enough."


    Why did it keep on pouring down? Couldn''t the hail at least turn to rain? She would have been able to just cast the rain-repellent spell and go back home, far away from that scrawny, starving servant girl. Clelia looked away again. She really couldn''t fight back the feeling that she was being petty toward Rosalba, especially after she admitted that she didn''t even reliably have food to eat, but, even so, every time she was about to say something, that something turned into another burst of anger.


    Once more, she actively regularised her breathing. She used the "tide" to fight back that lump of fire that kept on trying to creep up her throat and escape from her mouth. Breathe in, breathe out.


    Clelia tried to change the subject. "You still didn''t explain it, you know?"


    "What?"


    "Why you chose our house. You said that you didn''t believe I was actually a fairy, which explains why you didn''t avoid it, but it doesn''t explain why you specifically chose it."


    "Oh, that, hahah¡­" Rosalba massaged the back of her neck. "Boy, how do I say this without sounding creepy?"


    She hummed awkwardly to herself for a little while before carrying on with her explanation. "So, you know how women in small villages are, right? When they meet, it''s all gossip, most of the time. Well, let''s just say that the servitude in my master''s properties is no different. I heard about master Damian''s wedding, and, let me tell you, I was very surprised. After all, he does have a number of admirers, and also a well known history of ignoring all of them, but, aside from hearing about her being a fairy, nobody knew anything about the bride. And, as I said, I paid no mind to the idea of you really being a fairy."


    Clelia shook her head. "What does this have to do with anything?"


    "I''m getting to it. So, a couple of nights ago, when roaming around with a pit in my stomach, I thought to myself hey, there''s a newly wed couple in town. It''s only been a few days, so I figured that, during the nights, you guys would be¡­ busy, you know? Or, better yet, exhausted from getting busy, if you catch my drift."


    Clelia''s face started burning harder than the pits of hell, as her cheeks flushed of a red brighter than the sunset.


    "So, yeah, I wasn''t expecting for you to show up while I¡­ made a visit to you pantry." Rosalba completed.


    This time, it was Clelia''s turn to cackle awkwardly. "We, uh¡­ we barely know each other, you know? We only met twice before the wedding." Then, she got serious. "Besides, he''s¡­ he has been a little distant since we got married. He¡­ he barely speaks to me, I don''t think that¡­" she covered her blushing cheeks with her hands, "getting busy, like you eloquently put it, is anywhere close to being in his mind."


    Rosalba shifted her weight and crossed her arms. "Hm, how odd. Sure, as I said, he has never been very involved with girls, but, knowing him, I never thought he''d be cold to someone he marries."


    Clelia raised one brow. "You know him? Personally?"


    "To an extent," the girl clarified. "It''s been a while since the last time we spoke. When he was little, he and his brothers came to the master''s farms pretty often to play with the master''s children, their cousins. For some reason, master Damian was often left alone, so he''d play with us, the children of the servitude. He was a quiet kid for sure, but didn''t strike me as someone who''d ignore his wife, once he got one. You guys had a fight or something?"


    Finally, the rumble all around them started quieting down, as the hailstorm slowly turned into a drizzle.


    Clelia shook her head. "No, he''s generally nice to me. He''s never been rude or said anything bad to me. In fact, if I had been a guest in his house, I''d think he was an ideal host."


    Rosalba nodded, her brows furrowed. "I see, I see. He''s definitely up to something, or at least he definitely has something on his mind, but heck if I know what."


    The skinny girl tormented her lower lip with her finger, lost in thought, then snapped her fingers. "Hey, I got an idea."


    "What?"


    "So, you know how I''m kinda in your debt for not snitching on me despite hurting you when trying to burglerise you? I thought maybe I could help you getting more friendly with master Damian as a way of making it up to you!" beamed Rosalba.


    Clelia caressed the temple of her glasses. "How do you plan on doing that?"


    She shrugged while making a vaguely "I dunno" hum with her mouth closed. "We can figure it out together. If that''s ok with you, of course."


    Now, only the gentle ticking of a thin sprinkle of rain surrounded them, with small fragments of ice still covering the ground as the only clue of the previous storm. Clelia summoned her wand and, with a flick of her wrist, activated the rain-repellent spell. Dismissing her wand, she walked out of her cover and all raindrops stopped before reaching her, as if she was protected by an invisible bell. She turned back to face Rosalba, who was gawking in awe at her.


    Clelia smirked, raising her chin proudly. "I accept your offer, human girl. How about we discuss it while on our way home? There''s plenty of space beneath my spell."

 His Sport

    With rapid strokes, the pencil lines connected the dots on the map of the stars. It had been a good idea, thought Damian, to wake up early enough to catch a good glimpse of the sky before sunrise, because some of the constellation lines had decided to shift just that night, creating new patterns to interpret. It took him a few hours to have the time to sit down and actually take note of those changes, but he had some time to waste before the next item on his "to do" list. Now, the stars Magab, Hesteria, and Goa were all part of the same constellation again for the first time in three years, by his estimation, but he''d check the bulletin on the cini system once it was updated, just to be sure. It wasn''t entirely clear to him what that was supposed to mean, but, again, the bulletin would later help him in his interpretation. He hoped that would be a good omen for his plans.


    He put the maps back into his case, as he wasn''t comfortable with the idea of someone catching him in the act. He sat in a corner of the school''s sizeable gymnasium, which was currently empty, aside from him. On both sides of the large room, there was a vertical metal ring almost as wide as an arm''s length, held in place at head height by metal bars. Bold white lines divided the field in four distinct sections, plus two smaller ones in the shape of a crescent moon at the extremities, close to the metal rings. The rings themselves were out of the field lines by a pretty significant margin.


    An unassuming creak of the door announced the arrival of the person Damian was waiting for: a young man, only a little older than Damian himself, with an uncommon head of red hair and similar grey eyes as him.


    Damian took a moment to take a deep breath, then he approached the new arrival with open arms. "Flibert! So good to finally see you again!"


    Flibert raised his hand to greet him back. "Hey, good to see you too. I''m sorry I had to miss your wedding, you know how things are."


    As they met, they vigorously joined their hands in a familiar handshake. "Of course, of course. How was your trip to New Helvia?"


    "Don''t want to talk about business right now. I''d rather talk about something fun, if it''s okay with you, especially since later I''m due to report to our father¡­ well, maybe I should say report to Vaufrej instead."


    Damian grimaced sympathetically. "Yeesh, even less fun."


    The door slammed open. A smooth, clear, and deceptively friendly voice responded, "Is that so?"


    Damian and Flibert both became serious at once, right before turning to face the third man. The perfectly trimmed full short beard betrayed the fact that he was older than both, but, aside from that and being even taller and better built than Damian, he could easily have passed as his twin.


    Damian opened his mouth to apologies, but the third man stopped him with a graceful gesture of his hand. "No need for that. I''m not that easily offended."


    Flibert cleared his throat. "So, how was your week, Vaufrej?"


    "Dreadfully boring. I doubt anyone even noticed that I excused myself early from the wedding reception." Addressing Damian directly, he continued, "And I won''t apologies for that either. You should know how busy I''ve been since father''s condition worsened."


    He then loudly clapped his hands together and gave a hint of a smile. "So, why did my dear little brothers decide to meet without me in the gymnasium?"


    Flibert awkwardly shifted his weight around a couple of times. "Oh, well, I didn''t think it was necessary to discuss about the stepball team with you present. After all, it''s been a while since the last time you even attended one of our games."


    Vaufrej sighed. "The Neumann youth team is one way, a pretty successful one I should add, for our name to get recognition. I may not have the time to be present at the games in person, but anything regarding its management should still be discussed with me, as future head of the family, since it does have a meaningful impact on the family business."


    Flibert nodded defeatedly. "Alright. I''m already too old as is to keep playing in the team, so I intended to make Damian the new¡­"


    "That''s out of the question," Vaufrej refuted calmly. "He''s nowhere near good enough to be the captain."


    He then smiled gently and patted Damian on the head. "Chief attacker is fine. Well, maybe that''s a little bit of a stretch too, but how disgraceful it would be for a brother of mine to be anything less."


    Damian bit his tongue. "With all due respect, dear brother, how do you know I''m not good enough if you haven''t seen me play in years?"


    Vaufrej smirked. "Vanilla ice cream. Do you remember that?"


    Damian blinked a few times in confusion. "Uh, what?"


    Still smirking, the eldest brother started pacing around and unbuttoning his elegant suit. "I, at least, happen to have been blessed with a good memory. There were only two occasions when the three of us all got vanilla ice cream at the same time. One was when I rejected my second invitation to the National team, and the other was when Flibert got his first. We didn''t get a third cup of vanilla ice cream just yet, did we?"


    "Oh, come on. I admit, he used to be a bit of a twerp in the past," protested Flibert, "but I myself wasn''t much better than he is now when I received my invitation. I''m pretty sure I only got it because I''m your brother."


    Vaufrej took off his outer layers of clothing, remaining in his immaculate white tank top, showing off his impressive shoulders and biceps. "That''s for me to judge. A two versus one match should suffice."


    Extending his arms forwards, Flibert protested, "Wait, how are we even supposed to play stepball two versus one? That''s not possible!"


    Vaufrej shrugged. "Rules of engagement with the ball are the same: we can''t touch it consecutively, we can''t hold it indefinitely, and we can only take a maximum of four steps while holding it. The goal is the same: make it go through the ring. The only difference is that we''re all allowed to go anywhere on the field and both of you can receive from and pass to each other freely."


    "Hold on," Damian tried to reason with him, "think about it for a moment. Once you get the ball, you will only have four steps and a few seconds before you need to make an action, and your only options, no matter where you are on the field, are trying to score, throwing the ball at one of us, or throwing a foul ball outside the field. The game is entirely based around having to rely on your companions to move the ball across the field, it''s basically impossible to play alone!"


    "You call it impossible," he replied while stretching, "I call it an adequate level of handicap."


    The three brothers stood in the middle of the field, all dressed for playing and ready to go, Damian and Flibert clothed in blue and Vaufrej still only wearing his white tank top over his sport shorts. A strong rumble came from outside, as the dark clouds started unloading a downpour of hailstones.


    "So," wandered Damian, "are we going for a full game, first team to get to ten points, or¡­"


    "Good heavens, I don''t have all that time to waste." Vaufrej shook his head, balancing the rotating ball on his finger. "Best of three will be more than enough."


    Since the ball had been in continuous contact with Vaufrej''s glove for a while now, an alchemical process in its rough surface made it glow of a bright red, rather than being white as usual. If it had been during the game, that would have been foul for holding the ball for too long.


    Damian barely managed to catch the heavy ball before it hit his nose, when his older brother passed it to him. As soon as it had left the older brother''s hands, it became white again.


    "You two can have the first action," he softly conceded. "Toss it to Flibert whenever you''re ready to start."


    Damian didn''t hesitate, he immediately launched the ball to his red headed middle sibling, and they both sprinted towards the goal, passing it to each other with rehearsed precision. Once they were in range, not seeing any obstacles, Damian tried to score and, to his surprise, the ball went right through the ring with a loud blare, caused by another alchemical reaction within the ring itself. The two boys in blue turned their heads in shock to discover that their brother hadn''t so much as taken a single step from the middle of the field, and was now slowly clapping at them.


    Vaufrej''s smile could almost pass for an innocent one. "Congratulations, only one left to go."


    The two of them returned to the middle without a single word, carrying the ball with them.


    Flibert held it aloft. "Your action now, brother."


    He then chucked it suddenly, but Vaufrej caught it effortlessly. With no hesitation, he jumped in place, raising the ball as high as possible, and threw it with a beautifully slow arc. After landing, he didn''t move an inch, content to watch the heavy movement of the spinning ball as it inevitably fell into the ring, which shook from being impacted on one side and blared to confirm the successful point.


    Vaufrej shook his head. "Guess I''m a little rusty after all," he softly complained. "I meant for it to pass clean through, not to hit the border."


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Damian had to bite on his lip in order to not start raging at how little Vaufrej was taking them seriously. He tried to calm down, perfectly aware that making him angry was part of his brother''s strategy. After all, they still had one action where they started with the ball in their control. This time, Vaufrej wouldn''t allow them to move towards their goal unchallenged, this time he would definitely disrupt them somehow. He wasn''t exactly sure how that was going to happen, but the possibility of their brother stealing the ball and doing another throw like the one they just witnessed was one that he couldn''t help but dread.


    Damian made a few calculations. If he anticipated Vaufrej''s offensive by even just a few moments, he should be able to run close enough to the ring that he''d have a chance to catch that ball during its descending arc. It wouldn''t be easy, but it would definitely be possible. That would be a nice way of showing how much he had improved.


    Flibert quietly went to recover the ball and came back towards the middle. Before passing it to Damian so he could begin the final action, the red head made a few rapid gestures to him. Damian nodded. Those gestures meant nothing to Vaufrej, since they had been codified long after he left the team. They had a scheme, now it was only a matter of execution.


    Damian received the ball and stepped backwards, preparing to pass it to Flibert. His field of vision went from free to completely occupied by the large frame of his big brother in mere instants, just as he threw. He didn''t even wait to see if Vaufrej had successfully managed to catch the ball, he took off as fast as he could towards the ring, so he could protect it. He couldn''t fail just now, he had to fight back.


    He then saw the ground growing closer to his face, after something heavy and fast made painful contact with the back of his head. Damian, somehow, managed to stagger his way into keeping his balance, but then he was hit a second time, now on the side of his head. Disoriented, he wobbled towards the closest wall to try and hold on to it, only to realise it wasn''t the wall he was approaching but, once again, the cold hard ground. This time, he wasn''t able to avoid the impact. With his head spinning and his ears ringing, he barely recognised the blare of Vaufrej''s final point when it pierced the air in the gymnasium.


    "How long was I out?" Damian asked, still barely conscious. His head hurt in more ways than one.


    Flibert was on his knees besides him. "Only a few seconds."


    Vaufrej, putting his clothes back on, commented, "You did recover faster than I thought. I guess you have grown up a little after all."


    "Tell me," started Flibert, visibly holding back his emotions, "wouldn''t you consider that a coward move?"


    Vaufrej adjusted the collar of his shirt. "Not at all. You know I couldn''t touch the ball consecutively, so, if I wanted to move it around the camp, my only option was for it to touch one of you before it came back to me. Him turning his back to me gave me an easy target."


    Damian had to fight back a dry heave when he tried to go from lying down to sitting upright. Perhaps, it had been a little too ambitious to straighten up so soon after coming to his senses again. No matter. He half crawled half wobbled toward his case, where he left his clothes.


    Did his brother plan it all along? Was it his entire idea from the start to do that amazing long shot so that one of them, afterwards, would be forced to give their back to him while trying to run in the ring''s defence, only to use their head as a spot to bounce the ball off of and effectively pass it to himself?


    A big hand grabbed his briefcase before he could do anything to stop it. Vaufrej calmly extracted the content of the case: the notebooks, the cini book, the maps of the stars, and examined them one by one intently, without opening his mouth. Damian needed to constantly fight back the instinct to snatch his stuff back, the discomfort in his chest growing more and more as his brother''s silence protracted.


    Eventually, the tall young man tidily and methodically put Damian''s stuff back into the case, still without uttering a word. Damian could feel the disapproval even through the silence, even through his brother''s neutral expression.


    Vaufrej finally smiled. "Well, I have to admit it: you did get a little better, Damian. Your first action with Flibert showed some solid technique, and I do appreciate you trying to anticipate a second long throw, it shows initiative."


    "Does that mean¡­" Damian tried inquiring, hopeful.


    "Unfortunately," his brother interrupted, "that''s still not nearly enough to be team captain. I will no longer suggest that chief attacker might be too much for you, but captain is still out of your reach."


    Flibert crossed his arms. "So, who will take my place now that I won''t be able to stay in the team any longer?"


    While getting his arms into his suit''s sleeves, Vaufrej replied, "I''ll decide that at my leisure. I think that Rosso kid, the current chief defender, is passable, but I need to ponder it some more. Well, it was quite pleasant to spend some time with my younger siblings, but now I absolutely must go back to serious business. Flibert, I''ll be hearing your report on the trip during lunch."


    As he closed the last button back on his suit, he addressed Damian directly again, still smiling gently. "And you, don''t forget you''re a married man now. Toying around with stars and potions is all well and good, but you''re a grown up now, and that comes with duties to carry out."


    Only after Vaufrej had left the room, Flibert gave Damian a solid pat on the shoulder. "You did good. Well, as good as could be expected against him. How are you feeling?"


    "Weak legs aside, I''m mostly fine now." Damian replied truthfully.


    "You know, even if he is right about the whole Alchemy thing, don''t take it to heart too much and don''t worry about it. You''re the third son, that gives you some more leeway than either of us. You still have some time to dedicate to something you enjoy, get it out of your system, before joining the rest of us. Take advantage of that time and don''t let Vaufrej spoil it for you."


    Damian nodded, averting his eyes. After a couple more gentle pats on the shoulder, they exchanged pleasantries and Flibert left, leaving Damian alone once more. He sat down, leaning his head against the wall.


    That''s right, he thought, even though now he was kind to him, not even Flibert was his ally. He had to remind himself he had no allies. If he was to keep doing what he truly wished to do, he still needed to show results, and he knew only one kind of results would ever change his family''s mind: something that would positively impact the family business. And he was so close to a massive breakthrough, he was sure of it. He had been on the verge of that discovery for a while now, he just needed that one more step he wasn''t able to take with his own strengths.


    He extracted one of his notebooks, the oldest one, and opened it to one of its last pages. He was greeted by the familiar diagram of the stars he had made more than a year ago, by now, his first reading he truly felt proud of. That''s the one that gave him the path forwards, the path he was still following. It suggested that fairy magic was the key.


    By looking at the sky, it felt strange to think that that morning they had a hailstorm on their hands, since the only visible clouds were now closer to the horizon and the sun had come out in full force. On the ground, however, a few clues of the morning''s bad weather remained in the form ofpuddles, other wet spots and, in shaded areas, even a few surviving shards of ice. People had also come out of their houses and all those who didn''t work at the Neumann factory seemed to be back in the streets.


    Damian carried his briefcase with him on his way home. He felt much better after seeing the local Medical Alchemist, just to make sure hitting his head didn''t give him a concussion. Not a bad excuse to come back home a little later either.


    Seeing that the street in front of him would become difficult to navigate due to it being somewhat overcrowded by the market being back, after that morning''s bad weather, he decided to cut through an alley. He felt something softly brushing against his leg. It was a streaked grey cat, who called for his attention with soft high pitched meows. He crouched down and caressed its head, to which it responded with loud purring.


    As soon as he realised that the streaked patterns of the cat''s forehead formed a letter M, a familiar voice spoke inside Damian''s head. "It looks to me, little Neumann, that you didn''t make any progress since the last time we spoke. Maybe it would be time for you to accept my assistance."


    Goosebumps formed on Damian''s arms when he was reminded of his meeting with the demonic cat a few days prior, but, unwilling to show any weakness, he kept on petting the grey cat, pretending the voice in his head didn''t startle him.


    He scratched behind a pointy grey ear. "Purring and acting all cute while trying to sound serious? That''s an audacious choice if your intention was to be taken seriously."


    "That cat," boomed the voice with a hint of irritation, "is not me. Neither is she some kind of puppet of mine. She allows me to speak through her, but she doesn''t obey me. I do not act that way." When it continued, it had become a little softer. "To your slight credit, she does that because she genuinely likes you."


    Damian quickly cleared his throat, in preparation of trying to sound more calm and collected than he actually was. "In any case, I have no interest in keeping this conversation going. I don''t need your assistance and don''t particularly enjoy your company, so leave me alone."


    "When it comes to the pleasure of conversation, I can assure you that the feeling is mutual, little human," the voice commented curtly. "However, we face a common enemy here. Yesterday I clearly sensed the first thread of a larger web being spun, and that thread has been created specifically to deceive you. The spider who''s weaving that web isn''t going to be as considerate about making you humans her puppets as I am with my meowing friends. To her you''re mere flies, flies that she intends to trap into silky little cocoons to consume at her convenience."


    Damian suppressed a deriding chuckle. "You mean my mother in law or my wife? Your claims are rather bold, considering that the former lives in the forests all the way on the other side of mount Nusinet and the latter is, well¡­ to be quite frank, of all adjectives that I''d use to describe my wife, threatening isn''t one of them."


    After a long silence, the voice sighed. "As you wish, then. Just remember, if you start to catch glimpses of the trap that''s being built around you, my offer of help will still be valid. Unlike the spider plotting against us all, I mean no harm to the flies living around me."


    The boy got back up on his feet when the cat decided it was time to go her separate way. "If we humans are flies and my mother in law and/or wife is the spider, then what are you?"


    Another pause. "I''m the queen bee of a nearby hive."


    The door opened on a more silent house than Damian thought he''d find. Every time he had entered the house in the past couple of days, the hustling of lutin activity had always been the first thing of notice. That day, nothing. Clelia came to greet him from the living room, not wearing her tall hat for once.


    "Welcome back," she chirped, stopping in front of him with a little bounce.


    Damian felt every muscle in his body tense up, almost startled. "Someone is in a good mood. Did something happen while I was away?"


    She shrugged, still smiling wide. "I''m just happy to see you, is that strange?"


    That declaration made him feel good, better than he would have thought if someone had brought up that situation as a hypothetical beforehand. That being said, the conversation with the cat was still fresh in his memory, and an annoying feeling itched in his mind. What if the spiderweb had just been coated with honey?


    He decided to keep a practical tone. "The house is quieter than usual, today."


    "Well, you can''t expect the lutin to spend all day with us every day: they still have their own little lives to live."


    An image of those three small troublemakers in their day off elbowed its way into his mind. He couldn''t help but picture them doing normal things, like reading a book or playing chess together, while still non-stop screaming their tiny heads off in that strange language of theirs.


    He took his jacket off and hung it to the coat hanger next to the door. "In any case, nice to see you too. I''m going to go and¡­"


    A pair of small, soft, and surprisingly warm hands interrupted him by grabbing on his own hand. She had squeezed her eyes shut and her shoulders had visibly stiffened in the process.


    The silence preceding either of them speaking went on for a little too long for his comfort.


    "Can''t we¡­" she hesitantly tried to get out of her mouth, "spend some time together instead?"

 Their Afternoon

    "Welcome back!" Clelia chirped, stopping in front of Damian with a little bounce.


    Behind her big smile, she was trying to hide all the anxiety that had been building up within her since when Rosalba had left. She hoped she''d be able to pull off smoothly what the two of them had been discussing. It was go time, no way to take back what she was going to say from now on, nor any safety measure to give herself more time if she was unsure of what to do next. In other words, she was on her own.


    "Someone is in a good mood," Damian commented with a neutral expression. "Did something happen while I was away?"


    Clelia shrugged, making a point to still smile wide. "I''m just happy to see you, is that strange?"


    She wanted to just sink into the ground and disappear. How was she supposed to keep up this level of conversation while still trying to look him in the eyes? Rosalba had told her to just play it cool, but, now that it was time for her to do so, she had realised she didn''t actually know how to do that. Plus, how could she tell if her words were having an effect? She was so focused on what she had just said and what she needed to say next that she wasn''t able to focus on reading his expressions at all, like Rosalba had told her to do.


    "The house is quieter than usual, today." He pointed out.


    Well, can''t have three small chaotic balls of energy running around the house when trying to get closer to one another, can we?


    "Well, you can''t expect the lutin to spend all day with us every day: they still have their own little lives to live."


    How did she plan to bring up the next point again? Wait, what even was the next point again? It had seemed like a very simple plan, but now that she had to enact it while actually holding a conversation that went in places she hadn''t predicted she couldn''t keep it straight in her head, let alone carry it out.


    He hung his coat to the coat hanger. "In any case, nice to see you too. I''m going to go and¡­"


    She grabbed his hand with both of hers. She had to stop him from just locking himself into his study again, so, her mind being in a panic, her body acted on its own. His hand was big, at least compared to hers, its shape well defined, and it was smoother than she had imagined it would be.


    Her action had successfully stopped him. Now would be a great time for her to say what she needed to say next. Yes, a very nice time to say it. Any moment now, she should just go ahead and say it. Come on, please, she just needed to remember what she was going to say next.


    "Can''t we¡­" she hesitantly tried to get out of her mouth, "spend some time together instead?"


    "H-huh?" mumbled him, unable to move.


    She took a deep breath, looking down at her feet. "For the foreseeable future, this is going to be my home now. I never even met your kind before you and your brother came to visit me at my mother''s castle for the first time, and now I''m expected to lead a normal existence among humans, just like that."


    She finally mustered the strength needed to meet his gaze, which required her to look way up. "Could you imagine how you would feel if our roles were reversed? If you had to come live with my kind in my family''s castle? And if, while you''re trying to get used to everything, I just up and ignored you most of the time?"


    Those words had not been planned, but saying them caused a twinge of anger to blink into her chest, which caused her to send a "tide" ripple without meaning it. She saw him stagger backwards a little, hit by the emotional wave. For a moment, she felt the need to apologise, but then, even if the anger had already come and gone, she opted for taking a firm stance instead.


    "As your new wife," she declared while crossing her arms, "I think it''s only reasonable to demand your attention for the rest of the day. What do you say?"


    He stared back at her, eyes wide open with¡­ surprise? Fear? Something else entirely? She wasn''t quite sure.


    "Uuuh, I suppose you''re right," he eventually started, softly. "My apologies for my rudeness. Do you have something specific in mind?"


    She had to suppress a gasp. It actually worked. "Yes, I do."


    ***


    Without her hat, Damian''s wife really did look like any normal girl he''d ever met. Her dress was unusual, in that it was both very elegant and outdated by about half a millennium, but her demeanour lacked the grace needed for her to project the authority that one might expect from such an aristocratic look. The huge round glasses did not help either, nor did the shoulder-length wild head of strawberry-blond hair.


    And yet there were moments when she managed to surprise him. The first, of course, had been on the day of their wedding, when she managed to cut short the interaction with Aunt Lucia with just one word. And, more recently, a few minutes prior, when he had felt that same pressure once again, this time strong enough to almost make him lose balance. He found it difficult to reconcile the image of the goofy girl slouching on the armchair in front of him with the intensity that her eyes showed during those brief displays of power.


    A glass jug containing some purple-pink concoction, together with two tall glasses filled with the same liquid, sat on the coffee table in between them. He wondered if he was going to have to drink it and, if so, if it was safe. It had to be, considering that she took the content of both glasses from the same source right in front of him, right?


    "This," she proudly adjusted her glasses, "is a game that is pretty popular among faerie youth, especially when meeting for the first time. Its purpose is to break the ice, share some things about you with others while they share some things about them in return."


    He pointed at the jug with a vague gesture of the hand. "And what does that do?"


    "In a tasty meal, there is the substance and there are the spices," she explained. "The things we share with each other are the substance, but this little potion provides the spice. Before I can explain what it does, I''ll tell you a little more about how exactly the game works."


    "Sure," he nodded, "go ahead."


    She sat more upright all of a sudden, almost as if she just remembered to do so. "It''s quite simple, really. First, I will ask you a question about yourself, then, after you answer, you''ll ask the same question back at me or, if the same question isn''t relevant when asked to me, you can ask another question that is similar in nature. For example, if I ask you something about how you''re thinking of growing a beard in the future you might ask me about me growing my hair. After that''s done, you''ll be the one to ask a new question, to which I''ll respond and then ask the same or a similar question. And so on and so forth, for as long as we feel like it."


    He crossed his leg. "It really is quite simple. One question: what if one asks something the other doesn''t want to respond to?"


    She joined her hands together, emoting a little with the movement of her thumbs as she spoke. "Actually, a bigger risk is getting so caught up in your questions that you end up asking something you don''t want to answer when they return it to you. In any case, you may give a vague or even untruthful answer, but that''s where the potion comes in. Before a new question is asked, both take a sip, but it will only take effect after one gives an answer to a question. It will affect the remaining potion within the jar rather than yourself, so you can rest easy. Basically, it will change colour depending on what you''re feeling as you answer, the brighter the colour the happier you feel about the answer, and usually it''s also a somewhat reliable indicator of your honesty. Depending on other factors, such as if maybe you''re joking or are not being entirely honest, the potion might act in unpredictable but harmless and fun ways."


    Something about the way she looked back at him felt a little off, but he was unable to pinpoint what exactly. "Alright, sounds pretty fun. Shall we start?"


    She grabbed one of the glasses on the table. "Gladly."


    He followed her suit. This was a chance, Damian thought. He imagined the first few questions would be on the frivolous side, made to break the ice, but maybe he''d be able to get to learn more about how fairy magic worked as the game moved on. He had to be careful, he didn''t want her to think he had ulterior motives after all. His heart sunk at that thought. He did have ulterior motives though. As much as the image of the spider trying to catch him, painted by that strange cat, was still fresh in his mind, the slightly inelegant ways in which she conducted herself, plus the big smiles she gave him, made her seem less like a spider and more like¡­ well, more like just a regular girl. That mere thought caused icy fingers of guilt to tighten their grasp around his chest.


    When she sipped from her glass, he did so as well, and the potion tasted a little sweet, almost like a glass of water with a few drops of fresh-squeezed fruit juice. That is to say, for something with that colour, it tasted surprisingly neutral.


    "I''m going to ask the first question," Clelia announced, "just to set the tone. What does your favourite book talk about?"


    A few different titles flashed in his mind, including The Frenzy of Renald, but he settled on a different one. "My favourite book is about a young man being offered a deal with the devil to save someone precious to him, but he finds a way to outsmart the devil through the study of Alchemy."


    The potion turned of a bright red and it swirled inside the jug quickly enough to form a tiny vortex.


    She clapped her hands together. "Ah, wonderful reaction: it seems like you truly feel strongly about that book, both because of the bright colour and the strong movement it stirred in the potion. Now you ask me."


    He tilted his body and rested his chin on the back of his hand. "Very well. What is your favourite book about?"


    She leaned forward, sitting closer to the edge of the armchair. "It''s actually a human-written book, if you can believe it. It''s about a journey through fantastic distant lands, making all sorts of strange encounters with different people, and how those encounters end up changing the protagonist who, after coming back to his homeland, doesn''t fit in anymore."


    An almost radiant golden hue took over the potion, and its surface started bubbling up as if it was boiling.


    "Let me guess," he pointed at the jug, "that means you too feel very strongly about that book, right?"


    She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, it does. And yes, I do. Now we can either discuss a little about our answers, or we can go to the next question. This time, it would be your turn to start asking a new question."


    The way her eyes squinted as she almost clapped at him indulging her little game showed a level of delight that was almost contagious.


    "I think I''m getting the hang of this," he declared, trying to move on with the game. "I''d like to go to the next question, if that''s alright with you."


    She took her glass again. "Then, we need to take a new sip."


    As they did so, the bubbling on the surface of the potion died down, but the colour didn''t change. This time, the taste was a lot stronger, like wild-berries and honey.


    He gently placed the glass back on the table, wiping a few rogue droplets off of his upper lip with a finger. "Here I go. Do fairies have to study growing up and, if so, what''s your favourite subject?"


    It was a mostly innocent question, but, with a weight on his heart, he knew that he asked it in the hopes of opening up chances for later questions about fairy magic.


    She leaned back against the armchair again. "That would be two questions, but I guess I can answer. Noble fairies, such as I, usually have a tutor growing up, who takes care of their education. My favourite subject was music, especially ensemble music. I would have wanted to play a flute, but they made me play the harp instead. I never got very good with it, but I still loved making music."


    As she spoke, the potion turned sky blue, but tiny bubbles of dark red raised from the bottom of it. Damian didn''t pay it too much attention, focused on trying to understand why the feeling of something being off with Clelia''s demeanour persisted.


    "So," she continued, "did you have to study and, if so, what was your favourite subject?"


    "We humans go to school." His back straightened up almost imperceptibly, with a little pride. "My grandfather, who founded this village and the factory at its centre, wanted to make sure that the children of all his workers had an opportunity to be as educated as his own, so even my family goes to that school." His posture lowered perceptibly again, before completing his answer. "My favourite subject was modern sciences, especially Alchemy."


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The blue of the potion turned bright green, but the dark red bubbles burst, creating a swirling mix of the two colours.


    "Ooh, those," she pointed at the jug, "are some conflicting feelings. I think you''re being truthful, but there''s something more to it. Want to talk about it?"


    He shrugged, trying to pretend that he didn''t feel called out. Still, there was no harm in going over some of it without getting bogged in the details. "It''s nothing big. You know how you just told me they didn''t want you to play the flute? My family isn''t that big on the idea of me studying Alchemy, that''s really all there is to it."


    "But why, though?" She wondered. "Isn''t Alchemy one of the forms of magic that humans have developed to make up for their general lack of innate powers? Wouldn''t that make alchemists pretty powerful humans?"


    His eyes lit up.


    "Yes, you''re right in a way, but my family doesn''t see it like that. They think that the vast majority of alchemists are dead weights on society, they only recognise the value of the achievements of a very select few of them, and even then they only respect the results of their research, they don''t really respect the process. I''m quite sure that, in their mind, those great alchemists stumbled upon something useful by sheer luck while playing with beakers and test tubes. In fact, my older brother once told that the cini system has been made possible more due to the ingenuity of engineers than the alchemist who accidentally discovered the process that makes it possible."


    She tilted her head, but the way she did it was a little awkward and, once again, he could only think that something was off with her. "What''s the cini system?"


    He had to force himself not to get up on his feet when answering. "It''s the most brilliant and revolutionary invention to have ever come from a human mind. In the past few decades, our society has seen some very important changes, some brought about from discoveries in the fields of mechanics and engineering, but some others came straight from Alchemy. The cini system is one such invention. Cini is short for Fiumicini, which is the last name of Sandra Fiumicini, the alchemist who discovered the principles behind its working, and also ideated a few different ways to apply such discovery. To explain exactly how it works, I''d need to get technical, but the gist of what it does is as follows: it makes it possible to have books that can change their contents at will."


    She furrowed her brows, still not convinced. "Like at random, or¡­?"


    "No, far from it. Each cini book is, how do I say it, connected to a central library of information, called a cini archive. For example, I own the cini book of the Official Alchemical Gazzette, which is connected with an archive that has all kinds of textbooks on the subject, allowing me to read on my cini book anything that is present in the archive. In addition to that, some of the most reputable periodic publications on the subject are also regularly added to the same archive, making it possible for me to keep up with all of them by just owning this one book. Well, to have unlimited, unrestricted access to them I do need to pay an annual fee too."


    "So¡­ you can read all books in existence by just owning one?"


    "Eh, yes and no. Theoretically, that''s how it could work, but in practice there are many different archives that are owned by different entities. You''d need a cini book for each individual archive to access everything on the cini system. Some archives are huge and professionally kept, some others are way smaller and kept by enthusiasts. Some are used to store and share knowledge, some are for local or national news, some are made to share novels and novelettes of a particular genre¡­"


    Clelia chuckled. "You''re really passionate about this. You''ve been very¡­ reserved, since we met. Now, it looks like someone lit a fire in your eyes."


    He deflated a little. "Ah, sorry."


    "No no," she hurriedly encouraged him, "don''t apologise!"


    She fiddled with a lock of her wild hair. "It''s¡­ nice to see you like this, finally. I was starting to worry that you didn''t have feelings. It''s great to see you show some at last."


    The soft smile on her as she said that last phrase gave him a funny feeling in his stomach. She was¡­ cute. Exactly the same thought he already had about her a few times in the past. She wasn''t beautiful, she wasn''t alluring, she wasn''t seductive. Nothing in her expression, in the little movements of her body, in the light of her chestnut brown eyes seemed to have any intention of coming off as attractive. And yet, that word, "cute", the one he used in his head to describe her¡­ what it meant to him was slowly shifting.


    He fake coughed to have an excuse to partially cover his face with his hand.


    ***


    Clelia considered what to ask next, since it was now her turn to set the new question for the both of them. Seeing Damian so enthusiastic about something had been refreshing in a way she hadn''t predicted. Her goal, from the start, had been to get to know him a little and close down the distance between the two of them, given that they were going to live together at least for a while. She had set out to build a bridge, but unwittingly found gold in the river. She wondered if she could strike twice. She wondered what question would allow her to do so.


    She drank from her glass. A powerful aroma assaulted her throat and the back of her nose before the liquid even touched her tongue. It stung, but it also carried a sweet and full flavour of various fruits and herbs. Clelia barely managed not to cough due to the intensity of that single sip. She didn''t comment on it, but that flavour could only mean that the feelings stirred in Damian by the last question were even more intense than he had let on.


    He drank too, but gave no outwardly sign of being affected by it as much as she was.


    What should she ask about? More on Alchemy? She didn''t want to be that direct, plus she was sure there was bound to be something else capable of setting his spirit ablaze again. But what else could possibly elicit a strong reaction from him?


    Not wanting to let him wait for too long, she asked the first question willing to show up at the doorstep of her attention. "What is your biggest ambition?"


    She immediately regretted it, even before he opened his mouth to respond. That would force her to answer the same question too, and she couldn''t be entirely truthful to that, given that her ambition had, as a consequence, abandoning this new life, and him with it.


    His smile turned sombre. She wasn''t quite sure how she knew that it did, considering that his expression had barely changed, but she could tell that, somehow, she had touched a sore spot.


    Damian looked away, silent. Before she could apologise and ask him a different question, he croaked, "I''m not so sure anymore. These past, how many is it now, four days? These past four days have been very weird. I walked in with¡­" his hands attempted clarifying what he was trying to say through stilted gestures, an effort that was as valiant as it was unsuccessful.


    He sighed. "With expectations, let''s say. But nothing has shaped up the way I thought it would. Right now, I feel like I have nothing but doubts."


    The potion turned clear, with a dark purple cloud sitting flatly at the bottom. He was being truthful, but there was something way deeper he wasn''t saying. She had no intention of delving into that further.


    He shook his head. "I''m sorry for not giving you a proper answer. And for spoiling the mood. I suppose I should return the question."


    She sank deeper into the armchair with a heavy sigh of her own. "You may not believe me, but I feel the same way as you. I''ve seen many new things in just a few days, and went through many different feelings. It''s been overwhelming, to say the least. Despite meeting many new people, I felt weirdly lonely too. I guess forcing you to play this game with me was a way of fighting that loneliness somewhat. I too feel like I have nothing but doubts."


    "You didn''t force me," he reassured her, "I think it''s been very interesting. Stimulating even."


    Their eyes locked. She wasn''t sure exactly what she saw in his grey irises, but it stirred something in her, something¡­


    Before she could figure it out, he blurted out, "Alright, next question. My turn, right?"


    They drank the potion in silence. Its taste barely differed from water this time


    "Changing the subject to something more light-hearted. Have you ever had a relationship with a boy before meeting me?"


    Now that was a juicy question, Clelia thought. "No, never. There was this one time that I met a cute faerie boy at a spring festival, four or five years ago, and I," she snickered awkwardly, "kinda followed him around all day because I immediately liked him a lot. But that went nowhere because I never met him again afterwards."


    A soft orange invaded the potion, like orange juice. "So, dear husband, did you have a relationship with a boy before meeting me?"


    To her shock, he burst out laughing.


    "What''s so funny about that?" She inquired with furrowed eyebrows.


    As soon as he saw her expression, his laugh died down in an instant. "Sorry, I thought you were being a bit cheeky by repeating the same question, instead of asking me about any past flings with girls."


    "Why is that?"


    The repeated and silent opening of his mouth seemed to mean he had no satisfying answer. "Um, is it common among the faerie for boys to¡­?"


    She nodded. "Oh yeah, quite so, in fact."


    "Well, let''s just say that¡­ it''s not very common among humans. In fact, don''t ask that to anyone else, some people will get angry."


    The potion had now been infected with the bright yellow of his hilarity, but with dark grey bubbles that she wasn''t able to interpret.


    They drank (its taste was not very intense, but it did tickle a lot in the mouth) and Clelia asked, again without thinking, "So then, since you expected it, did you have a relationship with a girl before meeting me?"


    Oh no. Her heart sank. She had warned him against it, she fell for it already, and yet now she did it again, except this time much worse. As soon as she had finished forming the words with her mouth, she realised just how much she didn''t want to answer that question herself.


    ***


    Easy enough to answer, Damian thought. After all, since he had expected her to ask that before, he was prepared. "No, never had a relationship with a girl either. I did like a girl quite a lot a couple of years ago, but she chose my older brother instead."


    And, when he was done toying with her, he promptly dumped her, after which she understandably wanted nothing more to do with his family. He didn''t say that because he didn''t want to spoil the mood again.


    So, while the potion became of a thick grey blue, he bitterly chuckled, "Well, might as well ask you the same question too. Have you ever had a relationship with a girl before?"


    Her head hung low, her hands squeezed the fabric of her skirt tightly enough that he almost feared it starting to rip.


    Eventually, she turned away from him and murmured a sorrowful, "Yes."


    When she met his gaze again, her face assembled a joyless smile. "Don''t worry, when negotiations for our wedding started, it had already been over for¡­ a while."


    The potion turned into what seemed like a cloud of dark grey smoke, except with a bloody red core.


    Even though she had told him that relationships among boys were not uncommon among the faerie folk, the thought that she would give him a positive answer on this question had never crossed his mind. He didn''t know what to think. He definitely didn''t expect to see such a reaction from her. Thinking back, he could actually remember regret in her eyes as soon as she had asked the question, but had previously paid no mind to it, too caught up in what he was going to say next. His mind went through a myriad of different questions in a very short time.


    So she had no interest in men? No, that wasn''t the case, the bright orange on the potion after she admitted having had a crush on a boy before should have meant that she had been truthful, right? So, did that mean she liked both? Was that even an option? How long ago did this relationship she had with another girl happen? How long did it last? Why bringing it up made her so upset? Why discovering it made him feel somewhat anxious? Was he¡­


    Was he feeling jealous about it?


    He pushed his glass on the coffee table away from himself. "I think that''s enough of this game, for now. Want me to brew some tea?"


    Her body visibly relaxed, relieved. "Yes please, I''d like that."


    A few minutes later, Damian leaned against the wall next to the kettle on the stove, slowly reaching the boiling temperature. Every word he''d exchanged with Clelia during that game chaotically played back in his mind again and again. He found himself rapidly tapping his foot, but not as a result of boredom. Through the open doors, he could still spot Clelia''s profile as she waited on the armchair, if he leaned towards the door jamb, which he occasionally surprised himself doing.


    What in the world was happening? Did she put some charm on him? That had to be it, right? There could be no other explanation for that flurry of different and powerful feelings blossoming in him all at once. It had to be that potion she had him drink. The web was closing in on him, it had to be.


    Once again, he stole a glance of her profile by peeking over the doorjamb, then retreated back into the kitchen.


    He wanted to disappear. He had been served a chance to get some of the information he needed if he wanted to succeed in his plan, but he squandered it. Why in the world had he chosen to ask about her love life instead of asking about her magic? Why did he stop the game instead of finding an excuse to move on and gradually find his way to the topic he was actually interested in?


    Both his arms reached for the back of his head, almost as if to defend from a slap aimed at his nape. Why did he say he didn''t know what his ambition was anymore? He had meant it too, in the moment, but did he really think that way? Of course he didn''t. So much time, energy, so much careful planning had gone into it, he had to still be convinced of it, right? That very morning, a few hours prior, he had been reminded of the original reading of the stars that told him he needed to take the magic from a fairy to achieve his breakthrough. He was still as convinced as ever, right?


    His musings were interrupted by the piercing whistle of the water in the kettle starting to boil. He turned off the stove. Of course he was still as convinced as ever. If he thought of what he saw himself as in five years, that picture hadn''t changed: he still saw himself contributing to the family business through his achievements in the alchemical field. If he wanted to reach that goal, he needed to push through. Maybe he would change some of the specifics on how to best achieve his goal depending on the circumstances that he found. But, at the end of the day, the goal was still the same, and he was still willing to do almost anything to reach it.


    Once he was done brewing, he carried a pair of cups, set them on the table still steaming hot, and sat again in front of Clelia.


    Damian''s mind raced in the hope of finding a new way to bring up the topic of her magic without sounding suspicious. His thoughts were derailed when his gaze met hers again and she thanked him for the tea with her ditzy little smile. It was then that he finally figured out what had been bothering him for the entirety of the time he spent with her that day.


    He furrowed his brows. "Is there something wrong with your glasses?"


    She jolted from her slouched position to a perfect upright sitting pose as her eyes widened. "Why would you think that?"


    "Something felt weird and a little awkward about the way you looked at me. I just now realised that you''ve been keeping your face slightly turned to your left, as if you needed to look through your right lens exclusively."


    Her shoulders fell, defeated. She took off her glasses and, as soon as they left their position on top of her small nose, a big Y shaped crack appeared on the left lens.


    "I apologise deeply for already breaking your gift to me," she mumbled while looking down, "I had to use an illusion to cover it up because I was unable to repair them."


    "Why didn''t you tell me?"


    "I¡­ didn''t know how you''d take it."


    He shook his head. "It''s true that those things are pretty expensive, but if there is one positive aspect of being born a Neumann is that we''re not lacking in wealth. How about we go to the optometrist again? I intended to go to the city tomorrow anyway, you could come with me."


    When her chestnut brown eyes met his again, this time without the filter of her glasses, they shivered and shined, wide open with bewildered relief. He felt his cheeks burning and averted his gaze.


    With or without those glasses, his wife really was cute.

 Her Neighbour

    The reappearing rays of the moon, after a few nights of new moon, allowed Clelia to see that its skin was of a deathly dark grey. The skin was only visible on its tendinous arms, knotted hands, and long legs ending in huge malformed feet. The rest of its body was covered in what could be charitably described as a rough brown cloak with a large hood hiding its head. It was taller than any person Clelia had ever met. Held across its gaunt shoulder it carried a big dark sack, and the tightness of its grip around it only made the weight of that sack painfully vivid. She hoped that the shadows of the moonlight were playing a trick on her eyes, because it looked like something inside that bag moved.


    The figure lurched past the alley where Clelia was hiding in the shadow, her wrist held by Rosalba''s bony hand, seemingly not noticing the two girls. Only when its irregular trailing footsteps disappeared into the chirping of the crickets, the two of them allowed themselves a sigh of relief.


    "What was that?" The fairy asked in an agitated whisper.


    Much calmer, Rosalba leaned her head against the wall behind them. "Beats me. It''s definitely no human, so I hoped a fairy would be able to tell me."


    "You really don''t know?" Clelia raised her brow, incredulous. "Something like that walks around the village at night and nobody talks about it?"


    The human girl shrugged. "Kids around here grow up hearing that if they come back home late, after sundown, the Babau will snatch them away, but I''m pretty sure the adults don''t actually think it''s real. All I know is that, sometimes, when I come into the village at night, I find it walking around the streets, carrying that big sack with it. I''ve seen it abduct a few stray animals, like dogs, bats, and even an owl once."


    "No cats?" Clelia inquired, caressing the bridge of her glasses.


    "Ooh, now that I think about it, there was this one time I saw it actively avoiding a stray cat: it carefully made its way around it, staying as far from it as possible. Never seen it even trying to take a cat."


    Clelia nodded, thoughtful. "Interesting, that might mean¡­"


    "What? What does it mean?"


    Clelia shook her head while detaching herself from the wall where they''d been hiding, careful not to lose the paper bag she had with her. "Nothing important, I was just considering that there seem to be more faerie creatures living around here than I thought. If that thing is part of the faerie folk, you should be safe as long as we''re together."


    Despite the fact that the creature was probably out of earshot, she kept being mindful of the volume of her voice. "I believed that the Lares, being spirits that protect humans, would keep all these faerie away, but maybe, this village being quite small, they''re only strong enough to keep them out of your houses."


    Rosalba fidgeted around on her feet. "You sure it won''t bother us if it finds us?"


    Clelia nodded confidently. She belonged to the Arania gens, after all, so any faerie would be at the very least hesitant about hurting or even upsetting her, fearing reprisal from her kin. Besides, she still had the blocking spell she had weaved the other day, so she had an option even in the unlikely case that the creature wasn''t aware of the danger of threatening someone from her gens.


    "Let''s get to why we met then." Rosalba reached Clelia and gently nudged her with her elbow. "How did it go today with master Damian?"


    "I was very nervous at first, but I did manage to get him to play the game I mentioned to you. It didn''t last too long though. Still, after that we had tea and spent some time in frivolous conversation. He taught me this human game called chess, which was pretty interesting."


    The girl besides her accusingly waved a finger at her. "Hey, don''t think I didn''t notice that. You avoided talking about it, but I wanna hear it. Why did the game not last very long? You sounded very convinced about it earlier, so I thought you''d squeeze as much juice from it as possible."


    "Alright, alright." Clelia raised her hands, defeated. "The game went pretty well, overall. The highlight was when I got him to talk about Alchemy: for a moment, it looked like all his polite detachment completely melted away, I''ve never seen him being so passionate about anything. Oh, and by the way tomorrow we''ll go together to the city, to have my glasses repaired."


    Rosalba addressed her with a sardonic smile. "Since you keep dodging the question, I''ll just assume you two stopped playing for some smoochin'' time."


    "We did nothing of the sorts." Clelia quickly denied.


    "Why not?" the servant girl persisted, "aren''t you guys married? Wouldn''t be indecent for you two to do that, or even go further than that."


    Before continuing, she snickered with a hint of boastfulness. "Heck, I never married before and I went way, way further than that."


    Clelia gasped. "Seriously?"


    "Oh yeah." Rosalba smiled.


    "O-often?"


    The girl nudged Clelia with her elbow again. "Hey, shouldn''t be asking that. But yeah, I have some experience with boys. That''s why I felt so confident giving you advice on how to speak with your man."


    As Rosalba snickered again, Clelia paused for a moment. "I wouldn''t call him ''my man''. We are married, but it was an arranged marriage, we don''t share that kind of bond. I''m not aiming for us to fall in love, just to be able to share a roof, for the time being."


    A bony arm went around her shoulder and hooked her by the neck. "Oh come on! Are you telling me you wouldn''t want to give him a shot? There''s plenty of girls who''d kill to be married with a guy half as hot as Damian, and he''s rich to boot."


    Her mind went back to when Damian gently but firmly grabbed her for dancing during their reception, giving her a not entirely innocent smile. "Well, I''m not going to pretend he''s not¡­ way more handsome than I expected him to be. With the right circumstances, I don''t think I''d push him away if he tried to kiss me."


    Rosalba matched her smile. "Now that''s more like it."


    "That said," she became a little more serious, "I don''t think that scenario is ever going to play out anyway. I may be his wife, but he didn''t choose me and I''m not¡­ how should I put it? The kind of stunning beauty that needs to worry about something like that happening spontaneously."


    Rosalba shook her head with a knowing smile. "Oh, you naive thing. You think I''m some kind of stunning beauty? I''m like a few twigs covered in skin, with a big nose and small lips. If I had to rely on my looks alone with boys I''d never get any attention. I''d be lying through my teeth if I said that a pretty face and volputuous body¡­"


    "It''s ''voluptuous'', not volputuous," Clelia corrected with a giggle.


    The olive skinned girl went on, unfazed, "Whatever¡­ pretty face and volsomething body definitely do make things easier, but that''s not the end all be all. And all that aside, you do have a cute face."


    "Then¡­ what does make the difference?"


    Rosalba looked up, strangely serious. "Just the way you treat them, talk to them. All the pretty girls I know treat boys as if they''re animals only interested in one thing, and play a game of giving them hopes of getting that one thing but keeping it just out of reach. It works, because even the smartest guy becomes dumb at the sight of a pretty face, but it only works because of the pretty face, not because the game itself is any good. If you treat guys like people just like you, if you''re friendly to them, listen to what they have to say, they''ll often surprise you. It''s not some kind of magic trick that you do it and they fall in love or anything, but sometimes they do start flirting with you, and then all you have to do is flirt back, if you''re interested."


    Clelia didn''t respond. Rosalba''s unfocused eyes as she spoke made it seem like she had been through a lot to have come to that conclusion.


    "Oh! You know what actually is a magic trick?" Rosalba suddenly asked. "If a guy gives any sign of liking you, there are two things that you can do and you''ll be as pretty as a goddess to him, even if you have a face like mine. One is complimenting him: guys don''t get compliments, you tell them they''re cute once and they''ll remember that till their dying breath, I guarantee. The other is casual physical contact. Nothing dirty, mind, even just grabbing his hand or arm every once in a while works. It''s dumb, but it works."


    The young fairy gave a reminiscent smirk, then intoned, as if repeating someone else''s words, "If it''s dumb but works, then it''s not dumb."


    Rosalba chuckled. "Hey, that''s a good one. Where did you hear that?


    "From someone I knew," Clelia sighed. "None of this matters all that much anyway. Getting romantically involved is not high on my list of priorities, at least for now. I have way more important things to do before I can think about trivialities like that."


    "Such as?"


    Clelia raised the paper bag. "Such as this. Keeping my end of the deal."


    If she had raised a rat and an owl descended to seize it from her hand, it still wouldn''t have been nearly as abrupt as Rosalba''s scrawny hand snatching the bag away from her.


    With a satisfied smug, Clelia clarified, "I''ve added a little extra to what we stipulated."


    The girl''s eyes glistened in the moonlight when she extracted from the bag, containing bread and fruit as they had agreed upon, a small jar of honey.


    The fairy continued. "If they starve you again, just come to my house whenever you can free yourself from your duties and I''ll make sure you have something to eat."


    Rosalba sniffled, then hugged her and started bawling on her shoulder. "And to think that I tried burglarising you. I don''t know how to thank you."


    Taken aback, Clelia hesitantly reciprocated the hug. It had been quite a while since she had such close contact with someone.


    The years spent wandering the castle at night trying not to get caught by the stewardess or her dwarves made Clelia generally much more perceptive to the noise of other people''s footsteps. That''s why her heart skipped a beat when the irregular rustling of approaching feet surprised her by being way too close for comfort. She turned to see a big grey malformed hand stretching out for them. She barely managed to avoid it, but it grasped Rosalba''s wrist.


    A beastly chant came from the darkness of its hood, in a growling mocking tone.


    "Here''s some children outside their home,


    After sunset all alone.


    Your small bodies I will snare,


    To bring you back into my lair,


    Where I''ll feast upon your pain,


    And you won''t see your homes again."


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Rosalba chocked a gasp as she was violently drawn toward the tall figure. Clelia instinctively summoned her wand and pointed it at the dark hood.


    "I command you to stop, fiend!" She intimated.


    "Clelia, just run!" Yelped Rosalba.


    "You quiet. I''ll deal with this."


    A gurgling chortle was the first response from the creature. "The little youth points her twig at us. What does she think it may do, we wonder?"


    "First off, we''re not children. I''m a married woman in fact."


    The chortle turned into a howl. "Children no longer, yet hardly adults. It makes no difference to us, as your flesh, and bones, and tears shall make for better meals than what we could scrape by in these troublesome times."


    "Secondly, I''m a fairy from the Arania gens." She grimaced, as she had hoped she wouldn''t need to drop her family name. "If you know what''s good for you, you''ll leave us alone."


    A prolonged throaty breath came from the shadow of the creature''s hood. "Your name is of no concern to us, as we do not belong to your people." Strings of saliva flickered in the moonlight as they stained the tattered cloak that covered most of the creature''s body. "We haven''t had delicious faerie flesh for supper in a long time, have we?"


    The tip of Clelia''s wand trembled visibly, as she failed to hide her body shaking in fear. If she cast the blocking spell she had, she''d be able to run away, but that would make its grasp on Rosalba''s wrist even more impossible to escape from. The curse she had embedded in the wand would eventually spell disaster for that monster, but it was too much on a slow burn to help in that moment.


    She tried controlling her breathing to summon the "tide", hoping she could shock the creature into opening its hand, but her attempt failed when it twisted Rosalba''s arm, trying to force her into its sack.


    "That''s as far as this goes." Spelled a calm voice from behind Clelia.


    A powerful "tide" ripple hit them all from where the voice had spoken. It had a reinvigorating effect on Clelia, but the creature staggered backwards as if hit by a charging bear, and finally let go of Rosalba.


    She turned to identify their rescuer and met the focused eyes of Madame Guillardine.


    The hooded figure snarled, "What is the widow doing here? Leave at once, this matter does not concern you. You have a deal with us, you promised not to meddle in our affairs."


    The powerful pressure of a new wave smashed through them, forcing the creature as well as the two girls on their knees. "Silence, vile creature. Our deal was made for your benefit and yours alone. In fact, you''re way too close to the Lar of the Crossroad to invoke our pact: you should not be here. I will turn a blind eye just this once, but you better leave empty handed."


    "Why does the widow care?" Roared the creature. "It''s just a puny servant girl we took, inside of a week she would be all but forgotten."


    Madame Guillardine crossed her arms. "What I said goes for the other girl as well."


    A vile gurgling laughter filled the air. "A contract was sealed, between you and us, a contract to protect the village and the humans within it. You can''t claim protection over that other girl in the name of our deal, for she admitted being a fairy. She''s our prey, she belongs to us now."


    A third wave interrupted the creature''s grotesque laughter. "I won''t let you lay a finger on her. You have no right to harm her, for I hold a long-standing grudge against her family, and I promise that you don''t want to interfere."


    Wheezing and gurgling, the cloaked figure finally got on its feet and lurched away. "May your precious Lares protect you, humans. The day that they may falter in their task we shall be there, and we do not forget a slight against us, not for a lifetime."


    When it finally disappeared in the night again, Madame Guillardine harshly ordered, "You girl go back to the farmhouse. It won''t dare try anything new tonight, but it''d be better if you stopped wandering around at night from now on."


    Rosalba automatically bowed. "Yes ma''am. Please ma''am, don''t be harsh with Milady here: I asked her to meet me tonight."


    "Worry less about her and more about yourself, little servant girl," responded the woman. "Go back home. I promise your friend here will also be back safe and sound."


    The short haired girl bowed again and, as she left, she gave one last worried glance to Clelia.


    The door opened to a house illuminated by tiny orbs of light floating around, creating an effect similar to candle light. The layout of the house was similar to Clelia''s, but the content was a lot more exotic: instead of a regular living room on the right and a dining room connected with a kitchen, it all looked like the laboratory of some kind of enchanter, with a cauldron where at Clelia''s place the dining table would have been, a table with all manners of animal skulls and other oddities in the centre of the "living room", and many trinkets, talismans, and seals hanging down from strings attached to the ceiling. The shrine to the Lares was right next to the entrance door, and the figures engraved in it were identical to the ones in Clelia''s home.


    Clelia gulped. She wasn''t entirely sure what the woman''s intentions were, but after her display with the monster she couldn''t help but obey when asked to follow. The way she treated with the monster, her prowess with the "tide", and that strange furniture made Clelia uneasy about following her inside, but at the same time she didn''t know how to refuse. The fact that she admitted having a grudge towards her gens only made her more anxious.


    When Madame Guillardine closed down the door, she extracted a grey beret from a pocket in her waistcoat and gently placed it on top of the shrine. Only when the woman wobbled on her feet and had to lean on the wall not to fall on the ground Clelia noticed that she was struggling to breathe.


    "Hey, do you need my help?"


    Madame Guillardine wheezed for a few seconds, then she raised a hand. "I do, but not for this."


    She staggered toward a chair next to the table with all the skulls and let herself fall onto it with all her weight. For the first time, Clelia took a moment to get a good look at her. Her long dark hair, streaked with grey, was gathered in a large well kept braid. Her high cheek bones and sleek nose gave a glimpse of the kind of beauty she would have been in her youth, but her fierce dark eyes and elegant mouth completed the picture of a woman who could probably still get some men much younger than her to turn their heads.


    Madame Guillardine''s hand grabbed an almost fully consumed candle from the chaos on the table, pinched the wick with her fingers and, when she let it go, it lit up with a dark purple light.


    "That," Clelia''s voice trembled, "is the handicraft of the gens Saturna. Madame, are you a fairy?"


    Still breathing heavily, the woman responded. "I was born from a human mother and a human father. Nothing but human blood runs through my veins. This candle was a gift from an old friend."


    Even when her host gestured to do so, Clelia hesitated before sitting down on the chair next to her.


    "I don''t understand," the girl started, "what is going on here? What does that candle do?"


    "It staves off an old curse. A curse that, I''m sorry to say, is about to run its course. I''m afraid I don''t have much time left, and in that time I will have to get closure for that old grudge of mine."


    Before Clelia could do anything, a strong hand grabbed her shoulder. "Mrs Neumann, I have to ask you to stay with me for a while. Until that candle runs out, to be specific."


    The young fairy''s first instinct was to stand up and run away as fast as possible. Two factors made that course of action impossible: first, her knees refused to cooperate; second, she was sure that, with a "tide" as powerful as hers, Madame Guillardine could force her to stay put, if needed. If she complied, at least for the time being, she could maybe get her to lower her guard, giving her a better opportunity to run away later. So, she nodded.


    "Thank you. I know you have doubts, in fact you have many reasons to doubt me right now, but I''m going to need you to trust me before the candle runs out of wax."


    Was that really the case? If she had been truthful and had a grudge with Clelia''s family, then it wasn''t unreasonable to assume that whatever curse had been placed on her was an Arania curse. Knowing that, she could deduce that, at the very least, neither letting it run its course nor meeting the condition to break it would involve hurting an Arania, because all the fairies in their gens, at least those powerful enough to create curses of that calibre, were extremely loyal to the family and would do nothing to put it at risk.


    Then, there was the matter of the candle. Madame Guillardine had told her that it would stave off the curse, and also that she needed to get closure for her old grudge before the light went out. That, combined with her struggling to breathe, led Clelia to believe that, somehow, what happened with the hooded figure had triggered the curse, and that she was trying to buy time to break it by using the candle.


    If her deductions were correct, then that woman didn''t necessarily have any ill will towards Clelia specifically, but the condition to break the curse would probably, in some way, involve her cooperation.


    "Well, Madame, if that''s the case I have a few questions to ask."


    "Naturellement, go right ahead."


    Clelia calmed down her breathing. Asking clarifications about the specifics of the curse was probably a waste of time. If Madame was both able and willing to share the details there was no reason why she couldn''t have done it sooner, so that meant that she was either unable, unwilling, or both. She decided she would start from different questions and, if she got the chance, she''d ask something that would help her deduce the actual conditions of the curse, which would help her either break it off or exploit it to run away, if it turned out that Madame Guillardine really did have ill intentions after all.


    Time for the first question. "If you''re really human, how are you so proficient in the use of the ''tide''?"


    "The ''tide'' is a technique that uses the controlling of one''s breathing to master one''s emotions and project them in form of waves through the medium of their natural magical energy. Everything emits natural magical energy, from the tiniest of tadpoles to the dumbest of ogres. All humans breathe and feel emotions. That''s really all the requirements to practice the ''tide'', no need to belong to the faerie folk."


    "Alright. Now, I''d like you to tell me what that monster was, and what kind of deal do you have with it."


    Finally no longer struggling to breathe, the woman took some time to adjust her posture before answering. "That monster was what the locals call the Babau. It is not a faerie, it is in fact a demon, a reject from the legions of hell. I don''t know what its real name is, otherwise I would have used it to send it back where it belongs a long time ago. The deal I made was that I wouldn''t try to exorcise it, but in exchange it wouldn''t hurt the human inhabitants of this village. It still sometimes wanders these streets at night, but for now it has kept its end of the bargain. It''s lucky that it didn''t know that your friend was from the farms, otherwise it would have been a lot more difficult to convince it to let her go."


    A demon? She had been face to face with a demon? No wonder it didn''t care about who her family was.


    Clelia gulped, trying to suppress the realisation of just in how much danger she had been. "Even if it is true that you''re human born, you are not a regular human. The ''tide'', the furniture in this place, the fact that you know about the difference between demons and faerie, and the fact that you own a candle crafted by the gens Saturna, all of that makes it very clear that there''s much more to you."


    Madame nodded with a smile. "You are perceptive. More so than you let on, I presume. I am indeed not a regular human. I am what the locals would call a Masca. To make it easier to explain, let''s say that I''m a witch, and that I watch over this village. You could say that I work together with the local Lares to keep the humans of this village safe from demons, faerie, and other potentially dangerous creatures."


    "You''re involved with the Lares?"


    Madame took a small stone from the table and caressed it with a finger. "Involved is one way to say it. This village is small, only a few hundreds souls live in it, and while that''s generally enough for the Lares to grow the power necessary to protect them all, there are circumstances that make the local Lares weaker than they should be. Unless someone feeds them with the power they need, that is."


    The stone wriggled and then opened, letting a tiny snake, similar to Horatius, out. The witch raised it to her eye level and gave it a motherly smile. "Here''s a cute little fellow. The snake below the relief of the Lares is supposed to be nothing more than a symbol of fertility and an augur of protection. If you are capable of carrying one around with you, it''s only because I gave it life. Now that I think about it, why weren''t you carrying your guardian serpent with you, dear child? He would have defended you from the Babau, if given the chance."


    "Uuh¡­" Clelia didn''t want to reveal to Madame the existence of the bag of spells she had recently found, but the only reason she hadn''t been carrying Horatius with her was that she had asked him to keep guard over it. She hadn''t gotten around to examining its content, or, better yet, she had been putting it off, but she felt uneasy about leaving it unattended.


    "Oh, you don''t have to tell me if you don''t want to," she reassured her, seeing her having trouble answering, "just know that he''d be capable of helping, and more than willing too. Next time, do keep it in mind."


    "Alright, I will."


    The young fairy needed to think about what to ask next. She closed her eyes and breathed, using the principles of the "tide" to calm down and think rationally. If she had done that while playing with Damian, perhaps she wouldn''t have found herself in a difficult spot two times in a row.


    She opened her eyes. "What is your relationship to the gens Saturna?"


    While she had been thinking, Madame had taken a velvety cloth and gently placed the newborn snake in it. "They were the protectors of my mentor. I learned a lot about the faerie folk and their magic from them. They''re still not in the best terms with your family, are they?"


    That was putting it mildly. "No, they''re not. If my mother knew that an associate of the gens Saturna was in this village, she would have found some way to chase her away before sending me here. She might have made it conditional for my wedding, in fact."


    Madame raised her eyebrows. "So, that means that you''re the daughter of the mastermind herself, the notorious Lausenna the fay. Don''t take it the wrong way, but I wouldn''t have guessed it by looking at you. I just assumed you were one of her nephews or younger cousins. In any case, I''d hardly call myself an associate of the gens Saturna, at the moment: I haven''t been in contact with them for decades."


    "That would not change anything from my mother''s perspective."


    Madame sighed. "I suppose it wouldn''t. And do you share your mother''s views?"


    Clelia bit her tongue. She wasn''t sure she wanted to share anything about her relationship with her mother. She would probably have dodged the question even if Damian had asked, and she was way more willing to trust him than her.


    The witch raised an eyebrow and smirked. "I saw that expression. And your silence speaks louder than any word. I honestly thought tonight might have been the end of me, but I see that there is hope still."


    "What do you mean?"


    The woman''s hand reached for the girl''s shoulder again, much more softly this time. "I mean that, if I understood you correctly, you and I might have a common enemy."

 Their Coffee

    "Give them back! You''ll break these too!" cried the child, in a futile effort to grab his glasses back from what Damian assumed was his older brother.


    "I didn''t break those, you did," teased the bigger child, his arm extended to keep the glasses out of reach.


    Damian sighed and prepared to intervene, when a voice, disguised to sound spooky but still familiar, spoke from the other side of a shelf full of frames for glasses.


    "Ooh, we would return those if we were you!"


    Even when camouflaged, Clelia''s voice was still recognisable. In addition to that, the tip of her tall pointy hat peeked from the top of the shelf. Not that the children would be able to spot it from their height.


    "This isn''t your business, whoever said that," protested the older child.


    "We are the sprites of vision correction and inhabit this shop," Clelia intoned. "We make the frames and the lenses, carve them with love and care. It makes us happy to help those who can''t see, the smiles of our customers are our pride and joy."


    Damian felt that pressure again, the same as those times when Clelia briefly showed her faerie nature, as she deepened her voice from behind the shelf, "But if someone ruins our work, we won''t be happy. We shall curse the bad kids who don''t treat our efforts with respect!"


    Then, he saw the tip of her wand also peeking from the top of the shelf, and an eerie light erupted from it, bathing the shelf in blue and purple, while the pressure augmented. The children were petrified.


    "No wait! I was just kidding, don''t curse me!" bawled the bigger child.


    The pressure died down and the light turned off. "That is all up to you. Return the glasses and, from now on, be more kind to those smaller than you."


    Still staring at the shelf, the child gave back the glasses, then ran out of the shop. The younger brother put the glasses back on, thanked the shelf, then followed. Clelia''s subsequent giggle betrayed both pride in her action and a touch of mischief.


    Damian giggled too. "The sprites of vision correction? Where do you get ideas like that?"


    She appeared from behind her cover, still laughing. "I just related to the younger kid. Let''s just say that I''ve been on the receiving end of similar treatment."


    Tell me about it, thought Damian.


    She looked different without glasses: not only was she missing an element he was now used to seeing on her, her expression was also distorted by the need of squinting her eyes. As different as it was, a floating sensation making the rounds between his stomach and chest told him that she was just as cute like this as she was regularly. He raised her big round glasses, now repaired, and gently put them back in their place, straddling her nose. During that gesture, she closed her eyes and stood firm, trusting, and his fingers brushed against the softness of her cheek.


    She opened her eyes, sighed in relief as her face muscles relaxed, not needing to squint anymore, and her sigh turned into an excited giggle. "It''s so nice to be able to see with both eyes again."


    "You should have told me sooner," he admonished, not too harshly.


    "What''s next on the today plan," she playfully wiggled her eyebrows, "dear husband?"


    Damian looked away. Hearing her calling him that, even if her tone was blatantly not serious, had an effect on him. After the time they had spent together the day prior, she had been acting a lot more lighthearted and friendly towards him. That meant that she was starting to trust him more, which had always been among his objectives. He was unsure if that was a good or a bad thing.


    It was as if, in his mind, he could see a younger version of himself writing cheesy poems and struggling to find sleep at night over the emotions swirling inside of him, and an older version, with a short well trimmed beard not unlike that of his older brother Vaufrej, dispassionately reminding him of what actually mattered.


    He cleared his throat in an attempt to calm down his unruly feelings. "I still have to visit the book store, the main reason why I needed to come in town today, then we''ll have some time to waste before we have to take the train back home."


    ***


    On their way to the book store, Clelia observed the wonders of the city of Taurasia. Instead of one big citadel surrounded by smaller buildings and walls, in this city everything seemed huge. She took Damian by the arm, a little afraid of losing him in the sheer number of people walking around the stone paved streets. Compared to when they had walked together arm in arm, just a couple of days prior, she felt a lot more at ease now that she had had the opportunity to have a casual conversation with him.


    A big trolley passed alongside them on the street, which is when she noticed the metal tracks embedded in the lane, somewhat similar to train tracks. Ah, the train, she thought. She had been hearing various times a day the sound of the train passing at the station in front of the village, but had never wondered what it was. She had always just assumed it had something to do with the factory.


    But, only a couple of hours prior, her entire misconception had been obliterated. To think that humans would be able to build something so big and heavy, and yet capable of travelling so fast. Damian had explained to her the alchemical processes used to heat the water, and how steam would propel the mechanism, or whatever, but she was completely out of her depth in that field. She was sure that, given a couple of books and some time, she''d be able to wrap her head around it, but, as it was, it required her to understand too many new concepts all at once to fully grasp.


    Still, all that she really needed to understand was how far the train could actually take her. One of the most crucial steps in her plan to run away was to find a way to travel a long distance without getting lost, and the train seemed like a potential candidate for that. She tried not getting her hopes up too much though. She was sure that, without extensive use of magic, which humans had only very limited access to, laying down the tracks for the train would be a titanic effort, as such she couldn''t imagine those tracks going too far away. But, at the end of the day, every bit counted.


    That had been a very productive day. Not only had she learned about trains, but she had made a lot of progress that night as well. As she allowed herself to be guided by her husband, she reminisced about her conversation with her next door neighbour, and what it meant for her plan going forward.


    "A common enemy?" Asked Clelia to clarify, "You mean my mother?"


    Madame Guillardine nodded with a mischievous smile. "Indeed. I can tell from the expressions you just showed when I asked about her that you two don''t exactly have a rosy relationship."


    Clelia looked away and grunted, "Oh, we have a rosy relationship alright. If you cut away the blooms and only keep the thorns, that is."


    Madame gave a hearty laugh. "Well, isn''t that just wonderful? As it happens, your mother is the one in your family with whom I have a bone to pick."


    "Honestly, that''s the least surprising thing I heard all night." Clelia deadpanned.


    "Tell me, child," the witch asked as she became more serious again, "would it be alright if I asked a few questions? You''re allowed to stay silent if you don''t wish to provide an answer."


    The young fairy didn''t take long to decide on a course of action. "Before that, I''d like for you to declare your will not to hurt or impede me in any way while projecting your feelings with the ''tide''."


    Madame nodded. "Clever. It is impossible to fake one''s feelings while using the ''tide'', which is why it is a fundamental skill to cultivate for all magic users who work with animals. I will do as you ask."


    The witch closed her eyes, took a deep breath in, then out, and, as the air trembled with the pressure of her "tide", she declared, "I have no intention of hurting, impeding, or deceiving you."


    Clelia was hit by a wave brimming with the resolve and sincerity in Madame''s words. The fairy sighed, knowing that it was possible for her to relax her guard. As soon as she did that, all over Madame''s body a silvery web became visible, and then quickly unravelled and dissolved.


    "The curse on me is broken," explained the woman. "It was triggered when my ''tide'' hit you hard enough to put you on your knees, and you broke it just now by trusting me." She joined her hands together and addressed an intense look to Clelia. "Now, if it was my intention to double cross you, I would."


    The two remained silent for a few moments. Clelia was ready to summon her wand, use her blocking spell and, if possible, run away, but then Madame Guillardine laughed as hard and as sincerely as she did before.


    "I''m not going to do that, of course. You''re a good kid, you trusted me quickly. Way too quickly. Even with that ''tide'' stratagem, I could have worded it in such a way that would allow me room to betray you while still coming off as sincere. I purposely spoke it in such a way that it wouldn''t give me that room, but you should learn to be more careful in the future."


    Clelia impatiently adjusted her glasses, as a wave of shame heated up her cheeks. "About those questions you wanted to ask me?"


    "What are your intentions in the near future? Despite your meek appearances, I can tell that you have a flame within, a flame that, if cultivated, could power you towards any goal. That doesn''t mesh well with the image of the dutiful daughter quietly going along with the arranged marriage planned by her mother, at least not without an ulterior motive. So, what is it that you''re trying to achieve?"


    The young fairy emitted a long sigh. "I want¡­ to have as little to do with my mother as possible."


    Madame Guillardine pierced her with her perceptive gaze. "So, in other words, you wish to escape from her."


    Clelia hung her head, defeated. "Yes, that is my wish. As far away as possible."


    That had been the very first time Clelia had admitted her plan out loud.


    "Well," Madame smiled, "you did free me of an old burden. How about we join forces?"


    "Here we are," announced Damian, interrupting her thoughts.


    They stood in front of a big shop window, with all manners of books on display. Before she was able to ask a few of the questions that had come up in her mind, he pulled the door open and led her inside.


    "Wait, there are a lot of books here. Aren''t they going to check our identities or something?" Worried Clelia.


    "What do you mean?" He stopped, confused. "Why would they need to check our identities to enter a book store?"


    "Well, uh¡­ they just allow public access to a place containing this much knowledge?"


    He raised an eyebrow. "Of course. Do faerie limit access to information based on status?"


    She hesitantly nodded.


    "We don''t do that. Anyone willing and able to read can get access to almost anything, if they know where to look. In a book store, they also need to have the money, of course, but there are public libraries to allow access to books even to those who can''t afford to buy them."


    She gasped in utter wonder. "That is awe inspiring! I had no idea that humans were so generous with their knowledge!"


    "It''s a¡­ relatively recent development. And it was very hard fought too. My grandfather was always in favour of spreading knowledge and education even to the less fortunate, as I already mentioned, and he''s had his fair share of pushback on that too."


    "Still, nobody would even dare propose to someone like my mother to share her personal book collection with lower ranking faerie." She gave him a large smile. "Your grandfather must have been a truly great man."


    He looked away and cleared his throat. "In any case, I''ll go to the clerk and ask about my orders. You can look around and see if something catches your fancy: I''ll be more than glad to buy it for you."


    "Do you, um¡­ do you think they have books on trains?"


    He chuckled. "Your enthusiasm for trains reminds me of little boys, seeing a locomotive once and then declaring that they want to become station master or train driver when they grow up. I''m sure you''ll find anything you wish to know on trains over there, where they keep all volumes on technology, or over there, where you''ll find anything you need to know on travelling."


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    Her eyes sparkled as she took a deep breath, excited about both possibilities. The former would maybe satiate her curiosity on how humans managed to make all of their wonders work with little to no magic, but the latter might just give her the information she needed for her plan. Of course, she chose the latter. After eagerly scanning through the volumes in the appropriate shelf, she found something she didn''t even dare asking: a volume titled "The Royal Railways of the Kingdom of Tallia".


    With hands almost trembling in anticipation, she took the heavy tome and opened it. At first she was a little confused, because she wasn''t entirely sure how to read the map and found it entirely covered in a seemingly all-encompassing web of interconnected lines. Then had to stifle a loud gasp as she finally grasped that those lines were the railways. The trains reached just about everywhere in the country.


    This discovery went beyond her wildest dreams. She had never even imagined that travelling far away from home could be that easy through human means. Now, the only thing she needed before being ready was to find a destination, somewhere safe to move to and finally build a new life for herself. That was¡­


    That was strangely disappointing.


    ***


    Damian''s shoulders visibly relaxed as soon as Clelia detached from his arm to go and explore the shelf with books on travelling. When they had walked together arm in arm to go to his aunt''s social event, a few days prior, he remembered being a lot more poised, composed, in control. Earlier, when she grabbed him without a word, he had felt like several of his internal organs got violently misplaced; furthermore, walking alongside her like that had given him a floaty feeling he had never experienced before. He caught himself in the act of staring at Clelia enthusiastically prancing toward her destination. He put an end to it by shaking his head and turning away, reviving his resolve to carry on with his errand.


    As he approached the counter, he noticed that the clerk, an older woman shaped like a question mark wearing square glasses, was staring at Clelia.


    He waved his hand to get her attention. "Greetings. There should be an order in my name."


    The woman dragged her eyes between him and his wife a few times, then drawled, "Mr Neumann, I presume."


    He raised a brow. "Was mine the only order?"


    She sluggishly shook her head. "A girl dressed eccentric like that is either a little kooky or a fairy, and she walked in here arm in arm with a finely dressed young gentleman. I read the news, I know about the Neumann boy who recently married with a fairy."


    In her first change of expression, she addressed him a complicit smile, glancing at him from above the frame of her glasses. "And, by the look of you, you seem to be quite pleased with your partner."


    "I don''t know what you mean. In any case, my order¡­"


    A lethargic guffaw escaped from the woman''s wrinkly lips. "My dear boy, it couldn''t be more obvious that you''re completely smitten if you walked around with a leaflet on your forehead spelling it out in bright colours."


    "My order." He dryly replied.


    She shrugged and plodded out of her chair.


    Before she could get very far away, he remembered something. He extracted a small note from his pocket and placed it on the desk between them. "One more thing. Do you happen to have this available?"


    The woman approached and looked at the scribble on the paper. "Not sure, I''ll look for it." She gave him another complicit smile. "It''s for her, isn''t it?"


    In response, he stared at her until she shrugged again and went back to trudging her way to the back of the shop.


    While waiting for her to do her job, he closed his eyes and started reciting in his mind the alchemical steps for the Great Work. The classical process was nigredo first, then albedo, then citrinitas, and finally rubedo. The twelve keys of Ryplee, on the other hand, began with calcination, solution, separation, and conjunction, then went to¡­


    "Damian?" Called a dusty voice.


    He opened his eyes, finding himself face to face with the dull blackness of a tall dress, topped by a pale arid face with long dark hair and grey eyes.


    "Mother."


    ***


    Clelia stared at the page with the map of the railways, immobile, as if waiting for the appropriate excitement in light of her discovery to finally kick in. Eventually, the loud thump of her closing the book announced that she got tired of waiting.


    After putting the volume away, she remained crouched for a few moments, trying to observe her emotional state through the principles of the "tide", hoping to understand that dull, empty lump of disappointment in her stomach.


    Before she could do that, she noticed a tall figure speaking with Damian. Ah, it was his mother, she remembered her from the wedding and from the time they bought her glasses. She hadn''t seen her since, now that she thought about it. She got up on her feet and moved to reach the two of them, so she could greet her properly. Behind his mother, was a younger woman, presumably a servant, judging from her clothing and the bag of stuff she was carrying for her master.


    "¡­Of course I don''t use the cini system for keeping up with ''Vita Taurasiana'', do you take me for some sort of a beggar?" She heard the tall woman remark as she approached.


    Keeping the rest of her body completely immobile, the head of Damian''s mother turned just enough to meet Clelia''s gaze. "So you were here with your wife. Good. I hope you can give her an education on civilised society." She then addressed Clelia directly, still with a dry tone. "Good day to you, dear daughter in law."


    Clelia''s mind raced in trying to remember what the human etiquette was, so ended up bowing like Aunt Lucia''s butler had done when she met him at the market, almost losing her hat in the process.


    A wrinkle besides the tall woman''s nose twitched. "I commend her enthusiasm, if nothing else. In any case, I''m quite in a hurry, so one last thing. I want you two to be well dressed and well behaved for the opening of the opera season: all of Taurasia''s high society will be there. Even maestro Azzurri himself will appear, according to ''Vita Taurasiana''."


    Before leaving, she snorted, "No talks of Alchemy there, Damian, don''t forget that. Enjoy the rest of your day trip."


    She didn''t even wait for either of them to answer before floating away, moving while keeping her composure in such a way that made her almost look like a doll on wheels. The servant quietly followed.


    Damian let his head dangle backwards as a huge sigh escaped his lungs. "I''m sorry about that, I hope she didn''t upset you."


    She made a point of keeping a neutral expression. "Upset me? Why would that upset me?"


    He shook his head. "Never mind."


    The clerk laboriously came back to her desk carrying a small pile of volumes.


    "I did find your little added request after all." The clerk announced.


    Clelia peeked and, on the top of the pile, she spotted a copy of a familiar book.


    "That''s¡­"


    Damian nodded. "Yes, it''s Olliver''s Travels. You didn''t name it yesterday, but when you described your favourite book I knew you were talking about this one. I requested a copy just now."


    The clerk added, "With coloured prints, excellent edition."


    Damian paid, grabbed the paper bag with reinforced bottom the clerk gave him, thanked her, and the two of them left.


    When they were out in the crowd again, she grabbed his arm once more.


    He spoke with trembling voice, for whatever reason. "Because of the advent of the cini system, printing high quality editions with coloured pictures became a big selling point for many publishing houses. After all, as it currently exists, the cini system cannot reproduce colours, and, though it would technically be possible, modifying it to allow for colour would be so expensive on a per unit basis that it would be impossible to sell them at reasonable prices."


    She instinctively squeezed his arm, but loosened up her grip when the muscles underneath his sleeves caused her to flush a little. "I have yet to give you the present I promised you."


    "What present?" He queried.


    She nervously fiddled with the bridge of her glasses. "The day we married. I promised I''d give you something in exchange for these glasses." She sighed, but softly smiled through it. "Looks like now you have two presents to look forward to."


    Another trolley clanged past them, as silence fell on their conversation.


    Despite the fact that she was now a lot closer to her goal than she had anticipated, she realised something: she still knew very little about human society and how to move through it. Perhaps it would be a good idea to bide her time, at least a little. Even in the brief encounter with Damian''s mother she felt like she had made some mistake, which she should probably learn how to avoid before going away on her own.


    Damian''s mother¡­ the encounter with her reminded Clelia of something. The conversation she had had with Damian the morning after their wedding, the one that left her underwhelmed. Just like him on that day, that woman had been dry and to the point, no pleasantries, no feelings, then immediately took off. The young fairy had noticed how Damian''s eyes, that had been lively all morning, dulled out during his conversation with his mother, and didn''t even recover right away when it was over. It felt all too familiar. Even after leaving the castle, the apparition of her own mother''s disapproving glare kept popping up.


    Her husband''s voice broke the pause in their conversation. "We humans have plenty of stories about your kind, you know?"


    She nodded. "Same."


    "But I''ve been feeling like those stories have done nothing to prepare me for¡­ all this."


    She kept on nodding, her eyes slowly slipping toward the ground.


    "I used to think that you''d be completely different from us. And, don''t get me wrong, I''ve seen plenty of ways in which you are. But, at the same time, I''ve been seeing a lot of things that we share."


    He then started saying something, which turned into unintelligible grumbling.


    "What''s that?"


    He shook his head. "Nothing."


    Her head leaned on one side. "I get what you''re saying. And I''m not just feeling it as in you humans compared to us fairies, I mean as in you and me, as individuals."


    Both of them jolted when her head brushed against his shoulder. She covered her blushing face by pretending to adjust her glasses once more.


    "Yeah, I agree," he continued. "Even when we were at the optometrist''s shop, when you played that trick on the little bully."


    Oh yeah, she thought with a smirk, that had been a good use of the light spell she had managed put together before leaving.


    He continued, "You said that you used to be on the receiving end of such behaviour and I, well¡­ I understand that better than you''d think."


    "Well I felt that way when your own mother spoke to you as if you were some kind of¡­ of¡­" Her brows furrowed more and more, until she erupted, "of misbehaving pet who stopped amusing and started trying her patience."


    When their eyes met, his glistened with surprise, and hers shone with anger. As usual, her burst of rage subsided almost as quickly as it had appeared, and she avoided his gaze, embarrassed by her own little outburst.


    After a brief pause, she heard his voice again. "Say, Clelia, would you like to¡­ sit down at a caf¨¦ or something? Have something to drink, chat some more?"


    The pictures in the book were beautiful. Even when they differed from the way she had imagined the travels of the protagonist, they managed to create a mood that she couldn''t quite describe. Human artists really were something.


    Damian managed to catch her attention, for the waiter had arrived and, apparently, had already asked for their order.


    Clelia closed down the book and said, "I''d like to try this coffee thing, I''ve never heard of it back home."


    "She''s a fairy," Damian briefly explained to the confused looking waiter, "it hasn''t even been a week since she started living among humans."


    He then addressed her. "I must warn you that it''s quite bitter. The cubes of sugar in that little bowl can be used to sweeten it to a degree, but it''s still going to be a very strong flavour."


    "Alright, got you. I still want to try it."


    Damian nodded. "Two cups of espresso then."


    Clelia blinked a few times, confused. "I said coffee."


    He chuckled. "Espresso is one way to make coffee. Trust me, I know what I''m doing."


    Her head sank into her shoulders. "Sorry."


    After the waiter left, neither of them managed to speak, and she felt too awkward to open the book up again.


    He massaged the back of his neck. "You know," he laughed nervously, "we humans usually meet in places like this during courtship, before getting married. You and I are doing things in a weird order."


    "You mean, human boys and girls are allowed to meet and interact in public before marriage?"


    "Eh, actually that''s somewhat of a recent development too," he admitted, "and, if you want to do it properly, you should have a chaperone with you. But, since we are married, I suppose we''re not doing anything strange, even if it''s just you and me."


    Clelia became aware of the fact that her heart was beating faster for some reason. Even if it was unintended, the sudden shift in the atmosphere of their encounter did not go unnoticed with her. What should she do? She took a good look at him. He really was handsome, with his dark brown hair, sincere smile, not to mention those grey eyes one could get lost into¡­ she realised he was in his shirt sleeves now, leaving his elegant wrists and collarbones in the open. The temperature inside the caf¨¦ had admittedly been on the warm side, but, until that very moment, she had not stopped to take notice. Her eyes wandered around, trying to assess what the other women and girls were wearing, and she saw that they all wore much smaller, much lighter hats, which would probably help with the heat. She wondered how much of a faux-pas it would be to take her hat off entirely, but decided that she couldn''t stand it and did it anyway, freeing her wild hair.


    "So," he started again, "how do you feel about your first few days of marriage?"


    Beneath the cover of the table, she grabbed and squeezed the fabric of her skirt. Now that she was paying attention, even his voice sounded attractive. It was full and smooth, with a deceptive warmth to it.


    "Oh, it''s been quite¡­ very¡­ certainly interesting, yes."


    "And how do you feel about me?"


    She was positive that most of her bodily functions had stopped working for a few instants. Was he putting the moves on her? Well, maybe that was the wrong way to think about it, since he was, after all, her husband. But, despite having been very aware of the fact that he was her husband all along, despite the girl talk with Rosalba, even despite her own feelings on the matter, it was the first time that the possibility really dawned on her. Did he actually feel something for her?


    "Oh, um, how do you feel about me?" She reflexively asked.


    For some reason, he nodded. "Yeah, maybe it was a bit¡­ bold of me to ask something like that point blank. Allow me to elaborate. Remember when, before, I expressed how surprised I was in finding similarities between us? When preparing for the wedding, I always thought about it as a business matter, and my prospective wife was, in my mind, only a variable in the equation. Meeting you, getting to know you, discovering that, after all, we do have some fundamental things in common¡­ all of that changed my way of thinking about you. I''d like to know if you went through something similar."


    Her shoulders relaxed. "Ah, so that''s what you meant. Well, I''d say that I did go through a few different ways of thinking about you. Before meeting you, you were nothing but a name, I didn''t even think about you as part of some¡­ equation or anything like that. After meeting you, I started thinking about you as¡­ I don''t know how else to put it, a stranger. A kind stranger," and very attractive, she carefully didn''t add, "but a stranger nonetheless. The way you started only talking to me for practical stuff and avoiding me at all other times after the wedding did not help."


    She saw him squirm uncomfortably at those words, and then continued, "But, after spending some time with you today and yesterday, and talking to you right now¡­ I think I understood something about you."


    His face tensed up. "Which is?"


    Her smile turned sly. "Which is that you have no idea what you''re doing. You''re just taking it one step at a time, figuring it all out as you go."


    "Ah!" Was all that he could say in response. Bullseye, she thought.


    Her expression sweetened. "Hey, cheer up, dear husband: we''re in the same boat in that regard."


    Damian nodded, then met her gaze with his beautiful eyes. "I suppose you''re right on the money. So, at the end of the day, what do you think about me?"


    She raised a brow, smirking again. "I think that I could have been dealt a much worse hand than you. Maybe, going forward, we could start trying to figure it all out together, rather than scrambling about like gnomes who lost their hats?"


    He snickered. "We are husband and wife after all, right?"


    She nodded, with another sweet smile. "Right."


    The coffee arrived. Curious, she tried it before putting any sugar in it. It was, indeed, extremely bitter.

 Her Hesitation

    "Mrs Clelia Neumann!" waved a big girl in a delicate blue dress, just as Clelia exited from her home.


    The fairy came to a halt, baffled by a stranger stopping her in the brief journey between her house and that of her neighbour.


    "Oh, I''m so glad I finally managed to get your attention. I''ve been dying to meet you for a while now, but¡­"


    "Can I help you?" Clelia hesitantly replied.


    "I''m Giovanna, Mrs Giovanna Banco. You can call me Giovanna. In any case, this is for you."


    She extended a little elegant envelope to Clelia.


    "It''s an invitation," she clarified with a cheerful smile, "to a little get together happening later this week. There will be the upper crust of the young women in this village, so it is quite an exclusive and intimate affair. I was hoping to give it to you yesterday morning at church, but I didn''t see you at the function."


    "Oh, my husband and I went to the city yesterday. And, in any case, I wouldn''t have been able to participate even if we didn''t." Clelia replied while examining the carefully written invitation letter.


    "Why not?"


    "I''m a fairy." She stated, as if that would suffice.


    Seeing only bewilderment in her eyes, Clelia doubted herself for a second. "Aren''t human churches considered sacred ground for your God?"


    Giovanna''s expression didn''t seem any less confused. "Yes, they are."


    "The faerie folk cannot encroach on your God''s sacred ground," Clelia explained. "It''s an ancient pact that exists between our foremothers and your God''s prophet. I couldn''t participate to a church function even if I wanted to."


    "Oh. Well, our little get together will be at my home," Giovanna giggled with a wink, "so you won''t have that excuse. I hope I see you there: the girls can''t wait to be able to get to know you too, I''m sure of it."


    Clelia was about to bow like she had done with her mother in law, but then remembered the woman''s less than enthusiastic reaction and hesitated, still unsure of what human etiquette would require of her. "Um, thanks, I''ll be there?"


    Giovanna responded by gently bending her knees a little, holding her skirt with her hands in a peculiar way, while slightly bowing her head. "I''ll hold you to it then. Have a nice day!"


    The fairy didn''t even try to imitate her, she only bowed her head. "You too."


    As the big girl bounced away, Clelia found herself dreading the prospect of that invitation somewhat. She had been to "exclusive" and "intimate" events before and she had always found them boring. A part of her wanted Rosalba to be there too, just to have a familiar face, but she knew that probably was a pipe dream; after all, even among fairies, she hadn''t exactly very often seen servants invited as guests. On the other hand, however, it could be a chance to learn more about human etiquette and their social standards, which would be useful, perhaps even necessary, to further her plans.


    In any case, she had a few days before all that, now she had to focus on what was directly in front of her, specifically Madame Guillardine''s door. She hovered her hand to knock, but the door opened before she had the chance to do it.


    "Good morning, child," greeted the witch with a warm smile. "Do come in. We have a lot to discuss."


    The house Clelia entered was very different from the one she had visited the other night. It was completely normal, almost identical to her own. Though, even in this version of Madame''s house the shrine to the Lares was next to the entrance, and it still had the same grey beret propped on top of it.


    "Madame, was the house I entered the other night a miniature realm of yours?"


    The witch clapped her hands. "Your education in magic is top notch, as expected from a daughter of your gens."


    Clelia whistled, impressed. "Remarkable work, I didn''t even notice. I didn''t know witches were capable of that."


    "I''m a Masca," corrected Madame Guillardine. "I know it''s a bit like if you met a cat and called it ''cat'', only for it to respond ''I''m a short haired Norenian, thank you'', but it is a distinction worth pointing out."


    Fiddling with the frame of her glasses, Clelia asked, "Well, what''s the difference?"


    Madame raised a brow enigmatically. "I''m curious to see how complete your education really is. But first, just to make sure nothing is spying on us, allow me to create a change of scenery."


    She touched the shrine and, suddenly, the both of them were on a dirt path in the middle of a forest.


    "I''m not getting any younger," Madame explained, "and talking a walk is healthy, so I hope you won''t mind."


    Another realm. This one seemed both bigger and more complex than the last one. Clelia wondered if there would be animals inside too.


    As if to answer that unspoken question, Madame explained, "This is nothing but a place where I can go when I feel like going outside, but don''t want to have to deal with people. You and I will be its only inhabitants. Now, back to what we were saying before: do you know how human women become witches?"


    As they started walking, Clelia tormented the temple of her glasses. "If I''m not mistaken, they have to forge a bond with some other entity that already has magic potential to become witches."


    "Correct," the woman nodded. "When it comes to Masche, however, it is a little more peculiar than that. You see, a Masca cannot die of old age. We don''t remain youthful forever, but we don''t die to age and other natural causes. When one of us deems that she has lived long enough, she finds a pupil, and her pupil will forge a bond with her mentor quite like other witches would do with demons, spirits, or the gods of the land. Through that bond, the young Masca will gain the powers of her mentor, and her mentor will become capable of dying to old age again. One of the abilities that my mentor passed down to me, and that, modesty aside, I improved upon, was the ability to craft realms out of the dreamscape."


    Clelia nodded, engrossed in the little lesson. "That''s fascinating! By the way in which you talk about it, it seems like it''s only passed down from woman to woman, quite like we fairies do, which I didn''t think would be the case for humans."


    Madame clicked her tongue. "Men who practice magic generally become wizards, you don''t see them turning to us witches very often. Still, it is not unprecedented for there to be a man in our ranks. A male Masca is called a Mascone. The other reason why Masconi are very uncommon is that they cannot pass down their power, so when they decide to give up their immortality their powers become lost, their line of succession broken."


    Madame Guillardine shifted her tone. "Now, for the reason why I invited you here today." She took, from inside of her petticoat, two small leather flasks. "I have an infusion, a little creation of mine, with ivy, nettles, and a few other things. It''s quite invigorating and refreshing while on a hike. Do you want some?"


    The fairy didn''t feel like refusing, so she nodded and took the flask that was being handed to her.


    "I have invited you here as a continuation of the discussion we were having the last time we met," declared Madame. "Even when it wasn''t actively trying to destroy me, your mother''s curse had been a thorn in my side for a very long time, so, since you gave me the opportunity to get rid of it once and for all, I feel grateful and I''d like to help you however I can in exchange."


    Clelia caressed the bridge of her glasses. "Thank you, but I''m not sure what kind of help I could ask from you."


    The Masca leaned towards her. "You''re not asking, I''m offering. I can give you any information you need on human society, I can provide you the means to leave whenever you feel that you''re ready, and, more importantly, I can teach you a lot about magic."


    Clelia raised her chin and crossed her arms. "I''m a noble fairy, I don''t need a human witch to teach me about magic."


    The tapered hands of the witch joined together in front of her mouth. "When I rescued you from the Babau, I sensed your use of the ''tide''. I''m not going to belittle you for the fact that it didn''t work: in stressful scenarios, sometimes even experts may flounder. But even from that failed attempt I could tell that your magical training is severely lacking in areas that, if I were to teach you, you could significantly improve."


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    Madame then raised a brow. "Not to mention how strange it is, for a fully trained noble fairy, not to have a catalogue of spells ready to unleash on one measly demon. That is the whole point of your wands: they allow you to always have the entirety of your spell reserve at your disposal without having to physically carry them around on you. The fact that you even resorted to try the ''tide'' instead of a spell suggests that you didn''t have at the ready any spells to deal with that situation. That shouldn''t happen, not without significant gaps in your magic training."


    "With all due respect, Madame," snapped Clelia, "that is not your business."


    The witch gave her an intense look. She struggled to withstand it, but ultimately succeeded. Eventually, Madame shrugged in an "as you wish" kind of way and turned her attention to the path ahead.


    Madame carefully opened the flask in her hand. "How long until you think you''ll leave?"


    Clelia did the same. "I''ll do it as soon as I''m ready."


    The Masca''s dark eyes hit her harder than a tidal wave. "If I were to provide you with everything you need, including a safe destination, any relevant information, supplies, and train tickets, would you be ready to leave tomorrow?"


    "Tomorrow?" Clelia scrambled. "That''s¡­ I don''t know enough about human etiquette to just up and go somewhere else to live, and I can''t enter faerie society either, so¡­"


    "I know some people," Madame interrupted, "who would be more than happy to harbour you for however long you need. Witches, to be exact, so they''re not part of regular human society, nor are they fairies. They''d understand your position and could teach you everything you need to live among humans. All the while, you''d be far away and hidden from your mother."


    Clelia panicked, struggling to find a valid response, but stopped when she noticed Madame chuckling.


    "What''s so funny?"


    "You''re red from the tip of your nose all the way to your ears." The witch smugly took a sip. "If you raring to leave as soon as ready, like you said, then why are you trying to find an excuse to stay?"


    Fuming, Clelia closed up the flask without drinking. She needed to calm down, then she''d find some reason to excuse herself and go back home. She still had some work to do to finish the camouflage spell she had been working on during the afternoon of the day prior, among other things.


    "Now you''re trying to find an excuse to leave from this realm and then my home, aren''t you?"


    Clelia''s eyes snapped back to meet Madame''s. How?


    She took another sip. "I''m not reading your mind, I''m just sensing a pattern. I believe that your first instinct, when you encounter something that causes you discomfort, is to avoid it or run from it, if at all possible. I won''t let you do that with me."


    All the exasperation that the last exchange had caused in Clelia deflated completely at those words. She turned away and caressed the temple of her glasses, hiding her face from the woman walking besides her.


    "Come on, child," continued Madame''s warm voice. "If you want to stay here, at least for a while, there is no shame in that, no matter what the real reason is. I just want you to be honest. Honest with me, sure, but especially honest with yourself, which I don''t think you''re being."


    "Well, I did make a friend¡­" Clelia massaged her shoulder, still looking away.


    "The servant girl from the farms, yes? She''s a fine young woman, I''m sure she would make a good friend too."


    "You know her?"


    Madame closed her flask again. "I keep company with older women than that, usually. It is generally assumed that, when growing up, people get wiser and more mature; in my experience, that is not completely true, as a group of old women is just as likely to engage in the same kind of gossip that a group of young girls is. Your friend is protagonist of very unflattering rumours, you know?"


    Clelia''s shoulders fell slightly down. "I suppose that makes a little sense, given her habit of stealing food from the village."


    "Oh, sweet child," Madame chortled, "that is not what the village women are concerned about. They are a lot more bothered with her having¡­ entertained several boys in the past."


    Clelia''s head snapped up. "What? In what way would that be a problem?"


    "Well, what would you think your sisters would say of a faerie boy having had multiple girls despite his young age?" Madame''s eyes felt so sharp that Clelia almost feared getting cut up from the inside if she kept looking at them.


    "That''s¡­"


    "¡­Different? It''s quite the same, considering that male faerie occupy in fairy society a role that, in many ways, is comparable to female humans in human society. In any case, I learned a long time ago to discern the truth lying beneath the gossip. The quality of the bad rumours around your friend convinced me that she''s actually a good person, and that the village women and girls are just sore about losing to a boyish looking girl from a lower social class." Madame''s smirk as she said the last sentence infected Clelia too.


    Madame gently joined her hands together around the leather container she was holding. "While I''m sure that having a new friend is a real reason for your hesitation, there must be more than that. I sensed a certain level of desperation from you, leading to your idea of fleeing from your mother, and I think that, to offset that desperation, just one friend is no reason enough."


    Clelia huffed. "What''s with this interrogation? I thought you invited me to offer help, not to¡­"


    "If you wish me to help, I need to understand you better." The witch interrupted again.


    "That''s rich," Clelia retorted, "considering how you¡­"


    "¡­How I see through you with ease? That''s a skill that comes with having met a lot of people. Another thing that I learned is that, sometimes, to help someone, it is necessary to make them uncomfortable. You get squeamish every time we''re about to touch one of the areas in which you''d really need someone''s help. Running away? I''m sure you would have that figured out already on your own by now, if that was really what you truly, deeply desired. But you''re still here, and I''m willing to wager that you''d still be here a few weeks from now, perhaps even months, if left to your own devices. You are dilly-dallying. You''re not taking your own objective seriously. You appreciated my offer for help, but I can''t help you if what you truly want is different from what you told me you want."


    After a long silence, Clelia sighed deeply. "Yesterday, when I learned truly how easy it would be for me to leave at any time, I felt¡­ I resolved to leave my mother''s castle more than a year ago, and the wedding gave me an opportunity to do so. Of course, if my mother agreed to marry one of her daughters to a human there must be some kind of ulterior motive, even if it''s someone like¡­ she doesn''t do anything unless she sees a way to benefit from it in the long run. So, even if I don''t know what she''s planning, it''s clear that staying here is not enough to escape from her grasp. I knew this from the very moment I learned there would be a wedding. That''s why I wanted to get away from here."


    Madame Guillardine encouraged her to go on with a gesture of her hand. "But¡­?"


    The fairy sighed again. "But, since I came here, I''ve been¡­ strangely happy. I''ve had a few bad moments, yes, but, overall, it''s been liberating, invigorating. It''s like I had been trapped in a web my whole life, and, suddenly, I found myself free. When I was faced with how easy it would be to just leave, I¡­ didn''t know how to feel about it."


    The witch chuckled. "It seems to me that you''d like some more time to get used to this newfound freedom, to take a look at the world around you, before uprooting yourself again and go somewhere else. There is nothing wrong with that. Whenever you decide that you''re actually ready to leave, if that time comes, know that my offer to give you a recommendation for a place to stay is still going to be valid."


    Clelia felt as if someone had just opened a shackle around her neck that she didn''t even know she had.


    Madame opened her flask again. "By the way, it didn''t escape my attention that you were about to say ''even if it''s someone like me'' when you were talking about your mother having ulterior motives behind the wedding deal. What exactly do you mean by that?"


    The fairy timidly looked at her own feet. "I''m weak."


    The witch, who was about to take a sip, stopped dead in her tracks. "Pardon?"


    "I''m weak, alright?" Clelia snapped again. "The weakest fairy in my gens. That''s why I don''t have a huge reserve of spells: almost every time I try creating spells more complex than basic utilities I fail. There are no gaps in my magic education, I''ve been taught everything I need to know on spell-crafting, I''m just¡­ I''m just not good enough."


    Madame Guillardine nodded, absorbed. "Hmm. A noble fairy''s spell-crafting has two steps: the craft and the enchantment. The craft is the act of creating something, usually a physical object, that stores the magic until it''s time to release it; the enchantment is the act of bonding the object crafted with the magic of the crafter, giving it the shape that it will take when it needs to be released. Do you fail at the craft or at the enchantment, usually?"


    The fairy tilted her head. Even though Madame had admitted having ties with the gens Saturna, Clelia was surprised by how intimately familiar she seemed to be with fairy magic.


    "I¡­ generally fail at enchanting. I''m pretty good at the crafting, if I do say so myself."


    A strange smile appeared beneath Madame''s dark eyes. "If that''s the case, I believe I can help you."


    "How? You think you know more about fairy magic than my teachers?"


    After finishing the rest of the infusion in her flask, Madame chuckled to herself. "My mentor once told me something interesting about fairies, when entering the court of the gens Saturna. She told me that your kind''s wealth of knowledge and mastery over your magic is like a castle, one that has been built on ancient foundations. She then said ''a pity that, busy as they are renovating the top floors and lofty towers each generation to make them grander and more splendid, they tend to forget to sometimes explore the groundwork the entire bloody thing was built upon in the first place''. Yes, that was her exact wording."


    Clelia crossed her arms. "Did she make you explore that groundwork?"


    The witch''s shoulders were shaken by a loud cackle. "My stars did she. And for a very long time too. Long enough that, at some point, I remember starting to wonder if she''d ever teach me how to use any of that knowledge."


    "What''s the point, though?" sighed the fairy. "It doesn''t matter how much I know about magic if I lack the strength to pull it off. I am well versed in the theory of magic, I know the technique, what I lack is raw power."


    Madame Guillardine''s eyes became serious, shining with primal resolve. "Another thing my mentor taught me. She told me that the constellations are the tapestry upon which we can read the threads of the Fates. However, reading individual destinies into them is generally a waste of time, especially because we often ascribe to them our wishes and fears, creating inaccurate prophecies from them. Then, as products of our wishes and fears, those prophecies end up feeding our worst instincts and keeping us down, time and time again leading to a self-fulfilled tragedy."


    "I''m sorry, I''m not sure I follow. What does that have anything to do with teaching me magic?"


    "Child, your weakness is a lie. A comfortable lie that I''ll eradicate, if you allow me to be your teacher."


    Clelia felt her shoulders tensing up. Her first instinct was to thank Madame and refuse her offer. Before she could open her mouth to say that, however, she realised that, once again, she was only running away from something that made her feel uncomfortable. She recognised that, if she really wanted to live independently from her family, learning more magic would be an invaluable tool.


    She took a deep breath, opened her flask, and declared, "I accept you as my teacher."


    She finally took her first sip. It was bittersweet and stung both her tongue and palate, but, once she swallowed, she felt refreshed.

 His Team

    The roaring sound of boys goofing off was very audible even outside the locker room, but to feel the odour produced by the alchemy of sweat and post pubertal hormones was a privilege reserved only to those brave enough to open the door. Damian found the bravery only after taking a deep breath.


    He slammed the door opened. "Hey guys, what did I miss? Sounded like a riot."


    His team mates, in various states of undress, stood in circle. In the middle of the circle, a tall pale boy, wearing a towel like a skirt and nothing else, shrilled in an exaggerated falsetto, "Oh, Damian, dear hubby, I missed you!"


    This, predictably, caused a booming symphony of coarse laughing that completely drowned the tall boy''s next line.


    With one swift movement, Damian slipped out of one of his shoes, kicked it high enough to grab it with his hand, and threw it with mathematical precision on the very tippy top of the head of his "wife".


    "Sorry hon," he replied, "looks like it only took a few days for the other shoe to drop in our marriage."


    The convulsing concerto of the other boys played a loud encore. Then, the ritual handshakes, pats and punches on each others'' backs and chests, and general clamouring happened.


    "So," started another boy, whose tanned skin had big spots of sun peeling, "tied the knot, have you? Is she fun in private?"


    A third one hollered, "Does she do magic in the sheets?"


    The fourth one, smiling as obscenely as the others, raised his hands in an attempt to silence them. "Guys, guys, come on, let''s be a bit more refined than that. After all, a fairy wife isn''t your everyday run-of-the-mill kind of deal, it''s more elegant, like an exotic fruit."


    After everyone else quieted down a bit, he continued, mimicking a grabbing motion with both hands. "Too bad your wife doesn''t seem to have much juice to squeeze. And by juice I mean¡­"


    "Shut it." Damian interrupted him by delivering a solid backhand slap on his sternum.


    The boy still wearing the towel as a skirt addressed the one still recovering from the slap on his chest. "Oy, Giaco, when did you become a poet? To come up with this one, did you have to shove a collection of sonnets way up your¡­"


    "I''ll shove your shoes down your damn throats if you don''t stop messing around and get ready for training!" Howled the floppy mouth of a huge man, whose massive sideburns could almost distract from the fact that his hairline wasn''t so much receding as it was running for the hills. Everyone got quiet and followed the coach''s order.


    A few minutes later, all the boys were in their uniform, lined up in the middle of the outdoors field. At the coach''s side, stood Flibert with his red hair, all dressed up in his business suit.


    "Good morning, boys," Damian''s brother started, "as I have told to some of you already, I''m stepping down as captain. Today I''m here to give my formal goodbye to the team."


    Everyone knew. The stern seriousness with which the boys stood immobile contrasted with their rowdiness in the locker room and it expressed, better than any word, how they felt about their captain leaving.


    "I''m also," Flibert continued, "here to appoint my successor, as chosen by the former captain and acting owner of the team, my brother Vaufrej."


    A few heads turned towards Damian, and he did his best to maintain his stoic posture.


    Flibert solemnly stepped closer to the team and placed his hand on the shoulder of a surprisingly short boy, among the rest of the team. "Luca Rosso, from now on you''ll be the team''s captain."


    The atmosphere around them reached freezing temperature even against the valiant contribution of a late summer sun shining unobstructed on them.


    "Rico is going to be the new chief defender to substitute Luca, and Damian will be the new chief attacker to substitute Rico." Flibert concluded with an affected smile.


    The gash in between the coach''s sideburns, which most people would agree was his mouth, started flopping again. "Right, you heard the man." He took a small pile of clothes from the bag he had been wearing around his round shoulders. "Luca, Damian, Rico, here are your new uniforms, go change. The rest of you, get to running. Everyone, before you do, thank your former captain for his tenure."


    Damian did as he was told, avoiding all eye contact and keeping his chin high. While walking back towards the locker room, he observed the cotton shirt and short pants in his hands, no doubt cotton that had been produced by the Neumann factory. Regular players in the team wore a blue shirt with white shorts, while the captain wore both shirt and shorts with blue and white stripes. Chief attacker and chief defender both wore a white shirt with blue shorts. It made it easy to distinguish at a glance who was who, which was critical in stepball. Just like in Alchemy, all the elements had to combine in just the right way to produce the correct result.


    Luca would make for a good captain, Damian thought. Vaufrej was certainly a lot to handle, but one thing that could be said is that he wouldn''t make a bad choice just out of spite. He glanced at Luca, who glanced back and gestured "we''ll talk later". Damian nodded almost imperceptibly, just enough for his friend to get the message.


    A patch of vegetation touched one particular corner of the school building''s back. Watching towards that corner from the outdoors sports field one would only see some trees, and it was too far removed from the entrance to even see it at all from there. Rumours had it that vipers inhabited the place. Weeds grew from the gravel at direct contact with the building''s wall, and Damian sat in his usual spot on that gravel.


    "This place gets a little wilder each year." Commented Luca, sitting besides him.


    Damian kept absent-mindedly looking at the trees in front of them. "Maybe the keeper believes that thing about vipers too."


    After a brief pause, the short boy at his side snickered. "Captain of the Neumann Youth Team, huh? Who would have guessed shorty even had a chance."


    Damian nodded. "Congratulations, man."


    Neither of them looked at the other.


    "What happened?" Asked Luca.


    Damian shrugged. "Vaufrej happened."


    "Well, what''s his deal?"


    "Who knows?" Damian sighed. "Perhaps it''s his congratulation gift for my admission in the new course."


    "Speaking of, you haven''t told me anything about that. What are your first impressions?"


    "So far, it''s been mostly stuff that I already knew. I haven''t been attending to any in person classes yet, it''s all been through the cini system. What have you been up to lately though? I haven''t been able to see you a lot."


    Luca straightened his back and raised his chin with a proud smile. "I met a girl. Didn''t even need my family to arrange a whole marriage for me."


    "Hey, congratulations!" Damian said with more conviction. "Who is she?"


    His friend turned to face him. Even after all the time they''d been friends, he couldn''t avoid his eyes lingering on the red and purple mark all over the left side of Luca''s face.


    "Not telling you yet," he smugged. "She made me promise to keep us a secret for now. I''m not supposed to even tell you this much, you know?"


    "Is she pretty?"


    Luca hesitated and instinctively touched his own left cheek. "To me, she''s as pretty as a goddess. I¡­ somehow doubt that many would share my sentiment, but I think she''s the most beautiful girl in the world."


    Damian laughed. "How sappy can you get? You do know that sonnets aren''t supposed to be used the same way as Giaco allegedly did, don''t you?"


    "Oh, I wouldn''t be so dismissive, if I were you," replied Luca, with a defiant grin, "after all, someone''s got to take responsibility for being the one who handed me those sonnets in the first place."


    The young Neumann vigorously patted his friend on a shoulder. "Kidding, kidding. I''m very happy for you, I really am. You, of all people, really deserve someone to appreciate you for who you are."


    Luca looked down, with a bitter smile. "I''m not so sure. I sometimes fear that, someday, she''ll wake up and realise that there are so many guys much better than me. Stronger, smarter, more handsome¡­"


    "Stop talking nonsense." Damian glared at his friend. "It is true that, so far, you''ve been snubbed by several girls. But I''ll tell you what they were: rotten to the core, the whole lot of them."


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "Come on," his friend feebly protested, "Veronica wasn''t that bad¡­"


    "My man," sighed Damian, "I''m really sorry to burst your bubble. The very day after she turned you down, I know for a fact she was talking trash about you."


    That wasn''t even the worst of it, but Damian accurately avoided adding insult to injury.


    Luca deflated. "I see. Well, since we''re on the subject, tell me about your new wife."


    He looked away. "What about her?"


    "How is your project going? Made any progress?"


    "Gaining her trust is proving easier than expected."


    Luca shuffled closer to him. "Then, what''s going wrong?"


    Damian kept looking forwards. "Me, I guess."


    Another pause.


    "Damian, look at me."


    The young Neumann did as he was asked. His friend''s light brown eyes, almost yellow, in bright contrast with the dark red imprinted on his skin, spoke loud and clear.


    "She''s different than I expected," Damian responded to that silent inquiry. "Way different."


    Luca raised a brow.


    Damian sighed. "She''s not much different from a normal human girl. Mostly."


    "Mostly?"


    "Well, she is a fairy after all. But, as I said, most of the time she just feels like a regular girl."


    His friend nodded. "I see. How unfortunate that nobody told you, when you started hatching this whole plan, that you probably wouldn''t have the stomach to go through with it."


    "It''s different," snapped Damian. "You thought I wouldn''t have the courage to defy a powerful fairy. If she''d been closer to what fairies are supposed to be like, I''d¡­"


    "What are fairies supposed to be like, Damian?"


    "Pardon?"


    "In what ways is your wife different from a fairy?"


    "I, uh¡­" he stammered, stunned.


    This time, Luca was the one patting Damian on the shoulder. "I never thought you lacked the courage to go against some powerful magical being. Things are often not like you hear in folk tales, you know, so I imagined that something like this would happen instead. I knew you''d probably start to feel remorse for what you intended to do once you started getting to know her. Though, I admit, even I never imagined she''d look like a regular dorky kid."


    "So it''s like that, huh?" For some reason, Damian felt relieved, as if someone had unravelled a tight knot in his guts that had been pestering him for days now.


    Luca placed his other hand on Damian''s other shoulder as well. "Tell me now, how do you really feel about her?"


    His shoulders slowly mellowed under the warmth of Luca''s palms. He chuckled.


    Luca''s brows furrowed in puzzlement. "What''s so funny?"


    Damian shook his head. "I think I may be in love, my friend."


    "I see." Luca''s smile relaxed, delighted. "That is pretty funny, actually. Did she put some spell on you?"


    "That''s what I thought at first. But, the more I go on, the more I think that me genuinely liking her is the simpler explanation."


    "I''ve seen her around the village. I mean, everyone did, she certainly draws attention to herself, but¡­ how do I put this? Say, have you ever noticed that you''re something of a chick magnet?"


    Damian''s voice turned flat. "I had a few pointers."


    Luca smacked him across the head. "That''s for being unappreciative. Ooh, look at me, I''m smart, handsome, and rich, girls stab each other in the back to get me to notice them, I am so miserable!"


    "I never said I was miserable. I just had a few bad experiences with the girls who did try to get me to notice them."


    Among those bad experiences, of course, there had been Veronica, the girl Luca really liked. The one Luca had spent a long time fawning over in the background. The one Luca had written poems for and bought nice gifts to. The one who then proceeded to trash talk Luca behind his back, right as she was confessing her feelings to Damian. That one. Such event had really put him in a bad spot. After all, he had been raised as a gentleman, and that upbringing was almost ruined by his powerful instinct to wring her neck until her head popped from her body like a cork from the bottle.


    "Anyway," Luca started again, "we''re getting side tracked. The point I was trying to make was that everyone expected some gorgeous lady to become your wife. I mean, your wife is certainly not ugly, but she''s¡­"


    Damian nodded with decision. "Yep, that''s about how I felt when I looked at Clelia for the first time. Not because a gorgeous lady is what I expected my future wife to be, though, more because that''s what I expected from a fairy."


    He picked up some gravel from the ground and absent-mindedly sprinkled it around his own feet. "But, truth be told, I think that fate throwing me a curve ball like that is part of the reason why I started liking Clelia in the first place. I expected this majestic, beautiful yet arrogant being, looking down on me as well as all other humans. What I found instead was a regular girl, just about as lost as I was. Plus she''s curious, smart, earnest¡­ and a little wild."


    When adding those words, what sprang in his mind was the fiery look in her eyes when she had commented on Damian''s mother, as well as those times she had given small demonstration of her fairy powers.


    Luca''s brow cheekily rose. "What kind of wild?"


    Damian flushed, suddenly reminded of Clelia''s admission to a past liaison with another girl as well. "I mean in a faerie kind of way. That''s one thing about her: she looks like a regular girl most of the time, but every once in a while she does something that provides a glimpse of her true nature. She looks fragile, in a way that kinda makes you want to protect her, but I get the feeling that, if things got ugly between us, I''d be the one in need of protecting. She may not look like it, but she is the daughter of a notoriously powerful fairy, after all."


    Luca hummed, staring suspiciously in Damian''s eyes. "Alright, I believe you. I can see that as the kind of reason you might genuinely fall for someone, so I guess you may not be under a spell after all."


    "Thanks, I suppose?"


    The short boy sat besides him again. "You falling for someone is pretty uncommon. She should be happy that a guy like you is her husband."


    "She doesn''t seem sad to be here, if nothing else," Damian shrugged. "When touching the subject of us being married, she can even make light of it." His tone became thoughtful, "Almost as if¡­ she didn''t take it very seriously. As if it was some sort of game."


    A sober silence drowned the loud chirping of some birds hidden in the tree tops, as well as the distant noises of regular life going on in the village.


    "Hey, Damian, are you alright?"


    It took Damian a few moments to be ready to answer. "One reason why I never liked any of the girls who pined after me was that they felt fake. When they were around me, it''s almost as if they put a filter between themselves and me, trying to impress me rather than allowing me to know them for who they are. All I got to see of them was a mask they put, a mask deliberately made to try to appeal to me. They didn''t understand that I would have preferred to see the face beneath that mask. To some degree, most people in this village have a mask as well, because I''m a Neumann and they want to be in my good graces."


    He let his head gently fall backwards, hitting the wall behind him. "Tilda didn''t have any filters, that''s why I was so¡­ fond of her. She was nice and friendly, even playful, and I deluded myself into thinking that her friendliness was hiding something more. But she didn''t have a mask, remember, nothing of what she did or said had any hidden meaning. The reason why she didn''t show romantic interest in me wasn''t that she was hiding it behind a friendly mask. She wasn''t wearing a mask to begin with."


    Another handful of gravel met the fate of being picked up by Damian''s hands and then lazily scattered around him. "Clelia isn''t wearing a mask either. I won''t pretend to know what she''s thinking, she''s still very much a mystery to me, but she''s not one to hide her feelings. If people wore their hearts like pieces of clothing, hers would be on full display right on her sleeve. And, with that in mind, I don''t get the impression that she''s as into me as I am into her."


    A new silence fell, until Luca spoke up again. "So, what are you gonna do about it?"


    "What do you mean?"


    "What, are you just going to sit there and brood about it? Maybe the reason why, despite everything you have going for you, you still never had a girl in your life is that you wait for stuff to happen on its own. Now that I think about it, maybe that is exactly because of everything you have going for you: you''re used to girls wanting you automatically, so you don''t really know what to do if the one you really like doesn''t try to pry her way into your life."


    The boy pointed at the red mark on his own face. "I never had that luxury, you know? Even with my current darling I had to put in the leg work. She may not look like it from the outside, but she did have plenty of options aside from me."


    "Then, what do you suggest I do?" Asked Damian, intrigued.


    "First," Luca raised his index finger, "we should dispel a little misconception. You know those coin-operated machines that have recently started appearing all over Taurasia? A lot of boys seem to think that girls work in a similar way: insert flowers or other gifts in the slot, receive a price. That''s rubbish. Gifts like that are complementary, you use them to enhance your efforts, you don''t make them the core of it. As to what you should do instead¡­ you know what?"


    Luca jumped on his feet. "Instead of sitting here, let''s go and meet someone."


    It had been a long time since Damian had last seen that particular crack in that particular brick wall. It was the place where the children of the servitude at his auntie''s farmhouse complex used to climb over to play outside.


    "Are you sure you want me to meet her?" Asked Damian, a little nervous about the idea of causing a stir between his friend and his newfound love. "Didn''t she ask you to keep you two a secret?"


    Climbing the wall in the spot where the crack made it easier to do so, Luca answered, "Don''t worry, I''m sure that, if I explain everything, she''ll be fine with you knowing. In fact, I think she''d be delighted to help. You just wait there, I''ll bring her over."


    Then, he disappeared over the wall. Damian leaned against the weather-worn plaster on the bricks, resigning himself to wait. He had other stuff that needed doing, but he had been unable to convince his friend to postpone that meeting with that mysterious new girl of his.


    "Is this it, then? This is the reason behind your unwillingness to get things done? Typical of youth. Pathetic humans."


    The voice echoing in his mind was starting to become somewhat familiar, yet not any less unwanted. He turned his head around, trying to spot the cat he knew had to be hiding somewhere in the tall grass.


    "My private life is none of your business." Damian stated, not too loud because he didn''t want to get the attention of anyone wandering around on the other side of the wall.


    "It is if it has consequences that will hurt me too," the voice retorted.


    "Why do you need me anyway? Aren''t you some kind of powerful magical being? Can''t you do your own laundry?"


    "I can''t if it''s in someone else''s house. Normally I wouldn''t mind that too much, but the filth coming from your house will end up tarnishing my own as well, if I leave the situation unchecked."


    Damian clenched his fists and restrained himself as hard as he could from screaming at the demonic cat. "I will not stand you calling my wife filth, you hear me? Get away from me, leave me alone already."


    "Fine," the voice conceded, dejected. "I''ll have to find a different way then. Unlike humans, however, I am gracious and compassionate, so, despite how annoying you are, just remember that my offer will always be valid, if the mess you''re about to get yourself into becomes too much to handle."


    Then, just as it came, it went. And not too soon, Damian thought. The thud of someone landing besides him startled him. Luca stood next to him once more, with a big smile.


    "So, where is your sweetheart?"


    Before the short boy could respond, a coarse female voice came from above the wall. "Hey, young master, what''s up? It''s been a while."


    Above them, a girl in patchy overalls crouched on the edge of the wall. Damian''s eyes widened in recognition. The last time he had seen her, she probably had the same amount of skin as now, except now it was stretched thin from growing noticeably taller. Her olive skin, short hair, and big nose, however, were still as easily recognisable as back then.


    "Rosalba?"

 Her Weaves

    A faint light filtered from the crack between the door and the pavement.


    "Does your ladyships see? Something worryfying is comesing to happens in ladyshipse''s chamberoom," quavered one of the three minuscule figures partially hidden behind the corner of the corridor.


    Clelia took a deep breath. It was time, after all, for her to keep her end of the bargain: she did promise the lutin her protection as a noble fairy in exchange for their service. Plus, she did have an idea of what might be causing the phenomenon. There was something she had been putting off for way too long. She opened the door to her study and, right as she did so, the light seemed to suddenly disappear.


    "Halt, you scoundrel," hissed a tiny, haughty voice, "identify yourself and prostrate in fear!"


    Horatius was right in the middle of the room, his tiny body coiled in a defensive position. Next to him was the bag with the mysterious spells she had found some days prior, the one she had tasked the little snake to keep guard on.


    "It''s just me, as usual," she reassured him. "What''s happening? I saw a strange light coming from here, and even the lutin are getting nervous. Why is the bag outside the closet?"


    The snake flicked his tongue. "Something grabbed it and unceremoniously dropped it there, where you can see it."


    "What do you mean ''something''? Didn''t you see it? Weren''t you supposed to keep guard?"


    He uncoiled a little to make his head stand taller. "Do not doubt my amazing powers of perception! If anything so much as drew breath inside this room I would have sensed it. Nothing alive came in here during your absence."


    "Still, how did you not see anything?"


    "I was resting my weary scales inside of the bag when it happened."


    "What about the light I saw? It only disappeared when I opened the door, and you were already out of the bag by then."


    "I did see something, but let me share a secret with you. I am, indeed, much mightier than humans, my abilities far exceed them in every field, including perception. I can sense things much better than them indeed. That being the case, my eyesight isn''t well suited for things that are too tall compared with me. I only saw¡­ something like a white blanket, with gold streaks. Before I could fully make out its shape, you came in and it disappeared."


    The content of the bag was still in perfect order, and there didn''t seem to be any sign of any of the weaves inside missing. Clelia sent a small "tide" ripple, trying to check for any echoes that might signal the presence of anything out of place, but the only echoes she received were those made by the presence of Horatius, by the lutin in the corridor, and by the shrine of the Lares beneath her.


    Clelia shook her head. It was finally time, wasn''t it? She had seriously been putting it off, but now she could no longer ignore it. She had to dedicate some time to examine all those spells; definitely to know what they all did, but possibly to try and deduce their origin too.


    "For aeons have I guarded upon these¡­"


    "It''s not been aeons, only a few days."


    "Far longer than you should have left me alone, in any case. What took so long for you to get back to me and these?"


    She awkwardly grinned. "Sorry, I''ve been¡­ busy?"


    Horatius raised a brow. Well, that would have been quite the astounding feat if he had, given that snakes don''t have brow muscles to allow that, but nonetheless he did stare back at Clelia in a way that she had no choice but to interpret as raising a brow in diffidence.


    "Alright, alright. I have been busy for real, but I could have made time to do this if I wanted to."


    "Then, why didn''t you?"


    Her eyes wandered away from the snake and into the content of the bag. "This bag, these spells¡­ they were without a doubt made by someone from my family. Nobody from my family would have just freely given away a high quality spell, let alone multiple, without some kind of ulterior motive. Not to anyone, and especially not to me."


    She knelt next to the bag and started pulling the cloths out one by one. "Having used the illusion I found here, I can tell just how good a spell it was. If I had made it¡­ well, first of all i couldn''t have used it on myself, but even if I could it probably wouldn''t have lasted as long and¡­"


    "Why wouldn''t you have been able to use it on yourself?" Interrupted Horatius.


    "That''s one of the two fundamental rules of fairy magic," Clelia explained. "A fairy spell cannot be used on the fairy who crafted it, regardless of who actually casts it. I can cast on myself a spell made by another fairy just fine, but a spell crafted by myself cannot be used on me by anyone."


    "Intriguing. And what''s the second rule?"


    Arranging the cloths in ordered piles around her, she responded, "A fairy cannot reverse or undo the spell crafted by another fairy after it has been cast. At best, she can add to it or, to a degree, change it, but never annul it outright."


    When she was done pulling all the spells out, about two dozen colourful cloths sat on the ground around her. She began by the two smaller ones, which, fully unfolded, weren''t much bigger than a common handkerchief. They had geometric motifs in golden and silvery threads over plain blue and violet respectively. They were similar in complexity to her own light spells, but even by touching them she could feel that the bond between the weave and the magic was so much cleaner and tighter than anything she had ever managed to produce. The magic in them was as vibrant as the beautiful colours of the threads that composed them.


    Both the design and the technique of the weave suggested that they were older than she thought. Decades, no, centuries older than she had originally assessed. A sigh of relief escaped her body.


    "You seem reassured," hissed Horatius. "Was it something you discovered or just the awareness of my mighty presence at your side that caused it?"


    "These," she showed the fabrics with an eager smile, "are old. Really old. No fairy alive today is old enough to have been around when these spells were created."


    "So?"


    "So they couldn''t have been made by one of my sisters, for one. More importantly, it couldn''t have been my mother either."


    "Despite my magnificent intellect, I fail to see how that is cause for relief."


    As she spoke, she examined the next spell in the pile. "I went along with the whole marriage thing specifically because I saw it as a way to get away from them. If any of them had been the one to leave this bag to me, I would have reason for concern, because none of them would do something helpful to me without strings attached."


    "Even if these spells weren''t made by one of them, couldn''t one of them be responsible for letting you have them?"


    Was it even wise to answer all these questions? At the end of the day, Horatius was a creation of Madame Guillardine, who, even if she was currently an ally, she still knew very little about.


    Still, it seemed to her like he was an independent actor, so she saw no harm in responding. "It''s certainly possible, but I don''t think it''s likely. My sisters wouldn''t have anything to do with something this old, they have no respect for antiquity. And my mother is too proud to rely on someone else''s spells to carry out one of her schemes."


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    "So, who do you think could be responsible?"


    "If it wasn''t my family, the only possible answer would be someone from the servitude, which is to say the only other people with access to the castle aside from my family." Every time she was done with one spell, she carefully folded it and placed it orderly in another pile. "Unlike my family, I had a good relationship with the servitude, so, if any of them is responsible for giving me these, then I''d be more inclined to trust it as a helpful gesture."


    She was almost done, only the two biggest of the weaves remained to examine. These were as big as tapestries when fully unfolded, and had magnificent images embroidered in them. They were orders of magnitude more complex than anything she had ever produced, it would probably take months to make even one of them. As her fingertips softly brushed on the silky surface of the first one, the magic within it trembled, almost like a cat purring lazily.


    It depicted something resembling a faerie festival, much like the spring festival she had participated to years ago. It had several groups of figures dancing, some were small like lutin, and gnomes, and elves, some were much bigger, like ogres and giants, and in the middle of them all stood two fairies, one dressed in blue and the other in pink. A small man with bird wings knelt before them, his hands joined as if in prayer or begging. It was an extremely complex spell, she wasn''t even sure of what it could possibly do. Some of the other spells she had examined were curses, some were boons, several were made for utility and comfort, but that one she wasn''t able to evaluate. It felt too big to be real. The cloth it was made from was big, but the spell itself was immense, she was barely able to even picture its scale.


    Then, there was the final one. It was prevalently black. There were only three grey zones: two comparatively brighter ones in the upper corners, and one dull oval one in the middle of its base. Inside the latter, a small white figure lay curled up in a ball. It felt like a huge tower loomed over the tiny speck of white, so tall that only its base fit inside the picture, and the two brighter areas in the corners were the grey sky surrounding such tower. On closer inspection, threads of white streaked the blackness, as thin as spiderwebs, but so spaced out that, even with her glasses on, Clelia barely managed to see them. The picture was foreboding, but not nearly as much as the magic trapped inside it. As her fingers ran across it, rather than purring, the energy embedded in it screeched through her bones and into her head. When her hand reached the small white figure, a vibrating silence hit her like the surface of a lake does when diving in.


    Like sparse drops of rain frozen in time, thin lines of sparkling grey fell from the grey sky, streaking the blackness around her. An immense tower loomed over her, bathed in shadows. There was no doubt about it, that was the picture depicted on the spell.


    When she turned around, she found, curled at her feet, the small lying figure in white. It was a little girl, who quietly sniffled, hiding her face behind her long, messy strawberry blond hair. She was dressed in a white tunic, plain, with no accessories, leaving only arms, head, and feet uncovered.


    Clelia sat besides the figure, trying to make herself as unthreatening as possible.


    A tiny hand hesitantly grabbed the hem of Clelia''s skirt. "So, it''s your turn now."


    "My turn for what?"


    The child''s face emerged from the tangled blond mess of her hair. "To visit me."


    She had emerald green eyes, reddened by the crying. Clelia gently patted her on the head. "And who are you?"


    The child looked up to the tower. "I''m ######, and I am the ##### ###### #####."


    Clelia heard the words, but they didn''t stick in her mind long enough for her to understand them. "Why am I here?"


    "You''re here because I''ve been calling you."


    The little girl finally raised herself from her curled up position to kneeling in front of Clelia. "There is so much I''d like to be able to tell you, but I''m afraid you''re not ready for most of it. It would be like just now: if I told you, you''d forget as soon as you hear it."


    "If I''m not ready, then why did you call me?"


    "You know you''re pretty with that hat? I mean it." She said with a bitter smile.


    Clelia touched her tall hat. She clenched her other fist. "That didn''t answer my question."


    A small, pale finger began carving a rough picture in the ashen ground. "Every time I called you before, I wasn''t even able to reach you. There is something I need you to do, something that will cost you a steep price, and I worry that I have little to offer you in exchange. But it must be done, sooner or later."


    "You''re not a real child, are you?"


    She stopped her carving and sadly shook her head. "I already told you what I am. If a child was the explanation, you would have had no trouble understanding."


    "And, whatever it is that I have to do, do I need to do it now?"


    The pale apparition shook her head again. "It doesn''t change much if you do it now, or a year from now, or even a decade from now. Not for me, at least. I will give you as payment what little I can in advance, even now if you allow me, and you''ll do what you must whenever you feel ready, be it now or fifty years from now."


    "And what are you offering me?"


    In response, the small figure went back to the picture she was carving in the ground. "I sense powerful unresolved feelings within you. I can help you make sense of them, if you want. It might be a painful process, but chances are you''ll feel better afterwards."


    The picture on the ground was finally starting to make sense. It was a dragonfly resting on a cattail.


    Clelia jumped on her feet, looking away. "I''m sorry, I can''t help you. You got the wrong fairy for the job. I''m the weakest fairy in the gens Arania, I doubt I can do anything for you."


    The little girl sighed. "If that makes you feel better about yourself. Sooner or later, you''ll have to come back here. Hopefully, by then you''ll be ready to hear what I have to say."


    Clelia felt again the weak grip of a small hand grabbing the hem of her skirt. "Before you go, I have to apologise to you. I''m deeply sorry that I had to drag you into this, and I''m even more sorry of the baggage that I''m bringing with me. I hope you, at least, can find a way to break #### #### #### ### ## ####. Be careful when using these spells, lest the ### become stronger and wider."


    The darkness around them suddenly caught Clelia like a strong underwater current, carrying her away from that haunted place.


    Before waking up, the final words of that sad, little white figure suddenly echoed in her mind. "¡­find a way to break free from this web of lies¡­ lest the web become stronger and wider."


    Clelia gasped awake. With a soft thud, Horatius hit the ground after being flung from the position he was perched on, right on her shoulder.


    "These spells are active," Clelia declared.


    "Yes, do not worry about me, my mighty scales protected my body from impact," hissed the snake with ill-concealed sarcasm. "And what are you on about?"


    "These last two spells," she clarified, panting from how she woke up, "the two really big ones. I''m pretty sure they''re not waiting to be cast like all the others, they''re already active. They''ve been for a long while, probably a lot longer than I''ve been alive. What in the name of our foremothers are they doing in my bag?"


    "What makes you say that?"


    She looked at her trembling hands. "It''s¡­ just an impression I got by touching them. It''s like the difference between touching a sleeping dragon and one that is fully conscious. And I don''t say dragon idly: these two spells are monstrously powerful, they''re on a scale that I''ve never seen in my life, one that I didn''t think was even possible."


    "Did you see something while you were gone?"


    Confused memories of darkness streaked with thin, sparkling lines, and a sad little girl crowded her mind, causing a strong sense of dread to grow in her chest.


    "I think so, but¡­ it was like waking from a nightmare. I remember some images and a general mood, but I wouldn''t be able to explain it, or even to coherently remember it all."


    Her hand reached for one of the spells she had examined before getting to those last two. It was one she had assessed to be some sort of protective spell, a ward, a seal perhaps. Maybe it would be a good idea to use it, to make sure that those two spells were locked up where nobody could accidentally find them. It would definitely be a good idea, but something among the confused memories of the nightmare told her she should be cautious about using the spells she found in that bag.


    That feeling of caution made her look at the protective spell closer. It too, like the big black one, was streaked with thin, spiderweb-like threads, so small and so spread out that it was hard to see them.


    Perhaps, it would be a better idea to just shut them all back in the bag and, at the first opportunity, to get rid of all of them. Then again, how would she make sure that, after doing that, they wouldn''t fall in the wrong hands? No matter what, they were dangerous, without a shred of a doubt, and it would be wise not to use them, if she could help it. In fact¡­


    She summoned her wand, meaning to take the one curse she still had embedded in it out, but, once she did, she realised that all of those spells were already embedded in it, including, for some unfathomable reason, the last two. She tried pinching them between her fingernails to extirpate them, but, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn''t get them out.


    "Ladyships?" Called a worried voice from outside the room door.


    "Sorry, I''m a little busy now," she replied, trying her best to affect a calm she didn''t have.


    "Someones'' knocknocking on the doorses, ladyships," the voice insisted.


    What now? She dismissed her wand and got on her feet. "Horatius, I have to ask you to keep guard on these¡­ things a little more. I promise I''ll be back sooner this time."


    Before he could hiss a response, she hurried out.


    When she got on the ground floor, she stopped to peek out the window to see who it was. The big white moustache of the butler she had met a few days prior at the market was what she saw. That was odd. Did Rosalba go missing from the farm again?


    She opened the door, preparing to politely shoo the man away, when she noticed a streaked grey cat placidly sitting on the butler''s hand. On the cat''s forehead, its streaked patterns formed an M shape.


    A deep voice spoke directly in her head. "Fairy, we need to talk."

 Her Audience at the Feline Court

    As they gradually approached the woods, Clelia noticed that more and more cats joined their procession. They long left behind the butler, who apparently had only been recruited to ring her doorbell, probably using some mental suggestion trick; but the blue eyed grey cat he had been carrying was still leading all of them. They all advanced with their tails raised straight, meaning that the tail was the only visible thing of those of them who walked in the tall weeds rather than the beaten path. By the end, she counted seven rows of six cats each, plus the one leading them all and one yellow eyed black cat at the end, so forty four in total. It was the first time she had seen so many cats all together, but she knew exactly what she was dealing with, and knew that, as long as she was polite and didn''t speak out of turn, everything would be fine.


    They arrived at an old oak tree, with many branches both reaching for the sky and coming down to the ground, its trunk so wide that, if emptied, it could fit a small but comfortable room inside. Next to the tree, there was a solitary wooden door, its white coat of painting splintered by time and ruined at the bottom by countless claw marks. The cats sat down around the door, except the grey one leading them all, who approached it, looked at her and scratched at it, as if to invite her to knock. Clelia obeyed.


    The door opened and, at first appearance, it didn''t look like it opened to a place different than the woods behind it. The grey cat entered and she followed. Unsurprisingly, once the door had been crossed, she found herself in a different space, which looked like a high court carved entirely from the inside of a massive tree, much bigger than even the oak she had just seen. There was wooden furniture all over the place, all of it seemingly made for cat needs: climbing poles lined with rope, wooden platforms hanging from the walls, tables of various sizes and heights, bowls with food and water, and piles of pillows, cushions, and comfy padded chairs. This had to be a realmshaped from the dreamscape, much like the ones made by Madame Guillardine.


    The procession of cats that accompanied her until that point broke formation, and every one of them quietly trotted inside. Each went to a different spot and many of them picked up doing¡­ the best way to explain it would be to say that they were happily doing chores. Some dusted the floor with pieces of cloth on their tails, some tidied up the pillows so that they were ready to be used again, some cleaned up the crumbs of food around the bowls, a few even did something Clelia could hardly believe she was seeing: in small groups, they cooperated in knitting tiny yarn mittens, scarves, and toy mice, with cat-sized knitting needles shaped in such a way that they''d be easy to pick up and move around with a cat''s mouth. The only spot in the wide room where no cat seemed to want to go to, was a big circular pillow in the middle of the big space.


    A red furred kitten picked one of the knitting needles, but seemingly couldn''t find a partner. Clelia looked around, trying to see if the master of the house was anywhere to be seen, or if any of the other cats would come closer to the kitten to help it. Since nothing happened, she approached it and crouched down, slowly presenting a finger to it so that it could sniff her out. The small furball did so, and then sat staring back at her, expectantly. She sat cross-legged besides it, grabbed the second knitting needle and a woollen thread, silently offering to help. She wasn''t an expert at knitting, but she did have an idea of how it was supposed to be done. She was amazed by how nimble these cats were with their paws and mouths, to be able to do an activity she had always assumed required fingers, and the tiny orange furball at her side was no exception. It took them a few tries to get into the swing, but, once they managed to get in synch, they started creating a patch of yarn.


    A deep voice boomed in Clelia''s head. "That will suffice."


    She turned to see that, now, a dragon-sized cat sat on the circular pillow in the middle of the room. Its fur was blacker than the heart of a demon, and its yellow eyes stared into the fairy''s very soul with an aura of both dignity and wildness.


    All the cats, including the kitten that had been knitting with Clelia, stopped their activities and sat in the same pose as the huge black figure, all with their eyes pointing at it.


    "Come closer, fairy."


    She got on her feet and obeyed. She made an effort to try and remember all of her tutor''s teaching for a proper and dignified walk. The result was probably quite stiff, but she hoped that at least making an honest attempt would count for something. Once she was close enough to clearly see the black whiskers against its black fur (and those whiskers were huge too, longer than one of her legs and almost as thick as her fingers), she stopped and bowed her head, her hands gathered together beneath her stomach.


    "I am honoured to be guest at your court, esteemed Gatto Mammone," she pronounced with deliberation.


    The tip of its tail, which in its entirety was probably longer than she was tall, slowly wiggled as the deep voice spoke in her mind again, "And I humbly welcome you in my home, noble fairy from the Arania gens. You don''t seem very surprised by my presence."


    Clelia noted to herself that this cat was too big to maintain the same bodily proportions of a house cat, there had to be some kind of shenanigans at play. "A demon wanders the streets of the village at night. I was informed that it snatches stray animals, but accurately avoids cats. From the moment I learned that I knew there had to be the lair of one of your kind in the area."


    "Indeed," the cat proudly puffed its chest, "it tried eating one of us once and there never was a second time."


    "I must admit," she continued while letting her eyes wander around the room, "I had heard rumours of how fantastical the court of the Gatto Mammone was supposed to be, but it exceeded any expectation."


    The ears of the massive cat, each of them larger than Clelia''s own face, straightened up in a new display of pride. "Our court is magnificent not just thanks to my efforts. Each of the cats around you willingly participates to its continued construction and maintenance, and each of them can share in its abundance according to their needs. Even I do my part of the menial labour." Its voice became accusatory, "I don''t need servants. The reverence each of them shows me is purely voluntary."


    "They must share in some of your power as well," she noted, "because their behaviour is unlike that of any normal cat I''ve ever met."


    "It is true that I share part of my intellect with them, allowing them to cooperate in ways that are normally impossible for regular cats, and to learn the coordination needed for the labour necessary to maintain the court. The shrewdness to test our guests to separate the worthy from the unworthy is all on me, however." The Gatto Mammone pointed its mighty eyes on the kitten Clelia had helped. "I must admit I did not expect an Arania fairy to notice the need to, much less willingly participate in, helping that small one in his task. I reluctantly admit that you exceeded my expectations as well."


    "With all due respect, I''m not like the rest of my family."


    "Perhaps that is so; to what extent, that yet remains to be seen."


    "May I presume to ask the reason for being summoned in your eminent presence?"


    Gatto Mammone started leisurely licking the back of its enormous paw. "Have you heard of this fascinating concept, codified by human researchers, that they call ''ecosystem''?"


    She shook her head.


    The deep voice in her mind continued, "The lack of innate magic in most human individuals, far from being a limiting factor, inspired them to find alternatives to navigate and conquer the world around them. Alchemy is one of the shapes this inspiration took, and it was an alchemist who coined the term. It refers to the way an environment and its inhabitants all interact with one another in a sort of self-sustaining balance. So long as that balance is maintained, the ecosystem prospers."


    Still cleaning itself in the process, it glared at Clelia accusingly. "Inserting a disturbance, however, can be an unbalancing factor."


    Ah, so that was what it was getting at. Clelia bowed her head again. It was a gesture of respect, sure, but she also used it as an opportunity to look around a little without the big cat noticing. She saw what she was looking for almost immediately. "I can assure you I have no interest in proving to be a disturbance."


    Despite the fact that it stopped cleaning itself, its paw still hovered in place, as if its intention was to get back to it in a bit. "How apt that your family uses the spider as its guiding animal. Spiders survive by spinning a thread that is mostly invisible to their prey, then silently waits for something to fall into their trap. It is so phenomenally fitting that you, of all fairy families, use weaving as the craft to give shape to your spells. Humans may be blind to the web being spun around them, but I''m aware of the threads of the evil spell that is starting to take shape, and have been for days now."


    Thinking about the spells she had just finished examining, she declared, "I have an idea of what you''re referring to. I promise, I do not have any ill intentions towards you or the village that is currently giving me harbour."


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    As she imagined, it went back to licking its paw. "If that''s true, then I suppose you would not object if I asked you to leave."


    She shrugged. "Not at all, that was always my intention."


    "Now, I know that fairies of your rank wouldn''t usually tolerate receiving¡­" it stopped dead in its tracks and stared back at her, its tongue still sticking out of its mouth. "¡­you what?"


    "I do ask some more time, though," she continued. "I have some things I''d like to do before leaving. I have made a friend, I''m getting to know my husband a little better, and I''ve even made an accord with my next door neighbour. I can''t abruptly cut all ties with all of them."


    After a few awkward seconds, Gatto Mammone finally blinked, probably for the first time since the conversation started. "You mean the Widow? You have an accord with her?"


    The Widow¡­ in hindsight, the Babau also referred to her with that moniker. Did Madame use to have a husband then? "If you''re referring to the wi¡­ I mean, the Masca known as Madame Guillardine, the answer is yes, I do have an accord with her."


    The huge cat looked away for a moment (Clelia had the distinct impression it was thinking something along the lines of "so that''s what she''s been up to"), then regained its composure. "If that''s the case, then why did I feel strong malignant energies acting up within your house today?"


    Clelia fidgeted with the bridge of her glasses. "I''m afraid I can''t go into detail, I''ll just say that I''ve been dealing with¡­ baggage from my family. But I can assure you that my intention, from the very start, was to cut all ties with them. I don''t want to be associated with them or their plans, much less help them."


    After pondering for a few moments, the cat announced, "Then I will temporarily and tentatively accept your presence. With a couple of non negotiable conditions."


    "I''m listening."


    "First and foremost: I reserve the right to change my mind about tolerating your presence for any reason at any time. I''m reasonably sure you didn''t say anything false right now, however I''m well aware that lies can take many forms, many of which don''t require to state outright falsehoods; so, while I''m willing to show you some good will, I won''t put myself or my retinues in a bad spot if you choose to infringe upon our agreements."


    Clelia nodded. "Seems fair. What else?"


    "To make sure you don''t pose any threat to us, I want to be able to keep a close eye on you. One of us will be with you at all times, and any attempt on your part to do anything like closing them out of the room you''re in, or¡­"


    "What? I''m sorry but that''s unacceptable. It''s fine if you want one of your own to be in the vicinities so that you can better sense any magical activity, but I don''t want someone to listen to each and every word I say to my husband or my friend, or to stare at me while I''m¡­ in private."


    "I said the terms are non negotiable."


    She crossed her arms and raised her chin. "Well, then I suppose I won''t be tied down to any agreement either. If you chose to meet me in person and try to discuss things with me, I assume you''re not confident you can chase me away with brute strength alone. Either we discuss your second term again or I will consider myself free to do as I please from now on, without any concern of what you may like or dislike me doing."


    The cat''s tail moved erratically as its eyes widened. She knew cats well enough to be able to tell that this was a silent display of anger. "Very well, young fairy. I invoke the faerie traditional way of dealing with an impasse such as this: a trial."


    She raised a brow. "I accept. As per tradition, if I can''t pass I will have to accept your conditions and if I do you will have to accept mine. I will invoke the judgement of the foremothers if your trial is unfair."


    The cat nodded. "Let''s get started, then. When you came into my court, forty four cats entered with you. Far more of them are inside right now. You may notice that some seem to appear twice, and that''s because some cats are illusions. Some of the cats that only appear once may or may not be illusions too, and some of the real cats may have already been inside the court before you entered. No cat may appear more than twice, and if they do appear twice one of the two has to be real. Without using magic or your ''tide'' and without touching them, I want you to point at one that entered with you. It has to be the real one, not an illusion. You''ll have to tell me how you reached your answer too: I won''t accept a good response if you got it by chance."


    Clelia immediately looked around herself. Indeed, the cats now appeared to be no less than a couple of hundreds. The grey cat with the M pattern on its forehead, the one that guided the procession towards the court and the easiest to recognise among them, appeared twice, of course. The young fairy''s gaze lingered on both versions of that cat for long enough to determine that, despite being apart, they moved in unison at all times, proving that one had to be an illusion indeed.


    Her eyes darted around for a few more moments, seeing a few black cats, one with its ear missing, one with a snapped tail; then, they locked on the one yellow-eyed black cat she had noticed being at the back of the procession before they entered, as well as the detail she had looked for when she and Gatto Mammone were talking. She smirked.


    Smugly meeting the cat''s gigantic golden eyes again, she pointed her finger at a small black cat. "That cat over there was the one at the end of the procession that led me here. There are other black cats here too, but I can recognise that one because it''s the only one here that has both ears and its tail intact."


    "How do you know it''s not an illusion?"


    Her smirk widened. "Because, as per your rules, if a cat appears twice then one of them has to be an illusion."


    "That cat only appears once," Gatto Mammone flatly replied.


    "Except," Clelia continued, "that what you''re saying right now is a lie. Tigers, lions, lynx, and all other big cats have different body proportions compared with house cats. That''s not coincidental, that''s because the body shape and proportions of a house cat work well at house cat size, not so well on a bigger animal. In the same way, the tiny sparrow and the mighty albatross don''t have the same wing span in proportion with the rest of their body. In addition to that, I''ve seen that a cat and their illusion move in unison. When you were cleaning yourself before, I sneaked a peek in the crowd of cats around me and saw that only one of them was cleaning itself in the same, indulgent way."


    She turned and met the golden yellow eyes of the small black cat. "This one that I''m looking at right now is your real form, and that gigantic one I''ve been talking to was an illusion all along."


    After a handful of second of stunned silence, the black cat closed its eyes and all the illusions, including the massive one, vanished like reflections on disturbed waters. The voice echoing in Clelia''s mind, while still sounding deep and raspy, acquired a distinctly feminine character. "Right you are. I am the real Gatto Mammone. Name your conditions, young fairy."


    Treading on the same dirt path she had used on the way to the feline court, Clelia headed back for the village. This time, only one cat accompanied her.


    The black cat, calmly trotting with her tail held high, commented, "I will have to deliver my retribution, sooner or later."


    Clelia crossed her arms. "What are you talking about? I thought my conditions were fairly reasonable, lenient even, considering that I won your challenge."


    "That''s precisely the reason, young one," the voice rebutted. "Cats are proud creatures, and faerie cats, such as I, even more so. It makes it look like you took pity on us."


    "I do not pity you," Clelia replied. "The reason why I agreed to being put under your surveillance after all, albeit with the addition of respecting my privacy, is that I fully understand your concerns, and I don''t want to come off as dangerous to your subjects."


    The cat scoffed. "Don''t call them my ''subjects'', because that implies me to be some kind of monarch. I reject that title and everything it represents."


    "Still, you take care of them and their safety, do you not? That''s why you want to make sure nothing threatens them."


    "I possess might that they, as regular cats, lack. It is only right I use it to protect them from forces that they''d be powerless against."


    Clelia smiled. "Exactly. Even if I won your trial, I didn''t want to punish your intent, so I sought terms that would be acceptable for both, rather than just thinking of what''s convenient for myself."


    The cat locked eyes with her. "I think I''m starting to understand now."


    Clelia tilted her head. "Understand what?"


    Turning her attention back at the path, the cat seemingly changed topics. "Humans are fascinating. They''re crafty, but they''re also extremely foolish. Because of that, there sometimes is somewhat of a fine line between noble behaviour and foolishness, when they''re involved."


    "I''m sorry, I''m not sure I follow."


    The cat stopped and sat down. "I''ll be going my way, from now on. I don''t need to tail you so closely to keep an eye on you, not with the terms you established."


    Clelia sighed, giving up on the answer, but then gave the Gatto Mammone a sweet parting smile. "I hope I see you again. Today''s visit to your court certainly left a strong impression."


    "It certainly did," nodded the cat.


    Before jumping off into the tall grass, the cat left one last remark, "Don''t discount your husband: he''s truly loyal to you."


    The fairy was left alone with that phrase echoing her mind. Why would the Gatto Mammone feel the need to say something like that? Damian had been kind to her, and, now that they''d started getting closer, spending time with him was becoming a lot more pleasant, but she never thought about it in terms of loyalty. What did that mean?


    Clelia realised that, until that very moment, she had barely considered his thoughts and feelings in the matter. In fact, unless he had been directly involved and present in front of him, she had barely even thought that he might have his own autonomous emotions and objectives concerning their marriage. Concerning their relationship. There was much she was hiding from him, was there something he was hiding from her too?


    Truly loyal, the cat had said. Again, what did that mean? Was there¡­ no, that would be absurd. There was no chance he had feelings for her. Or was there? After all, she had asked herself the same question once already, when they were together at the caf¨¦. Could it be that he had been acting a little cold and distant because of that?


    She shook her head. She thought back at his gorgeous eyes, his graceful face, his strong hands¡­ the glimpse she caught of his collarbones, the sensation of her hands encountering his muscles beneath his sleeves. There was no way a boy with that kind of beauty could be interested in her, not in that sense at least.


    With a smile, she didn''t cover up her blushing cheeks. It was a nice thought though.

 Their Time in the Rain

    "You¡­ are not joking, are you?" Damian asked, raising his brow at her with hints of concern.


    What kind of reaction was that? Clelia didn''t think her proposal was that big a deal. "Well, all my dresses are precious, Bep¨¬n broke your umbrella, and I never got around to making another rain repellent spell after using my last one, so, if we want to go, that might be our only option."


    His glance wandered out the window at the whitish layer with which the rain covered the village outside. He clicked his tongue with frustration. "Don''t worry, it''s alright if we postpone. It''s just the two of us anyway, it''s not like we would be inconveniencing someone else."


    Clelia too showed her frustration with a long sigh. She remembered when, that morning, he nervously asked her if she had any plans in the afternoon, and proposed to spend some time together, hinting that he would bring her somewhere special. The glimmer in his eyes made her really excited and curious.


    "Well, if it''s just the two of us, then it doesn''t matter all that much if I''m dressed up to the nines, does it?" She insisted.


    He massaged the back of his neck. "Still¡­"


    She put her hands on her hips. "Well, when will we have another chance to do this, then? Tomorrow afternoon I''ll meet Madame, our neighbour, the day after I''ve been invited to a get together with some other girls from the village, and the day after that we''ll have to get ready for the night at the opera. This morning you seemed impatient, is it really alright to postpone that far off?"


    Plus, she thought, she was pretty curious to know what it would feel like to wear human clothes. She was starting to feel safe around him, so she didn''t really care if she didn''t look perfect in whatever he could manage to scrape together. And it didn''t matter what he would wear, either: she just knew he''d still be gorgeous.


    He sighed, defeated. "Alright, alright. I''ll see what I can find."


    She clapped, ecstatic. "Wonderful! I''ll be waiting for you!"


    ***


    At first sight, it looked like two boys in stepball uniform ran hand in hand in the rain, helping each other if one would slip and carrying a bag with them. A closer observation would reveal that the uniform on one of them was visibly oversized, to the point that his socks were long enough to not show any leg skin under the end of his shorts, which were long enough to cover his knees and then some. The rough blue hat he was wearing also fit like the glove of a father worn by his infant son, and rebellious strawberry blond locks escaped from beneath it in places. An even closer inspection would reveal that, although the long sleeved shirt he was wearing fell mostly flat on his chest, it didn''t fall completely flat. At which point, one could come to the ludicrous conclusion that "he" was, in fact, a "she", but that would be absurd: after all, which girl would willingly wear a stepball uniform? Out in the rain, no less.


    Damian truly hoped that no passerby would look at them twice, that the absurdity of what they were witnessing would be enough to cover up the truth of it. Fortunately, not many people seemed to be around at that time with that weather, and most of those few were too absorbed in their own affairs to give them so much as a glance.


    They quickly cut through the village and then carried on the beaten path toward the woods. Damian moved naturally fast, and he also wanted to get Clelia under shelter as quickly as possible, but sometimes he had to consciously slow down, noting that Clelia''s legs couldn''t easily keep up with his pace.


    His heart pounded, and it was difficult to tell how much of it was caused by the physical activity, how much by the weird anxiety caused by leading Clelia through the village while she was dressed like a boy, and how much it was just the fact that he was going out with her, with a very specific goal in mind. He gulped. Rosalba had seriously encouraged him to just take the plunge, even suggested a plan that, back then, sounded like an idea that could potentially work, maybe. However, as it often happens with plans, now that he was actually trying to pull it off, steaming ahead towards a point of no return, the good outcome seemed more and more out of reach.


    The rain and the outfit that Clelia insisted so much she should wear, given the circumstances, didn''t help. He peeked at her, and his heart somehow found a way to accelerate even harder. How was it possible for her to be that cute even when dressed as a boy?


    It only took a couple of minutes for the two of them to reach a small wooden cabin at the edge of the woods. It had a small porch and a small door. He took a rusty key from his pocket and opened up. The entrance was barely tall enough for him to get inside without hitting his head. He touched a panel next to the door, starting the alchemical reaction that caused a few lamps on the walls to flicker alive with warm light. The space inside was small, almost child sized, but cosy, with some chairs, a bench covered with comfy pillows, and a few chests against the wooden walls.


    Damian let the bag fall on the ground. "Alright, Clelia, here we are."


    She looked around, her eyes wide with curiosity. "What is this place?"


    He took off his long sleeved shirt, sopping wet. "My uncle had it built for my cousins. They insisted on going to the woods to play, so he wanted them to have at least a place where to take shelter if the need arose. As a child, I''ve been here many times, playing with relatives and friends."


    He pointed at the only other door in the small house. "You can get changed in there, so that you don''t catch a cold or something."


    Clelia smiled one of her mischievous smiles, then closed her eyes as she joined her hands, almost as if in prayer; she then breathed a couple of times and the air around her started trembling gently. It built up, then released in a wave, not as harsh as those times she did that same thing in anger, and most water caught in the clothes she was wearing jumped off from their fabric at once, some of it even hitting him.


    Her smile sweetened as her head tilted innocently. "There, no need to get changed."


    As the fairy freed her wild hair from the blue hat he had given her, she asked, "So, why did you bring me all the way here?"


    "Oh, I, uh¡­ wanted to have some more time alone with you, without the lutin around, and show you a place from my childhood."


    His heart, somehow still accelerating, made sure he didn''t forget the unspoken reason he brought her there. He looked away from her, trying to hide his trembling hands. Now that it was time, he wasn''t sure what he should say next.


    ***


    Those human clothes, apparently made to play some kind of game Damian called stepball, were surprisingly comfy. How curious that humans would make clothes specifically for the purpose of playing games. Not wearing a skirt was a weird feeling, but she had to admit it had been very convenient when needing to keep up with Damian''s long stride. She sat on one of the soft pillows covering the bench on one side of the room.


    She peeked at Damian, trying her best not to give the impression she was staring. After he took off the long sleeved shirt he had been wearing out in the rain, all he was wearing on his torso was some article of clothing that left uncovered part of his upper chest, around his neck, and his entire arms, up to and including his well built shoulders. It wasn''t as wet as the shirt he took off, but it was damp enough for it to stick to his developed pectorals. Seeing that made her feel a certain way. The way his expression seemed completely oblivious to the way he made her feel somehow only made that feeling stronger. After seeing how handsome he was, his hair soaked, droplets of water running on his beautiful face and highlighting the shape of his arms, for a moment she did regret not wearing something cuter.


    But, no matter how she felt, she knew that it wouldn''t be a good idea to try anything with him. After all, even if her departure from that village had been indefinitely postponed, she couldn''t stay there forever. Getting emotionally involved wouldn''t be wise. And, of course, there was no point in kidding herself: he wouldn''t want to get involved with her in the first place. By the sounds of it, he had rejected way prettier girls than her. He was nice to her, sure, but that''s just because she had been arranged to be his wife. Nothing in the way they interacted suggested to her that their relationship could go any deeper. In the light of those thoughts, it didn''t really matter what she was wearing. With the two of them all alone in that cabin, that would be a very opportune moment to make a move, if that was the intention of either of them, but she simply couldn''t imagine him doing that at all, let alone with her dressed as a boy.


    Damian sat besides her, a reminiscent smile sweetening his already graceful expression. "You know, I made a lot of memories in this place. I broke a finger here once, too."


    She winced sympathetically. "How?"


    He pointed at one of the chests in the room by raising his chin in its general direction. "Those used to hold a bunch of toys. Toy balls, wooden swords, sticks with horse heads, that kind of stuff. Flibert, my middle brother, accidentally let its lid fall on my finger when it was still inside." He let out a nervous snicker. "Everyone laughed when it happened back then, and looking back I can see the funny side too, but at the time I can only remember the pain."


    He also remembered being berated and mocked by his older brothers for crying like a baby throughout the entire walk back to the village. The mocking stopped when they learned the finger was broken, but, now that he thought about it, neither of them ever apologised.


    Her brows furrowed. "That doesn''t sound very funny to me. It could have been funny if you did it to yourself and didn''t break a bone, but, as it is, I really don''t see the humour."


    Damian shrugged. "We were kids, it''s not a big deal. I healed up just fine in the end, so no harm no foul."


    The rain outside wasn''t loud enough to force them to speak up, and it definitely did nothing to cover up the following moments of silence.


    Clelia automatically reached for the hem of her skirt, only to realise that she was still wearing pants. "I seem to remember you mentioning that your brothers gave you a hard time growing up."


    He quietly nodded.


    "Well," she continued, "do you want to talk about it? I''d be more than willing to offer you an opportunity to get some stuff out of your chest."


    After a thoughtful pause, he opened his mouth as if to say something, but ended up shaking his head instead. "I''m sorry, I¡­ didn''t bring you here just to unload my past onto you. I actually have a lot of fond memories of this place too, you know?"


    "Alright, I get it." She glanced at the chests that used to hold toys in them. "What kind of games did you like to play as a child?"


    "I already liked stepball a lot. They always used to make me play in defence, and the team with Vaufrej was the one that won, more often than not. Sometimes we would play pretend, with the toy swords and stuff like that. I didn''t like playing that with my brothers, they always made me play the villain, be it an ogre or a witch, so that they could vanquish me. The kids of my aunt''s servitude were way nicer to me, although, even back, then I suspected that, for many of them, it was only because I''m the nephew of their master. One of them, though, I think was nice just because that''s how she naturally is."


    That might be Rosalba, Clelia thought, but she didn''t voice it because she hadn''t told Damian they had become friends and didn''t think right now would be the best moment. "I too have better memories of playing with the children of the servitude than with my own siblings. My sisters were very mean back then, and most of them are even worse right now."


    "I never asked," he observed, "how many siblings do you even have?"


    "I know of seven, but I''m pretty sure my mother had more. She''s a matriarch, after all. We''re just the ones that, for whatever reason, she recognises as part of her heritage. I have no clue why I''m part of that group, considering that most times I''ve met my mother it was so she could berate me for how much I tarnish our gens'' good name."


    He furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"


    Her body locked up. She had accidentally let slip something she had actively been hiding from him, that she was a failure in her family''s eyes.


    Within the panicked silence, she felt his hand gently perching on her shoulder, and his soothing voice gently reassured her. "Hey, it''s alright. My family treats me the same way too, I''ve told you about what they think of my passion for Alchemy, didn''t I?"


    "It''s not the same," she shook her head. "They berate you for what you do, but my problem is what I am."


    "And what are you?"


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Could she really afford to open up about that? With him, of all people? Despite this question echoing in her mind stronger and stronger, she was helpless in preventing her next words from breaking out from her. "I''m weak, that''s what I am. The most fatal of all flaws for a noble fairy."


    His head snapped back with confusion, as if she had just revealed to him that she had been hiding a second and a third head. "Weak? In what way would you be weak?"


    She sighed. "I can''t make my own spells, unless it''s very simple ones, and it takes me longer, compared with everyone else in my family, to make even those. My magic is weak. I''m weak."


    For a few moments, all she could feel were the tears forming up in her eyes, as she desperately tried not to start crying for admitting that to him. She then felt his hand, still somewhat cool from being in the rain, softly touching her cheek and inviting her to turn towards him. His icy eyes stared at her intensely.


    "Clelia, you don''t need to be ashamed of that, not with me. It''s true, we are together because we''ve been arranged to be, but I am your husband, your partner: I will stand up with you and for you, if you allow me to."


    Oh my, she thought. Her eyes lingered on his lips. Her head was filled with the fantasy of leaning closer and kissing them. These feelings, both new and familiar, caused her heart to stab her chest with its next beat. Beautiful, flowing light brown hair came to her mind, and the iridescent wings of a dragonfly.


    She grabbed the hand that was touching her with both of hers. "Thank you. Up until now, only one other person told me something like that. That they would stand with me, even against my own family."


    He froze up. She knew he understood, so she didn''t clarify further. "You are my husband, so this should go without saying. But then again, we didn''t choose each other, so it wouldn''t be strange if you didn''t care about my plight. I don''t think I truly deserve your loyalty this much¡­ after all, what did I do to earn it?"


    Damian took a deep breath. "I don''t like thinking of loyalty as something that should always be earned. Through your actions, you can lose it, you can break it, but I don''t like the idea that you strictly must earn it before you can have it in the first place. It makes it seem like the relationship is purely transactional, a matter of business."


    "You mean, like an arranged marriage?"


    He hesitated for a moment, but then nodded firmly. "Yes, exactly. Just because we are in one, however, doesn''t mean that we can''t forge our own bond and shape it the way we want."


    Despite having had to live with the awareness of her shortcomings since childhood, Clelia was aware of one good thing about herself: she knew she was perceptive. As much as a part of her mind screamed that there was no way, that she was just deluding herself, a much more rational sense within her knew exactly where this conversation was going. His earnest and passionate expression, his welcoming body language, his voice quivering with the fear of rejection, not to mention the fact that he specifically wanted for the two of them to be alone, with no disturbances¡­ everything pointed to only one outcome.


    Everything within her tried to dissuade her, to assert that it wasn''t possible, that there had to be another explanation. Maybe he was just that kind, maybe he offered to stand up against her family only in the hopes that she would reciprocate, maybe¡­


    The perceptive part of herself knew she was making excuses, that the explanation was very simple and all of the pretences were only her emotions rejecting something they saw as unfamiliar and strange. After all, something like this had already happened to her, and she had been in denial leading up to the revelation even back then. And even that wasn''t enough to completely chase away her doubts.


    "How do you envision a bond between us? How would you want to shape it?" She asked, eventually.


    He turned his body to be facing more directly towards her. "I¡­ I don''t want us to be together only because of the interests of our families: that''s not what marriage should be about. I want us to¡­ I¡­"


    As he stammered a few false starts to his next sentence, she leaned forward and touched his lips with hers. Midway through that innocent kiss, she felt her body trembling with excitement, as well as her face burning from the tip of her nose to her ears.


    It only lasted a few moments before she gently moved away, interrupting the kiss. Until he reacted, there was an instant in which his eyes went empty, vacuous, then they shimmered to life and he silently gasped. The traditional faerie wedding didn''t mandate a kiss, and it was unusual for an arranged marriage to have the kiss during that kind of wedding, so they had just exchanged their very first kiss.


    "Does¡­" she fretted, "does this resemble the kind of bond you''d like to build with me?"


    The silence didn''t last very long. Yet, it was long enough for her to start doubting herself again, to question if she had just made some big misstep and had just ruined everything.


    He hugged her. As his big arms surrounded her small body and her chin rested on his shoulder, she felt his borderline laborious breathing, as well as the pulsation of his pounding heart.


    "Ye¡­ yes," he half whispered, half gasped, "this is what the bond I want to build with you looks like."


    She sighed out a breath that she didn''t realise she was holding, and raised her arms to reciprocate his hug.


    ***


    Damian didn''t know how to let go of her. He didn''t know how to move forwards. He had never considered what course of action he''d need to follow in the scenario in which she accepted him. He''d been almost resigned to the idea that she''d shoot him down, reminding him of the artificial nature of their relationship. Never in his wildest, most optimistic fantasies he would have ever imagined she would be the one to initiate their first kiss, before he could even articulate his feelings in words.


    Yet, here he was, holding her small body between his arms, not daring to hug tighter for fear of squeezing her too tight. When her arms softly returned his hug, however, he couldn''t help himself, and tightened his embrace. The only sound he could perceive was her breathing. She was there with him, pressed against his body. She was alive. Warm. Breathing. That, alone, felt like some kind of miracle to him.


    One of his hands slowly moved up, immersing his fingers in her wild hair, gently holding the back of her head. Her hair felt rough, yet comfortingly soft. She turned her head to give him a small kiss, not much more than a peck, on his jawbone. He shivered, surprised.


    He interrupted the hug and gently moved her away, with both his hands on her shoulders (he somehow felt their warmth beneath the fabric of the sports shirt she was still wearing).


    "Too much?" She timidly asked, her head sinking slightly.


    "A¡­" his voice cracked, "a little, maybe. I¡­ I''m still not sure I''m¡­ this is all happening very quickly, I''m¡­ I apologise to you."


    It wasn''t just that, though. He feared how far he may go if he didn''t restrain himself. She probably didn''t even realise what kind of effect that small kiss had, what power it could hold.


    She shook her head, her entire face turned red. "Don''t apologise, I¡­ got ahead of myself."


    They sat in silence. It was¡­ not an awkward silence. Their eyes unapologetically moved across one another''s body, sometimes meeting, and neither seemed embarrassed by it. Her being in boys'' clothes did absolutely nothing to diminish her beauty in his eyes. The way she held her hands squeezed in between her thighs, her head tilted to almost touch her raised shoulders, the way the cotton of the blue shirt of his team fell too wide on her, with her feminine shape making its presence ever so slightly evident in only one respect¡­ why were those even considered to be boy clothes anyway? She still looked like a girl even while wearing them, in fact she was as cute, as beautiful as ever. Or, at least, looking at her made his heart aflutter just the same as if she had been wearing her usual dress, maybe a tad more, if only due to the novelty.


    And her eyes, looking back at him from behind the round glasses he had bought for her; those chestnut brown eyes never failed to capture him with their intensity, even when their gentleness made him almost forget how scary they could get on a moment''s notice. He suspected that, short of covering them up, nothing she could wear could possibly change the way he felt about her eyes.


    Eventually, she chuckled. "You know, the very moment I was able to finally see you clearly," she tapped the frame of her glasses, "my first thought was ''oh no, he''s hot''."


    He felt his face burning and fake coughed. "It¡­ was?"


    She nodded, extended her hand and ran her finger from his collarbone down to his stomach. "I can still barely believe that I got to marry someone as handsome as you. That you would try to set up a romantic confession to me¡­ well, that was never in my wildest dreams. What do you even see in me? I''m sure you''ve seen my mother, perhaps even some of my sisters. I''m nowhere near as impressive as they are."


    ***


    A bitter sting hit her lightly in the chest, as his eyes revealed that she had hit a mark with that last note.


    He sighed. "I''d be lying if I said that I never thought that way. I really did not expect a fairy, especially from a notorious family, to be¡­ small and unassuming. But it didn''t take very long for my feelings about you to start changing. Living with you, starting to see you as just a regular person, and getting to spend some time with you gave me a completely new impression of you."


    His hand brushed against her cheek again, still somewhat cool from the rain. "Clelia, you turned out to be much more than the fairy I had to marry. I want to be with you now, share your joys and your pains, offer you whatever I have and ask nothing in return but for you to be at my side."


    Even though he hadn''t used the "tide", the raw emotions in his words hit her like a shock wave, and caused her to resonate with it, setting her spirit ablaze. She grabbed a hold of the hand with which he was caressing her cheek and gently squeezed, and felt her smile die down a bit.


    His brows furrowed. "What''s wrong?"


    She looked away. "You''re sweet, way sweeter than I deserve. There is so much you don''t know about me. I don''t think your sentiment, however sincere it may be, would survive if you knew me better."


    With his hand still on her face, he delicately turned her to face him again and gave her an enamoured smile. "I''ll take those odds."


    The voice in Clelia''s head that reminded her of all of the secrets and intrigues of fairies, of the looming threat of whatever her mother wanted from their wedding, of her intention to leave from there with or without him, weakened under the direct attack of his smile, his words, and the feelings that they stirred within her. Just for that moment, she wanted to believe him, that everything would go alright if the two of them could just face it all together.


    So she took him by the back of the head and drew him closer to initiate a second, more passionate kiss. During the first, he had been mostly passive, and during the second he was dreadfully awkward too, but that did not in any way douse her enthusiasm. It was her first time kissing a boy, but otherwise it was not her first time, not by a long shot. On the other hand, she could tell that he hadn''t lied about not having previous experiences at all. She didn''t mind. His lack of experience, in light of the powerful feelings they were sharing, was trivial.


    After the kiss ended, they remained a few moments staring in each other''s eyes, the tips of their noses almost touching one another. Her glasses were not meant to see from that up close, so the details went blurry, but that did nothing to dim the shimmering of his grey eyes. When his lips pecked her on the nose, his taking the initiative surprised her, and she responded in kind. She grabbed his shoulder with one hand, let it slip down brushing against the smooth yet strong skin of his bicep, his forearm, his elegant wrist, and ended up exploring his hand. Their fingers interlocked.


    He was there, in front of her. Alive. Breathing. Feeling. He was a different, separate, independent person, yet it almost felt as if, were she to rest her ear against his chest, she would find that their hearts were beating in unison.


    Clelia really wanted to indulge more in exploring his arms, his chest, his back, perhaps his beautiful neck, either with her hands or with her lips, but she reminded herself of his reaction when she kissed him on the jaw (aiming for his neck), and decided that she didn''t want to put him off by pushing him too far too soon. She wouldn''t have minded if he hugged her again, or wanted to caress her more, kiss her on more than just her lips and nose. Who was she kidding? It''s not so much that she wouldn''t have minded, she actively wanted him to. They were married, weren''t they? What harm would come of it if he did? But, again, she didn''t know how far she could push him, so she opted to err on the side of caution and put those wishes to rest, for the time being. But there was something she still wanted to do.


    She tilted her head. "Dear hus¡­ Damian. I have a little request."


    ***


    He watched her skipping around in the light rain. It was as if she was dancing, pirouetting with the music of thousands of droplets faintly hitting the ground. Her joyous smile, the heartfelt laughter as she gracelessly jumped around, the way a child might, filled Damian with tenderness.


    She slipped, almost falling down, and giggled about it. "I always wished I could play in the rain when I was a little girl. My tutor didn''t allow me to do it without a rain repellent spell, but at that point it wouldn''t be different from playing with a nice weather. I didn''t have clothes I could wear for such an occasion."


    "Be careful, though. I don''t want you to get hurt," he worried, his arms still stretched out in an attempt to catch her from the fall that nearly happened.


    She grabbed his hands and dragged him into spinning together with her. "I''ll be fine, don''t worry. Even if I fall, it''s not a big deal."


    When she let go, the momentum caused them to be flung in opposite directions, and she used that to successfully jump past a nearby puddle. He almost slipped himself, but managed to keep the balance.


    His heart was beating with an unfamiliar feeling. Up until then, any time he ever had feelings for a girl they had always gone either unspoken or unrequited, so he never imagined that the blazing sensation in his chest he associated with those feelings could turn sweet and gentle, as opposed to tormented and anxious, painful even. But that''s exactly how it was in that moment. The fresh memory of hugging her, holding her hands, caressing her cheek, both times they kissed, all of it filled him with joy, as well as the desire to make more and more memories like those going forwards.


    She yelped in between the laughter, when she accidentally stepped in a pool and the muddy water splashed all over the socks and shorts she was wearing, presumably filling her shoes too. Both of them would really need a bath once they came back home. Yet, he couldn''t be concerned about that in that very moment. He had never seen her smiling so genuinely and carelessly as she was right then and there, and the momentary discomfort of getting his socks wet in the rain was completely outweighed by his burning desire to preserve that careless smile of hers for as long as it would last naturally.


    Damian approached her and grabbed her from behind, wrapping her in his arms at the height of her stomach, being careful not to touch too low or too high. He lifted her and twirled her around, to which she responded by yelling with delight. When he let her back down, she turned towards him and bounced on her feet with elation a few times, then hugged him tightly. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and used the other to pat her on her hair now soaked with rain.


    To think that he didn''t even want to follow Rosalba''s advice. After he told her all about Clelia and his feelings for her, his old childhood friend had responded by smiling mischievously and violently grabbing him by the shoulder, then proceeding to tell him all he needed to do was to find a moment to ask her out in some place where they could be alone. There, he would only need to be truthful about his feelings. Well, she had worded it as him needing to spill his guts, but the gist of it was the same. She had insisted that that would be the right thing to do, and he doubted her. He doubted her, but was so desperate about his growing feelings that he was willing to go with it, despite having little confidence that it would work. Rosalba was unrefined and rough around the edges, but it was undeniable that she had been absolutely in the right. He would need to thank her properly.


    Damian sneezed.


    "Maybe," Clelia panted, "it''s time for us to go back now. I can have the lutin heat up some water for a hot bath, so we don''t catch a cold."


    He nodded. "Yeah, that sounds great."


    She took the blue hat out of the pocket in her white shorts, and placed it back on her head to hide her hair once more. Then, she stood besides him and extended her hand for him to grab it, so they could go back hand in hand again. As he did so, he closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation of her small, smooth fingers, all wet and cold from the rain, interlocking with his once more.


    Almost nothing about his confession had gone as planned. It rained, they got out both wearing stepball uniforms instead of being dressed up for the occasion, then he stuttered and was unable to just let out the words he had been rehearsing for hours, she took the initiative and kissed him, instead of him doing it as he imagined it, and now they were both drenched and covered in mud. In other words, it had been the best day of his life thus far.

 Bonus Chapter: Rosalbas Reward

    Dawn drew nearer, and, as it did, it bathed the village in flat grey light. Rosalba waited, partially hidden next to a trash bin, for one particular person to show up. That was the time when the village started being alive, as many of its men and women had breakfast before heading out to the factory, and some of them were already on their way. The train station itself wasn''t crowded, since every worker in the village was employed within the village itself, but that was only one more reason to be careful: the less people were around, the more she would stand out if someone who knew her saw her. The train had yet to appear on the tracks.


    Damian showed up before the first rays of dawn, as he promised, dressed sharply and carrying his briefcase with him. He wore a fancy top hat and the biggest smile she had ever seen on him. Oh boy, she couldn''t wait for the juicy news promised by that smile. She smiled back.


    "Good morning, Rosalba."


    She raised a brow, still smiling wide. "Yeah, yeah, ''morning. How did yesterday go?"


    "Impatient, are we?" He chuckled. "Well, how can I put this? Nothing went as planned, but everything turned out great."


    His grey eyes shined brightly as he briefly recounted the events of the day prior. Rosalba had to consciously restrain herself from squealing with delight when he told her that he and Clelia had finally had their first kiss. She imagined that he skipped over a lot of details, which was a bit of a shame, but understandable.


    Rosalba vigorously patted his shoulder. "Well, looks like I get to say I told you so."


    "I guess you do," he confirmed. "Tell me just one thing¡­"


    The unmistakeable sound of the approaching train was just starting to become audible.


    The olive skinned girl shrugged. "Sure, ask away."


    He glanced at the platform, but quickly gave his attention back to her. "You already knew something before I talked to you the other day, didn''t you? About me and Clelia, I mean."


    "What tipped you off?" She smugged.


    "Just a feeling. I got the impression that, when I told you about my feelings for her, you got really excited and had to restrain yourself hard in order not to spill something you had on your mind."


    She giggled. "Hehe, guilty as charged. Buut, if you want to know more about that, why don''t you ask your wifey?"


    Damian shot another glance in the direction of the approaching train. "Alright, that''s what I''ll do then. Now, before it''s time for me to leave, let''s get to the real reason why we met here. I did promise you a reward for helping us¡­ I was a little surprised at your request. Is everything fine at the farms?"


    Rosalba affected a smile and tried her best not to show her anxiety. "Yep, everything absolutely fantastic. I just uh¡­ need a little boost, that''s all."


    As the train stopped to the station, Damian put his hand in his pocket and extracted three, no, four golden coins from it. "You asked for three cunias, but I figured I''d give you an extra one: it doesn''t make much of a difference to me, but I know that they''re pretty valuable."


    "Oh, I can''t accept, master Damian, I''m not¡­"


    "I insist. I don''t know exactly what you need the three coins for, but you can use them and still have one for yourself."


    She swallowed. One of those was worth more than the value of two weeks of work for her. She took them, her hands visibly shaking. "Thank you, master Damian."


    "And please just call me Damian."


    She barely registered the pleasantries they exchanged before he entered the train. Her heart was pounding. She was holding in her pocket the key to get out of the trouble she had accidentally found herself into. All she needed to do now was to swallow her pride, give the coins to the butler, or even the master herself, depending on the circumstances, and she''d probably get yelled at and maybe punished for a few days again, but at least the police wouldn''t get involved. Plus, she could hide the fourth coin somewhere before getting to the farms and, perhaps, use it to buy something for herself¡­


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    "Rosalba, how rare to see you up this early in the morning. I seem to recall that they always struggle to get you out of bed when it''s time for the servitude to wake up, do they not?"


    That voice stabbed her in the back, chills exiting from the wound in place of blood. She turned, eyes wide open in pure terror, to meet a pair of devilishly smiling reddish-brown eyes, encased in a perfect ivory white face surrounded by elegant black locks of hair.


    "M-master¡­" Rosalba gulped, "Master Marianna."


    What was she, of all people, doing there? To her knowledge, she didn''t have any trips to the city scheduled.


    Slowly approaching with elegant pace, Marianna explained, as if reading her mind, "I came here knowing that my cousin was about to leave for his first in-person lesson at the university, wanting to wish him good luck. I was not expecting to see you here too."


    The olive skinned girl automatically assumed the usual position: hands and feet together, her head slightly bowed and her eyes focused on the stony ground. That''s the pose she always took when about to get reprimanded.


    "Say, what were you doing here? To my knowledge, you hadn''t been in contact with Damian since we were all children. What changed?" Marianna inquired, maintaining her tone of fake friendliness.


    Her mind raced, looking for the least pathetic explanation she could find, hoping against all hope that she hadn''t seen Damian giving her the money. "Um, I¡­ couldn''t sleep last night and uh¡­ you know, just wandered about until dawn came and I figured I''d watch the train and, you know, met master Damian by chance. He um¡­ he recognised me and¡­"


    Marianna, now close enough that her elaborate dark red dress filled a lot of Rosalba''s face-down field of view, lowered her tone of voice and allowed the friendly tone to waver somewhat. "You know you''re not allowed to go wandering about at night without permission, don''t you?"


    Rosalba gulped again. She knew, but the punishment for that would definitely be lighter than what would come if the truth was revealed. "O-of course, ma''am. I''m sorry, ma''am."


    The beautiful girl clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Saying I''m sorry is useless if you''re just going to do the same things over and over again. A master less generous than my mother would have kicked you out by now."


    "Yes, ma''am."


    A few tense moments later, Marianna sighed. "I suppose I might turn a blind eye, just this once. You''re in deep enough trouble already, I don''t see the point in piling this one infraction on top of everything else."


    Trying her best not to look too relieved, Rosalba bowed. "My sincere thanks, ma''am."


    When she brought her head back up, a perfect index finger landed on her thin lips.


    "On one tiny condition," Marianna clarified.


    As her hands started shaking again, the servant girl stuttered, "W-what condition, ma''am?"


    An ill-boding smile expanded on the gorgeous face in front of her. "How about you show me what it is that my cousin gave you, right before leaving?"


    "I b-beg you perdon, ma''am?"


    "Pardon," she drily corrected. "I''m not blind. I know he gave you something, and you''ll either show it to me now or I''ll have you searched by Giovannone."


    Marianna didn''t shout, if anything her voice got a little quieter, which, somehow, managed to terrify Rosalba even more than screaming would have. She definitely didn''t want to end up in Giovannone''s hands, but perhaps she could find, on their way to the farm, a way to quickly get rid of the coins in a spot where she could hopefully find them later. Again, she would without a doubt get in trouble even if that plan worked to perfection, but it was still far less trouble than allowing them all to know that Damian had given her money.


    "I don''t know what you''re talking about, ma''am."


    The servant girl almost jumped, startled, when Marianna stuck a hand in the right pocket of her overalls, eventually drawing out the coins.


    "Oh, what''s this? Looks like, instead of just surrendering the coins you stole last week, you had an old friend bail you out, huh? With a little extra, too."


    "Please, ma''am," Rosalba whimpered, "I didn''t steal them, I swear. As I said many, many times I just lost them and couldn''t find them no matter how¡­"


    "Ugh, spare me." Any trace of fake kindness had gone from her eyes. "This time, making you skip a few meals won''t be enough even for my mother to forgive you. Especially considering the circumstances in which you stole those coins. This time, finally, we will get rid of you, as we should have a long time ago."


    Not just her hands, every joint in Rosalba''s body shook. It was over. She really couldn''t picture herself weaselling out of that one. They wouldn''t listen, no matter how many times she told them the same story, no matter how true it was. Perhaps, the only way she had of getting out of trouble this time would be to run away. She didn''t know where she could go, but¡­


    No sooner had she formulated that thought, two officers came out of the station and walked towards them at a steady pace, summoned by a small and elegant gesture of Marianna. Rosalba''s legs almost gave out. There really was no way of getting out of this one.

 Her Test

    This has to be a dream.


    And yet, she distinctly remembered all of the events of the day prior, she could carefully think about how each event flowed into the next, and there was nothing bizarre or dream-like about it. That very morning she had kissed him goodbye before he left to catch his train to the city, leaving her alone with her thoughts.


    The sky was still covered in clouds, darker than those in her memories of the day prior, but it didn''t rain. She sat in the quiet darkness, her face melted on the table, like a piece of butter only partially spread on the sliced bread.


    She had nothing to do. It was too dark to read and she didn''t feel like looking for a candle, or using up a light spell that could take hours to remake after use. Since later she was supposed to have a magic lesson, spell-crafting wasn''t something she felt like doing. His grey eyes, looking back at her from her memories, gave her back a tentative smile. The thought of kissing him caused a pleasant buzz in her stomach, and the thought of him kissing her back was capable of temporarily washing away that nameless lump beneath her sternum.


    A flicker of candlelight, gentle buzz of dragonfly wings.


    She was falling asleep again. She had things she wanted to do before meeting with the neighbouring witch later (in the afternoon, right?), but couldn''t summon the strength to stand up. Would she need to eat before then? Did she even have breakfast before?


    A single droplet of rain no, it wasn''t rain. It was a thin, white, vertical line. Like a droplet frozen in time. It moved, as if caressed by an absent wind. It was eight tiny legs that moved it, awkwardly trying to walk down its length. She gently placed her index finger in the path of the little spider, who timidly examined her skin for a while, before accepting the ride she was offering it. It was white. White and tiny in the darkness surrounding them (weren''t there supposed to be some windows around?). She loomed over it, a speck of white at the bottom of an ominous well of shadows.


    Black threads are my dress, I am the tower no, wait, she didn''t want to be the tower. She looked at her hands my dress is creeping up my hands, enveloping them in black threads no, please, she didn''t ask for that fluttering wings in my chest, the white spider was a little girl, looking sadly at her from the bottom of the lofty shadows that were once her body fluttering fluttering fluttering BUZZING like dragonfly wings She screamed


    awake. The dark clouds were still there, but she was standing in the middle of a meadow, not sitting in her dining room.


    "That''s enough," declared a familiar voice.


    Clelia shook her head, trying to shake the confusion off. She was in the dreamscape realm that she had already visited before and Madame Guillardine was right next to her. The grass in a wide circle around them was yellow and withered. The fairy was holding one blade of grass in her hand, also completely dried up. That''s right, the lesson had already begun.


    "Want to sit down for a moment?" offered the witch.


    Clelia let the blade of grass go and nodded, her breath still somewhat heavy. Madame took her hand and guided her to a chair she was pretty sure hadn''t been there before.


    As if responding to her confusion, Madame explained, "Being the master of this dreamscape, I can make many things happen."


    The young fairy was still dizzy, confused about what exactly was happening, and why she woke up standing in the middle of a circle of dead grass.


    "We got a very powerful reaction," Madame commented, "much more so than I expected."


    "What happened exactly?" Clelia inquired.


    "Take your time. Try to remember on your own."


    Clelia closed her eyes and controlled her breathing. While calming down, she slowly managed to piece together the events.


    Part of what she had experienced in the dream was real: she now remembered being bored in the dining room after kissing Damian goodbye for real. She allowed herself to smile when reminded of what had happened between her and her husband. The dream version of her memory did have some details that were off, however. For instance, that morning they did see the sun, there weren''t heavy clouds like in the dream.


    Before having that dream, Madame Guillardine had told her that it was going to be a test, allowing her to judge Clelia''s proficiency with the "tide", and did warn her that she might experience hallucinations and/or dreams during the test. She gave her a blade of grass and asked her to close her eyes, that the state the blade of grass would have when she reopened them would tell them what they needed to know.


    Clelia indicated the patch of dead grass. "How did my ''tide'' do that?"


    "The ''tide'' is a technique that can be used to master one''s emotions, make them resonate through the field of natural magic emitted by all living things. The power of the wave thus created is determined by three factors: the natural magic raw strength of the individual, the emotions that are being used to fuel the ''tide'', and the level of technical mastery of the practitioner."


    The young fairy made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "Yeah, yeah, I know all of that very well. Some emotions are more suitable than others, when it comes to getting results. Most emotions can be used to try and induce them into other people, to calm them down, scare them, make them angry. Not all emotions can be used for all purposes, of course."


    "For example?" Madame encouraged her to continue.


    "Well, joy is an emotion that can be used to induce frenzy in those around you, while sadness can''t. In fact, sadness is just generally not a very productive emotion, when it comes to the practice of the ''tide''. Anger and fear, on the other hand, can be used in a variety of different ways, for example to infuse magic into the most powerful spells."


    The woman nodded. "Indeed, not all emotions are suitable for spell-crafting. And I''m sure you''ll have noticed that the ''tide'' tends to be stronger when expressing anger."


    "I beg your pardon, Madame, but what does any of this have to do with the grass thing? And why are we going over this in the first place? I know all about it already, it''s among the first things noble fairies are taught, long before we even get to wield our own wand."


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    "I need to know precisely how much you''ve already been taught. It will become clear to you, in time, that I can''t make any assumptions. The test with the grass serves several different purposes at once, and the first one is to gauge your raw power."


    "Well, how did I do?"


    Madame looked back at the circle of dead grass. "Your raw power is¡­ about average, for someone your age."


    Clelia adjusted her glasses inquisitively. "Didn''t you say that you weren''t anticipating such a strong reaction?"


    "The raw power was determined by the size of the area impacted by our test. It was about as big as I expected it to be: you''re not exceptional, but you''re far from being as weak as you seem to think you are. What was surprising, however, was the effect you had on the grass. Please, follow me."


    A growing nervousness made itself obvious in Clelia''s stomach. She didn''t like the way Madame didn''t seem to want to give her full explanations for anything she was saying, it felt a little like she was wasting her time. Still, she did as she was asked.


    They reached a circle of rocks, in the middle of which grew a relatively young oak tree. Madame sat on one of the rocks with a big sigh.


    "Even though I make sure to walk often," the witch explained, "the years are still catching up with me. I do need to take a breather."


    Clelia nodded and stood awkwardly next to her.


    "Tell me, did something significant happen since the last time we met?"


    A few things had indeed happened. Most notably, her strange encounter with the girl within the spell she found in her bag, her meeting with the Gatto Mammone, and, of course, the intimate moments she had shared with Damian the day prior.


    The fairy shrugged. "Not much."


    Madame Guillardine took a deep breath. "You know how I told you that the Babau is actually a demon?"


    Clelia nodded.


    "Well, it is actually a quite powerful demon. Powerful enough to pose a significant threat for many of the lesser faerie, for one. Even the Gatto Mammone hesitates to confront it directly: she''d likely be strong enough to vanquish it, ultimately, but it would cost the lives of many of the cats in her court, which is a price she''s not willing to pay. A creature capable of making the Gatto Mammone wary of a direct confrontation is way stronger than a provincial witch can hope to keep at bay."


    "What are you trying to say?"


    "Child," she began, "I know you''re smart. I''m pretty sure you already wondered what someone like me is doing in this village. Let''s forget about our lesson for a moment, and just take some time to get to know each other. Ask me any question: I''ll answer, within reason."


    To be quite honest, Clelia already wanted to call it quits with the lesson already. She wanted to go back home, do something, anything, on her own while she waited for Damian to come back from his day at school. But, she had to admit, she was actually curious about the Masca and her history.


    The fairy decided to play ball. "Well, if you are as strong as you seem to be implying, what are you doing in this village then?"


    Clelia managed to catch a hint of self satisfaction in the smirk that briefly passed through Madame''s face, only to make way to a much more bittersweet kind of smile. "I''m not sure if you remember, but the Babau called me ''the widow'', when I saved you and your friend from its grasp. I was in love, once, you know. I was in love for a very long time. Francesco loved this place: his father helped your husband''s grandfather building it, and he grew up here. The Lord of Light never saw fit to bless us with children, but we lived happily for many years. So, when fate separated us, I decided I''d keep on protecting the place he loved so much, even without him at my side."


    "I''m¡­ sorry."


    The Masca shook her head. "I appreciate the sentiment, but don''t be. I do miss him, but he lived a happy life, and I''m just glad that I was able to contribute to his happiness. There are many married couples who cannot stand each other: some started out madly in love with each other, but their feelings turned sour after some time of living together; some get married because of the prospect of an unexpected child, and either or both start resenting the other for being trapped with them; some get hastily married because that''s what''s expected of them, never actually taking time to consider if they''d be a good match; and, of course, some marry for convenience and for business."


    She gave a meaningful look to Clelia with that last phrase, then continued, "Francesco was a stubborn man, even a bit cranky at times, but he never hurt a fly, and behind his sometimes harsh words he hid a generous disposition. I, myself, wasn''t always a peach to live with, but¡­ we understood each other. We both knew we could trust the other to be in good faith, even when we made mistakes, as everyone inevitably does. I was already a powerful witch before meeting him, but the time we spent together made me into a more understanding, more open minded woman. This kind of reciprocal understanding, trust, and complicity is more important than being in love, because it breeds love and feeds it over a long period of time."


    Clelia furrowed her brows, looked away, and crossed her arms, somewhat embarrassed by the direction that the conversation took. "I didn''t ask you to tell me about this stuff."


    "Right, right, you didn''t," Madame chuckled. "But I do think you need to hear it nonetheless."


    Clelia''s shoulders drooped. "I''m not so sure I do. I won''t be with my husband forever, after all. I¡­ am going to break our vows, once I leave this village behind."


    Madame Guillardine raised a brow. "You don''t have to, you know? You could just stay, if you wanted."


    The fairy gave her back to her neighbour. "I already told you why I can''t," her voice trembled, "I know that my mother has plans. I don''t want to be a pawn in her game, whatever her game even is. I can''t even ask him to come with me: he has friends here, hopes and dreams that I can''t ask him to uproot just to follow me. My only choice is to abandon¡­"


    Clelia burst into tears before finishing the sentence. She couldn''t even picture clearly why she couldn''t stop sobbing uncontrollably, but it was definitely more than just the feelings she had for Damian and for having to leave him behind. All she knew was that some kind of bubble had exploded inside of her, letting a tempest of swirling, contradicting feelings storm within her.


    Before she knew it, she realised that Madame had wrapped her in a gentle hug. "There, there. It''s alright, you''re not alone."


    She sniffled inelegantly. "I''m sorry, I don''t know what came over me¡­"


    The witch sat her down on the rock she had been occupying before. "Don''t worry, it''s fine. Let it all out."


    When she finally calmed down, she felt empty, but also somewhat lighter.


    Patting her on the shoulder, Madame Guillardine said, "This, child, is why your ''tide'' killed all the grass, before. It''s the reason why I was surprised by the strength of the reaction in our test. It''s because of all of these feelings you were bottling up inside. I induced in you a dream that would bring up your deepest, most powerful hidden feelings, that''s what the test was all about in the first place. I''m not going to ask you the specifics, but it''s clear you have a lot of very strong, unresolved feelings inside of you. I can teach you how to understand them, live with them, find peace from them, and even how to harness them to make your magic stronger."


    "But¡­ how did this happen? Why did my ''tide'' react so strongly? Much stronger than with anger¡­"


    "The answer is simple. The Arania gens taught you that anger, grudge, and fear are the stronger feelings, the ones more apt for spell-crafting, but that''s not really true."


    Clelia shook her head. "You yourself said that not all emotions are equally suited for spell-crafting, what are you on about right now?"


    "The gens Saturna puts the same emphasis on pride, self-confidence, and determination as your family does with anger. Every gens has their own tradition, and within their tradition they put an emphasis on different emotions. The truth, however, is that the emotions more well suited for spell-crafting and other uses vary from one person to the next. They try to educate their little girls in such a way as to be in line with the family tradition, but they regularly fail, and when they do a girl like you is the result: weak by their standards, because she''s unable to practice magic the way she was taught."


    Clelia''s eyes widened. "W-what are you saying?"


    A proud smile appeared on Madame''s face. "If I teach you how to find your core emotions and master them with the ''tide'', even just that will make your magic as strong as your sisters''. If you allow me to teach you more than that about fairy magic, I promise you you can get even more powerful than them. Perhaps, powerful enough to force your mother to leave you alone, no matter where you live."

 His Teacher

    Damian was disappointed, but not surprised. The intense light of the early afternoon entered the laboratory from two big windows on one side, and, aside from him, the room only had one other occupant: it was a woman, maybe in her sixties, who alternated watching him and reading something on a cini book. He imagined that she was supposed to be some kind of supervisor, to make sure that students wouldn''t mess with the equipment in the lab.


    The strand of white fibre he had carefully placed on the circle that he himself had drawn on the desk with chalk, despite all the professional tools and materials provided by the lab, still refused to react how he wanted it to. Not that he expected anything different, but he had allowed himself to hope nonetheless.


    On the desk lay several tools tipped with different kinds of metals and gems, a small blue flame contained in a portable brazier, the vial he brought from home, containing a few strands of a pale fibre, the result of his home experiments, and a few booklets with his personal notes. The only notebook that wasn''t open was the one he had used that morning, for the notes inside weren''t relevant to his current work. That morning, most of the time had been spent on the biographies of prominent Alchemists from past eras, their achievements, and their personal philosophies. Aside from a few anecdotes, nothing that had been said that morning was new to him, which is why a portion of his notes consisted of a rough sketch of a smiling Clelia. If he was to be compared to a trained artist, his work wouldn''t impress, but he had firm hands and a good eye, making his efforts at least recognisable, if unrefined.


    He smiled a little thinking about the way his wife kissed him before he got out of the house that morning. He then sighed and his expression embittered again. Maybe he could just ask her to help his experiments with her magic? That would be the easy, straight solution, but the mere thought of actually doing it made his stomach churn with guilt. How could he face her with a similar request when, mere days prior, he had still been dead set on stealing her magic? Of course, his original plan had now been thoroughly abandoned, to the point that even just thinking about it made him contract his shoulders almost to the point of hurting. But he still wanted, no, needed results in his research. If he didn''t get those results, he wouldn''t be allowed to do what he really wanted with his life.


    A calm, raspy voice snapped him out of his reflections. "What is that? Cotton?"


    Startled, he turned to face the source of the voice. It was the woman who had been sitting next to the entrance, reading on her cini book. She was dressed in a sand coloured plain skirt with a matching suit jacket and a white button shirt underneath, a string ribbon knot as neckwear. An odd outfit for a woman, incorporating elements of male fashion. Her hair was unusually short for a woman, not even being able to reach her shoulders, and almost completely white, except for a few surviving dark strands. She had a sleek pair of silvery glasses.


    "Yeah, it''s cotton. I''ve been trying to alter some of its properties," he hesitantly answered.


    Her eyes still focused on the desk rather than him, she nodded. "Are you trying to achieve something specific?"


    "Yes. I want to make it hydro-repellent."


    She furrowed her brows. "That''s a little odd. Why would you want to achieve that?"


    "Cotton is used to make very light and soft articles of clothing, comfortable to wear and doesn''t hinder movement. Waxed jackets are currently the best at providing protection from the rain to their wearer, but they''re hardly comfortable, let alone elegant. If I could alter the cotton fibre to become hydro-repellent, we could make clothing that doesn''t ruin in the rain, is comfortable and elegant, and effectively protects its wearer."


    Her face relaxed in a subtle display of disappointment. "I see, so that''s why you''re here."


    "Pardon?"


    She raised her eyebrow. "The vast majority of new enrolled students in the faculty, this year, have been young women. Seventy eight out of eighty five total new students are female. It''s a record year, but the trend leading up to this point has been building up for a while. All¡­ well, most of the few young men have been rejects from the faculty of Wizardry."


    "Except for¡­ me?"


    "Indeed. And you''re the son of a pretty well known family of industrialists too, so it was a little puzzling why exactly you would choose Alchemy over Wizardry, or any of the modern sciences, like chemistry, engineering, and physics."


    Damian leaned against the backrest of his chair, crossing his arms. "Well, it''s true that Wizardry covers a lot of traditional Alchemy, and modern sciences have been applied to great effect to create the modern industrial world as we know it, but that doesn''t mean that Alchemy isn''t a worthwhile subject to delve into. I''d like to prove that."


    A glimmer of interest sparked back into the woman''s eyes. "There are a lot of products of Alchemical research that are now common and widespread in their usage, from the convective lamps to the cini system. Why would you think there''s a need to prove Alchemy to be worthwhile?"


    "Well¡­ er¡­" He couldn''t think of an answer that wouldn''t be awkward to speak aloud to a woman''s face.


    She nodded again. "Professor Hegenhauer from the Wiemer faculty of philosophy said it best. ''It would be a mistake to confuse modern Alchemy with the noble art that was practised in academia only a couple of generations ago. Everything worthwhile that Alchemy had to offer, in its contents and in its methods, is now covered by wizards and scientists. The revolution in our systems of communication has been the swan song of Alchemy, a field now overrun by women, which, predictably, led it down a path of decadence and profoundly unserious research.'' And, to put it in less academic terms, Alchemy is now popularly known as the sissy science."


    It was now very clear to him that this woman was no simple supervisor, she had to be a professor, though he didn''t recognise her. "Something along those lines."


    She pointed at the materials on the desk. "May I take a closer look?"


    Damian scooped over a little to make way. "Yes, of course."


    The professor examined the tools he used and the circle he drew, then she took one of his notebooks and skimmed over its content. "You''re subscribed to the Official Alchemical Gazette, aren''t you?"


    "Yes, I am. Why? Is there something wrong with that?"


    She closed the notebook and handed it back to him. "That''s what I thought. Your approach is very old school, for better and for worse. The Gazette is a valid publication, but it is limited in its scope, so I can usually tell when a new student comes here after getting the basics from that library."


    He uncomfortably massaged his shoulder. "What do you mean by old school?"


    "Tell me," she responded, "why do you think that public opinion on Alchemy changed this much in only a few decades? What do you think is the reason for a lot of young women to, after the Education Edict from King Alberto Camillo opened up the doors of academia to the working class, flock to our discipline specifically?"


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "Isn''t it because of Sandra Fiumicini''s achievements? Her story is an inspiring one, given how she managed to succeed in spite of the difficulties she met."


    She smiled. "That story does have something to do with it. It started things, but one story alone isn''t enough to create the effect we saw on the discipline. Especially if you consider how much luck its protagonist had."


    He blinked a few times. "What do you mean by luck?"


    She took off her glasses. "I never would have been able to climb the ladder of academia before the Edict on my own, you know? I came from an aristocratic family, and I had influential friends on my side. If my circumstances had been different, I wouldn''t have been able to discover the principles that allow the cini system to work, and even if I did I wouldn''t have been able to publish them. My achievements are a product in equal part of my personal efforts and of the luck that allowed such efforts to pay off."


    Damian suppressed a gasp. "So you are¡­ Professor Sandra Fiumicini?"


    She extended her bony hand with a raspy chuckle. "In the flesh. Nice to meet you."


    He got up on his feet and obsequiously reciprocated the handshake. He knew that Sandra Fiumicini herself taught in the Taurasia faculty, but he never actually saw her in person, nor did he expect to be able to have a conversation with her.


    "I-it is an honour to meet you," he stammered. "I''m just¡­"


    "¡­Surprised that I''d volunteer supervising you during your scheduled time in the lab?" She completed. "I like taking some one on one time with students that catch my attention. Today may be the first time you attended in person, but in the meantime I have already done this with several of your peers. Your background did catch my attention, and I want to see whether you''re here on a whim or if you''re really dedicated to the subject."


    "I love Alchemy, I really do. I have for years." He replied.


    She put her glasses back on. "We''ll see. Anyway, we''re getting sidetracked: we were discussing why there was a cultural shift in Alchemy towards women rather than men. I''m honoured to have gotten that ball rolling, but only one woman cannot cause that massive a change on her own. What else is there, then?"


    His eyes darted around the room, as if seeking the answer in his surroundings. "Um¡­ I''m not¡­ sure?"


    "There is no shame in admitting ignorance," she calmly stated. "I won''t provide you with a complete answer, I''d like for you to start observing the academic world by yourself and for you to come to your own conclusions. But there is one topic I''d like to discuss that is connected to the reason I was alluding to: what do you think is the difference between a wizard and a witch? There aren''t many examples of female wizards and male witches, but they''re not unheard of either, so, if sex is not the determining factor, what is?"


    He stroked his chin. "Well, wizards have to study the fundamentals for years, they need to have a deep understanding of various occult subjects, from astrology to demonology, and they require technical know-how to be able to convert that knowledge into power. Witches gain their powers by making a deal with entities that have a connection with the ethereal plane or, as they call it, the dreamscape. It might be with faerie creatures, demons, spirits, or even gods of the land. Wizards are academics, witches are¡­ I don''t know, there is a wildness to them."


    Professor Fiumicini listened intently, then replied, "Wizards don''t just convert knowledge into power. They too, like witches, often borrow power from ethereal creatures. There is still a big difference between the two, however, and in this difference you can find one of the reasons why men choose wizardry over witchcraft more often than not."


    He scratched his head. "Uh¡­ witches are usually only tied to one or two entities at once, while wizards have extensive networks of ethereal collaborators?"


    Her head wobbled in both directions, in a display of hesitation. "Eh¡­ not entirely untrue, but a little limited."


    Damian raised his arms, defeated. "I''m sorry, I have no clue."


    The professor adjusted her glasses in a way that reminded him of a more confident version of Clelia. "Think about fairytales. One common theme you can find in them is the hero outsmarting ethereal creatures like dragons, demons, and fairies, often by beating them at their own game."


    His eyes narrowed at that, focusing intensely on her next words.


    She continued, "There is a particular kind of heroic fantasy that this appeals to, and wizardry taps into that heroic fantasy. A wizard may, for instance, use his knowledge in demonology to outsmart a demon, creating a bond where the authority is firmly in the wizard''s hands. Witches, on the other hands, usually have to accept the creature they''re making a pact with as a mentor, sometimes as a master, on rare occasions as a peer."


    Within his stomach, Damian could feel something gnawing at him, screaming to call for his attention, but he ignored it, intent on listening to her.


    She raised her brows and shrugged performatively. "Who wouldn''t want to have the upper hand in a deal, after all? Especially when ethereal creatures are involved, with their aura of mystery and power. Finding oneself in a position of power over them is very tempting. That''s what wizardry promises."


    The young man was speechless. "I¡­ never thought of it in those terms."


    With a warm smile, she took a small notepad from the inner pocket of her jacket. "Don''t take my word for it, young Neumann. Look at the world around you and try to reach your own conclusions. The time I could dedicate to you is coming to an end, but I hope we can have another conversation at a later time and, perhaps, by then you will be able to tell me the conclusions you reached."


    "On why Alchemy is becoming a woman dominated field?"


    She scribbled something on her notepad, tore a sheet and handed it to him. "On that, and on any other subject you may think is relevant. This is a smaller publication, compared with the Gazette, but it''s more in touch with the current landscape of Alchemy and the ways our methods changed over the last couple of decades. I highly suggest you get a hold of a cini book and have a read. It won''t only help you understand the conversation we just had better, it will also help you with your future classes, once you get past the history lessons."


    "I don''t know how to thank you for dedicating some of your precious time to me." Damian bowed.


    "Think for yourself," she replied in an admonishing tone. "I told you a lot of things today, and I want you to question everything. If you can do that and reach some interesting ideas, that will be thanks enough for me."


    After she was gone, he sat back down at the desk again, staring at the piece of paper she had given him without truly seeing it. That whole speech on the heroic fantasy, somehow, cut real deep for him. He couldn''t shake the feeling that it hit very close to home, but his mind was in too much of a buzz to be able to focus on why. He had just spoken in private with the most famous Alchemist alive, the one whose achievements he had admired for such a long time. The one who had inspired him. He could hardly believe it himself.


    The past two days had been incredible for him. It was only the day after he first experienced what it felt like to have romantic feelings being reciprocated, and now he also casually met one of his biggest personal heroes. Did he really deserve it?


    His shoulders fell. Did he really deserve it? It was that question that finally made it click for him. Why did that speech on the heroic fantasy cut so deep? Once he understood, he was unable to shake it away.


    As if someone had turned on a stove beneath his chair, he shot up and frantically started tiding up the desk; putting the tools he had been using back in their place, gathering his stuff, cleaning up the chalk marks from the smooth wooden surface. He left the lab in a huff, hugging his briefcase almost as if it had been a stuffed animal.


    A few minutes later, he was resting on a bench in the inner yard of the academy building. He took a familiar notebook out of it, his hands shaking hard enough to make the process laborious. For maybe the hundredth, maybe the thousandth time he opened it on the star reading that had started it all. His eyes darted on the little dots and shaky lines connecting them that he had traced a long time ago. Fortunately he was sitting, because his knees became weaker and weaker each second that passed.


    Damian allowed his head to dangle back, completely crestfallen. Reading the stars wasn''t an exact science and even experts could get things wrong. In more recent times, he had also become aware of the fact that reading individual destinies in them was usually a waste of time.


    His reading, the one he had clung on so tightly all along, was flimsy. Now he could see it clear as day: his interpretation had been nothing more than the overenthusiastic and self-indulgent fantasy of an adolescent. He had based his entire plan, the one he accepted the wedding over, on the same heroic fantasy that Professor Fiumicini had told him about. He had pictured himself outsmarting a fairy and using her magic to achieve his alchemical breakthrough.


    With a sigh and a bitter chuckle, he shook his head and, once again, put everything back in his briefcase. Maybe, it was finally time for him to confess everything to Clelia.

 Their Confessions

    The last rays of dusk had already long been swallowed by the tapestry of the night. Damian wandered the streets of the village, which was very unusual for him, since he much preferred spending his evenings with a book. He knew Clelia knew something was up. She wasn''t dumb, she definitely noticed that he had been weird after coming back from the university, but he hadn''t managed to push himself to¡­ even though he had resolved to do it, he just couldn''t confess to Clelia. At the same time, he couldn''t bear to be around her without confessing, not after the wonderful intimacy they had discovered the day prior. She deserved the truth, but he couldn''t bring himself to tell her.


    A throaty breath snapped him out of his thoughts. "Human, are you not offspring of the Neumann family?"


    Emerging from the shadows of an alleyway, a tall, grotesque figure cloaked in rags and carrying a huge sac was pointing one of its dark grey fingers at him.


    "Who''s asking?" Damian responded with affected calm, assessing in which directions it would be best to escape if things were to go south.


    A beastly voice softly growled its response. "Do not fear us. We are bound to a pact that makes us unable to harm you. We are but a humble servant of secret powers, wandering these streets at night in search for a sign."


    "You didn''t answer my question. And what kind of sign are you talking about?"


    "Giving you our name would give you power over us. Would you be willing to accept the responsibility of receiving our service, if we were to surrender our name?"


    There was only one kind of creature Damian was aware of that assigned such importance to its name: demons. It was common knowledge that demons were liars, but Damian knew better, as they were creatures created from dark, ancient covenants, which made them forever bound to the power of words, making them unable to knowingly state the false. That being said, accepting their service wasn''t advisable, not without extensive understanding of demonology: just because they couldn''t outright lie, it didn''t mean they couldn''t be deceitful.


    The boy shook his head. "I don''t need to know your name. If it''s true that you can''t harm me, then I''m free to tell you to leave. I don''t want creatures like you around my village."


    A raucous laughter came from the shadows of the hood that covered the creature''s head. "You are indeed free to ask us to leave, but you hold no power that would force us to obey, not unless you knew our name. We are, however, nothing if not accommodating. We are willing to make a deal, and leaving this village for good, as our end of the bargain, is on the table."


    Making a deal with a demon was probably not a good idea, but he was willing to listen to its conditions, if nothing else to understand better what that creature wanted, exactly. "Speak your terms."


    "In this village reside a witch and a fairy. If you now grant us entrance to the house of one or the other, our feet will never again tread these grounds."


    Several thoughts fought to get his immediate attention at once. For one, he knew nothing about any witch living in the village. But, no matter how curious that made him, the one thought that ended up overpowering everything else was that this monster clearly meant harm to Clelia. There was only one fairy in the village, which was his wife, and there would be no reason for the creature to want to enter someone''s house at night if it wasn''t to harm them. This above all needed addressing.


    Damian regretted not carrying a weapon with him. "I''m not willing to allow you to enter any of the houses in this village. Do you want me to send a message to either the witch or the fairy?"


    The creature pondered before growling its next response. "We don''t understand your reluctance in accepting to give us access to the intruders in your village: we cannot bring harm to the resident humans, but the same cannot be said of a witch, even less so of a fairy. It seems to us that, if you wish to keep this village safe, you''d be doing yourself a favour by collaborating with us, even if you disdain our kind."


    "The fairy, at least, poses no threat, and regarding the witch¡­"


    "How do you know that?" The monster barked, interrupting him. "She''s a small fairy with a big name. Arrogant in her weakness. And it is the weak ones that pose the biggest threat: they envy power, they envy strength, so they feign obedience and bide their time, until the day they can enact vengeance on their betters. It is so among human kind, it is so among demon kind, and it certainly is so among faerie kind as well."


    "You know nothing of her!" Damian hissed through his teeth.


    Silence fell once again. Though they were hidden in the shadows of the raggedy hood, Damian felt the full pressure of the monster''s eyes inquisitively staring.


    "Curious reaction," it eventually growled. "It would almost seem like you have an emotional attachment to her."


    Before Damian could do anything, a huge malformed hand grabbed him by the wrist. Its grasp was loose enough not to hurt, but as solid as metal handcuffs, making it impossible for him to run away.


    With guttural laughter, the creature declared, "We may do no harm to you, but what does the pact we''re bound to say about imprisoning you, we wonder?"


    "I command you halt, demon!" Hissed a tiny voice from the ground next to Damian''s feet.


    Both Damian and the creature''s head snapped in the direction of whoever just spoke. A small snake lay curled on the stone ground.


    The reptile raised its scaly head and lashed its tongue. "Your vicious existence is a slap in the face of my mightiness, yet, in my magnanimity, I left you be. Now, however, I, the magnificent Horatius, cannot tolerate you laying hands on a resident of the house blessed with my outstanding protection. Unhand him, demon, or face my wrath!"


    The massive dark bag the demon was carrying slammed on the position occupied by the snake with a wet thud. A shock-wave immediately followed, hitting both Damian and the creature, making the latter lose grip on the bag and both of them stumble backwards.


    Slithering unharmed from beneath the bag, the little snake boasted, "Hah! Only the pathetic mind of a foul beast such as you could have foolishly believed you could squash me like that."


    With its now free hand, the demon touched the ground, still holding Damian. "This is a battle we don''t need to fight. Bring our regards to your master, you petulant shoelace."


    From the spot where its palm contacted the stone, a wave of something resembling black smoke erupted with violence, after which Damian could no longer see. He fully expected the sharp tug of the demon running away and dragging him with it. He impotently tried to punch the big fingers of the creature pulling him away with his free hand, but he might as well have tried to move a stone by breathing on it.


    The darkness was sliced by three thin, pale lines.


    Like a blind bull running against a wall, the demon''s charge was interrupted with a pained grunt. As the smoke-like darkness dissolved, the faint light pulsating around Clelia''s small body illuminated the alleyway just enough to show the look of determined fury in her eyes. Her wand glowed white, and several small, faint lines, like threads of a spiderweb, cut the alleyway in geometric morsels. It was against some of these that the momentum of the demon had crashed.


    "Let. My husband. Go." The fairy spelled with venomous calm.


    Damian was speechless. Too many things were happening at once. A part of him was relieved that someone had come to help him, but, on the other hand, he felt embarrassed by having to rely on his wife to protect him.


    Beneath the shadows of its hood, the demon sniffed. "The scent you emanate is very different from the last time we met, young fairy. We have to apologise for our premature statements on your weakness. If your wish is for us to let go of your spouse, we shall abide."


    Dark smoke erupted again, this time beneath Damian. As if the stone under his feet had been suddenly replaced by water, he sank suddenly in the darkness.


    Before losing contact with the surface, the last thing he heard was the demon cackling, "We shall let him go in the land of nightmares."


    ***


    Confused shadows swirled around her. Clelia had wasted no time, seeing Damian sinking in the ground, and immediately dived after him. She wasn''t exactly sure what the Babau had meant by "land of nightmares", but it probably was some kind of realm in the dreamscape.


    That afternoon, Damian had been strangely quiet, and avoided almost any interaction with her. After the way they had affectionately kissed that morning, that shift in attitude stung. When he decided to leave the house, at sunset, she had decided to send Horatius to following, with the instruction to alert her if anything weird happened. Of course, as soon as she sensed the snake signalling her for help, she rushed out of the house and ran as fast as she could.


    She wasn''t afraid of what she might find in this realm: one of the least powerful of the ancient spells in her wand had been enough to stop a charging demon. Even not counting the two really big ones, she still had about twenty one more to use against anything that threatened her or her loved ones. What she did fear was being incapable of finding Damian before something happened to him. She needed to know what bothered him. She needed to know if she could do anything to relieve him of his burden. It was the least she could do, given the deceitful nature of their relationship; given how, even now, she knew she would probably have to leave him behind. But, before any of that, she had to find him.


    Eventually, the swirling shadows surrounding her started calming down and assuming a semblance of coherent shapes. Emboldened by the strength of the spells embedded in her wand, she marched on, solidly holding it between her fingers. The black and greys became browns and greens, the confused ground became stone, and the sense of urgency in her chest turned into an oppressive feeling of familiarity. The vibrant colours of a regal garden invaded the path in front of her; the smells of the kitchen and the rough accent of the dwarves working in it hammered back inside of her the notion that, no matter where she went, someone was keeping watch on her. She briefly turned to her left and, sure enough, the familiar silhouette of the castle she grew up in greeted her, dominated by the tall pointy tower where her mother had her personal chambers.


    She didn''t stop, nor did she slow down. This was only a realm in the dreamscape, nothing she would find there would be the same as back home. Even if she met face to face with her mother, she''d know that that wouldn''t be her mother, not really. She had to ignore anything that tried to obstruct her. She could feel something trying to infiltrate her mind, but defending against it required nothing more than the mildest level of focus over her "tide". Still, she wondered if Damian had to face the same thing as well, and worried he might not be able to protect himself without her help.


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    With a wave of her wand, she activated another spell, which was supposed to provide guidance. She hoped she''d be able to get the spell to guide her towards Damian. A strange feeling gripped her around the arm, but only for a brief moment, and she didn''t have time to focus on what was nothing more than some small and short-lived discomfort.


    ***


    The demon has¡­ the demon has said¡­ something. What demon? Wha¡­


    It wasn''t clear to Damian why he was¡­ well, he was sitting. He held his head between his hands. He was¡­ right, this was his grandfather''s funeral (didn''t I already see this?), again. He wasn''t exactly sure why he had to go through it again (funerals aren''t something you do twice; I''ve done this a few years ago already), but who was he to question family business.


    His mother sat like a stoic statue, next to the ghoulish, mummified presence of his father, who smelled of herbs and medicines. Damian briefly wondered when was the last time he''d seen his father standing on his own two feet (he was standing at grandpa''s funeral, I''m quite sure of it).


    At his left, Flibert clapped with enthusiasm, hollering, "Great performance! Bravo!".


    At his right, Vaufrey wore a serious expression over his crossed arms. "I''d hardly call that a performance. Everything on stage was so wasteful, better results could have been achieved with much lower expenses. If only I had been in charge from the start."


    When Vaufrej slowly turned his attention to Damian, it was almost as if an older version of himself was staring back at him from the other side of a mirror.


    "When I was your age," started the reflection, "I was already working in the factory. You should call yourself lucky if we allow you to keep doing your childish games for a while more."


    Damian wanted to look away, but couldn''t. He wanted to show him, he wanted to make him understand what he could achieve for the sake of the family, with just a little more time.


    He had always kept his mouth shut about it, aware that talking back would achieve nothing. He knew his brother wouldn''t take him seriously if he talked.


    Then again, his brother didn''t take him seriously even if he refrained from talking (no, I probably shouldn''t, what''s that going to achieve?), so why not? Why not unload everything once and for all?


    "I''m not playing around, Vaufrej. I have plans. I fully intend on using my studies to benefit the family business."


    His older mirror smiled condescendingly. "I''m sure you do. You are a good boy, that''s what you''ve always been. Not very capable, mind, but a very good boy indeed."


    Damian gritted his teeth. "I know what I''m doing. Soon I''ll be able to present to you a new product, one that everyone will want to buy. I just need¡­"


    The image of his older self sneered. "You just need to stay out of the way, the grown-ups will take care of everything. Don''t worry. Nobody will take your cushy life away, just let your older brothers take care of the business, you''re not cut for it."


    "I just need a little magic, that''s all." Damian protested.


    "Then why don''t you do like a wizard? Why don''t you conquer some pompous faerie creature and have her submit to your cause? Why didn''t you become a wizard to begin with?"


    "That''s¡­"


    The mirror image of himself, no longer even looking older, leaned in closer. "You already have a pompous faerie creature right next to you. All you have to do is to grab what you need and throw away what you don''t. That''s the plan, right? That was always the plan."


    Damian feebly shook his head. "No, that was a dumb plan, that was (stupid) arrogant from the very start. I''m never going to¡­"


    "Just a dumb plan?"


    "Yes! That plan was basically over the very moment I actually met Clelia for the first time, before I even bought her those glasses, though it took me some more time to realise it. And, even before that, to begin with, it had always been stupid and¡­"


    His double snickered. "Then what does that make you?"


    The boy sighed (just a dumb boy). "Just an arrogant, immature, dumb boy."


    The other Damian patted him on the shoulder. "That''s exactly right."


    An echo reached his mind before the sound reached his ear. A clear, crystalline, pure chime, like of a small crystal bell, disturbed the waters that reflected that mocking version of himself. The entire scene faded, until he was alone in a formless void (not really alone).


    He solemnly turned around, seeing Clelia right behind him, sadness painted on her brows and in her eyes.


    Damian kneeled, bowing down his head as if to present his neck to an invisible executioner. "I''m sorry, Clelia. I don''t deserve you. It was wrong of me to think I could be your partner, that our marriage could be anything more than¡­"


    "Oh, stop it with this melodrama!"


    His head snapped back up. In the fraction of a second before she hugged him, he realised that her tears weren''t due to sadness, but to relief.


    Everything became clear again. Whatever he had just experienced, that weird funeral, the conversation with Vaufrej, the confession he made to himself, none of it was real. That''s right, the demon had sent him to the land of nightmares, that''s what had been happening. The only thing that was actually real was Clelia.


    ***


    There was no doubt. The body she was hugging was the very same she had embraced the day prior.


    "Clelia, but¡­ how much did you hear of that conversation?"


    Without letting him go she shook her head. "I don''t know what conversation you''re talking about, nor do I care. I''m just glad I found you safe and sound. Don''t worry: we''re going to be alright now."


    He firmly grabbed her by her shoulders and separated her from him, similarly to how he had done after she had kissed him on the jaw.


    His eyes were serious, intense. "Are we really safe right now?"


    "Uuh¡­ sure. For as long as I have this guidance spell active, the nightmare shouldn''t be able to harm us in any way, and I can get us out of here at any time."


    "Then, before you do, please listen to me. There is something I should have already told you, but I never had the courage to. I''ll understand if, after hearing this, you''ll take back all of the beautiful things you said to me yesterday."


    Something stirred around Clelia''s heart. What could possibly be as bad as that? Was he about to tell her there was another girl? One he had met before the plans for their marriage? Did he actually go to meet her that day, instead of going to class? "Is this why you''ve been acting weird all evening?"


    "I¡­ well, yes, but that''s not important right now. Please just listen."


    She nodded, her lips trembling. It had all been way too strange, it was just normal that it would all have to end like that. How could a boy such as him like her for real, after all? It was time for the dream to end. "Alright, I''m listening."


    "See¡­ remember when I told you that my family did not approve of me studying Alchemy?"


    There it goes, he was now going to tell her he never was actually a student. "Yeah."


    "Well¡­ I had this whole plan to make them reconsider. They allowed me to study, sure, but not because they approve, only because they genuinely don''t care. But, as I told you, I wanted to show them that they''re wrong. I wanted to use my Alchemy to the benefit of the family business."


    She furrowed her brows. What was he talking about? How would that lead into anything worth breaking their marriage over?


    "I had an idea of what I wanted to do," he continued. "The only way I could see to get it done was to steal the magic of a fairy. That is why I was eager to accept when the plans for our marriage were brought up for the first time."


    She raised her brow. What?


    He sighed so deeply that it took him a few seconds to start talking again. "I told you many times already that you are very, very different from how I was picturing fairies, prior to meeting you. I made up that plan back when I thought my wife would be¡­"


    "I don''t understand," she interrupted him. "Why are you telling me this?"


    "I¡­ wanted to come clean. My intentions behind marrying you were not pure, and I should have told you before¡­ you know, before yesterday. I have no excuses, I¡­"


    "Well, have you actually done anything to put that plan into practice? Was the tea you offered me some kind of¡­"


    "No! No, no, no, I absolutely did nothing of the sorts. I abandoned that whole plan when¡­"


    Clelia shook her head, then she was caught by a giggling fit. She laughed, and laughed, and laughed even harder.


    When she was finally able to look him in the eyes again, his cheeks had become redder than a dragon''s breath.


    "Why are you laughing at me like that? I''m being very serious here."


    She shook her head again and had to hold her stomach, the giggles not allowing her to stop, even though it started to hurt.


    When she finally calmed down, she had to lift her glasses so she could wipe away some tears. "I''m sorry, I swear I''m not making fun of you. It''s just¡­"


    "Yes?"


    She suppressed another snicker. "I apologise. It''s just funny because I, too, have been racking myself with guilt all this time. I, too, had an ulterior motive behind going along with this whole marriage thing."


    He stared blankly at her. "You what now?"


    She smiled bitterly. "Oh, Damian, my dear husband. You know how curious I was about the train?"


    He furrowed his brows. "Sure. What does that have to do with anything?"


    "And do you remember how I''ve been telling you I didn''t have a good time growing up with my family?"


    He nodded impatiently. "Yeah, I do remember. Why?"


    "Well, I wanted to get away from my own family. As far away as possible, in fact. My idea, when I learned about the marriage plans, was to use the time I''d get to spend away from my own family after the marriage to learn about the human world and then, as soon as I found a way to do so, run away and disappear forever."


    He just kept on staring blankly at her.


    "You dummy," she said, "I''m telling you that I, too, didn''t have pure intentions to begin with."


    After a long sigh of her own, she continued with a much more serious tone. "In fact, I must confess that I, unlike you, have not abandoned my own plan yet."


    "Wait, what do you mean by that?"


    She looked away. "It''s because of my mother. The entire point of running away was to get away from her, but, given that she''s the one who wanted our marriage to happen, and given that she never does something unless she can gain from it, I''m sure that we''re still, somehow, caught in her web. If I want to get away from her, the only thing I can do is get away from here as well."


    "So," he croaked, "was yesterday all some kind of¡­"


    She quickly turned back to face him. "No! No, I swear, everything of what I said and did yesterday was completely sincere."


    "Then why didn''t you tell me?" He pleaded.


    "Why didn''t you tell me about your ulterior motive?" She retorted.


    After a pause, he nodded. "Fair point."


    They remained silent, next to each other, neither of them in a hurry to meet the other''s eyes again.


    "I''m going to be honest," she started, "I''m not entirely sure where this leaves us."


    He took some time, but, when he responded, his voice was calm and sweet like the day prior. "I don''t know about you, but I still feel the same about you as I did yesterday. In fact, I owe you for saving me from that monster and from the nightmare it plunged me into."


    "You don''t owe me," she sighed. "I''m your wife, it is my duty to protect you. And¡­ I care about you. Even if what you said is true, that you used to plan to steal my magic, so far as I can tell, you never actually did anything that would harm me. Intentions and words aren''t entirely meaningless, but it''s the actions that really count. And, it''s worth noting, you told me everything on your own: I never suspected anything, I never had to discover anything by myself. You just came clean."


    She finally looked back into his grey eyes. "That, to me, shows your commitment and your sincerity. I won''t lie and say that what you just told me doesn''t hurt in the least, because it does hurt a little, especially after what we shared yesterday. But¡­ I can''t judge you too harshly, because, unlike you, I haven''t been able to let go of my own selfish plan yet. It would be hypocritical of me to be angry at you."


    He hugged her gently, and she reciprocated.


    "Do¡­ do you really still want to leave?" He inquired.


    "No, I don''t. But I might have to." She replied.


    "Um¡­ listen, what¡­ what if I come with you?"


    She loosened her grip around his body just enough to be able to look him in the eyes. "It''s really sweet of you to offer, but you have friends, family, and dreams here. I can''t possibly ask you to abandon it all just to follow me."


    "You didn''t ask me, though. I''m telling you that, if you go, I''ll come with you."


    She shook her head violently. "No, I really don''t want you to¡­"


    "Then stay," he interrupted her. "Stay, and together we''ll find a way to face¡­ whatever it is that you''re afraid might happen if you don''t leave. I''ll study extra hard on my Alchemy, so that I''ll be able to stand by you, and if we find ourselves again fighting against faerie, or demons, or even the very gods, this time I won''t be a hindrance to you, but your partner. Just like I''m supposed to be."


    Her lips trembled again. Mere moments after one of the biggest laughing fits she ever had, she was on the verge of tears again. She fought them off, because it would be shameful for a noble fairy like her to cry in front of her spouse.


    "Alright." She sniffled. "Now, allow me to get us out of this place, and let''s finally go get some sleep."


    "You don''t have to ask me twice," he agreed.

 Her Tea Party

    "Now that we''re all here, let''s officially welcome our new member: Mrs Clelia Neumann!" smiled the big girl in the blue dress, the very same one who had invited Clelia in the first place.


    "Actually, to be precise, we are not all here: two of us are not participating this evening." The tall one with her blond hair bunched up against the back of her head pointed out blankly.


    The former ignored her and started tapping her spoon against her little white cup, to which the other three, including the tall one, followed suit, letting their cups chime like tiny bells.


    A delighted squeal escaped from the smallest girl. "I''m so excited to finally have a new friend in the association!"


    An elegant smile formed on the luscious red lips of the fourth one. "It has been quite a while, hasn''t it? Since we had a new member to celebrate, I mean."


    The one who spoke first continued, "Let''s introduce ourselves." She placed her hand on top of her sizeable bust.


    Clelia smiled politely, "You''re Giovanna, right? You introduced yourself to me when you gave me the invitation to today''s party."


    The big girl''s smile found a way to become even wider. "Ah, so you remembered. But you don''t know the others, do you?"


    The fairy shook her head, trying her best to avoid staring at the girl in the dark red dress at the opposite side of the room.


    Like a puppet moved by invisible wires, the tallest girl of the group elegantly adjusted the small glasses resting on her tall nose bridge, which ended in a tiny graceful upwards curve. "I am Mrs Longo, Adelaide Longo. I would appreciate to be referred to as Mrs Longo."


    Quivering with elation, the smallest girl out of the bunch gathered her hands together and bubbled, "I''m Teresa! So, so nice to meet you!"


    Clelia timidly bowed her head. "Nice to meet you too."


    Absentmindedly stirring one of her long, perfect pitch black curls, the final young woman, the one in the red dress, spoke with her sensual voice, "Please, do relax. This is an informal meeting, after all. I''m Marianna Delle Piane, you can just call me Marianna."


    It still was difficult not to stare into Marianna''s entrancing eyes, which were a shade of brown adjacent to red, making them almost fiery. "Nice to meet you all. You can call me Clelia."


    "This is the first time we have to welcome a fairy in our modest ranks," smiled Giovanna with hints of self congratulation. "Only the upper crust of young women and girls of our village can become part of our little association, you see. It''s an intimate affair. Since you married into the Neumann family, you absolutely belong here."


    Mrs Longo carefully straightened a crease in her skirt. "It is worth noting that you did receive your invitation in unusual circumstances. Usually, we would extend it during functions, at the church, but Giovanna informed us that you don''t attend at all. It is the very first time that one in our ranks is not devout enough to participate to any functions. Although," she accusingly glanced towards the beautiful girl in the red dress, "some of us are definitely less pious than others."


    Clelia didn''t expect to have to bring it up again, considering that she explained it to Giovanna already, but she decided to spell it out once more. "I apologise, but I couldn''t participate to your church functions even if I wanted to. As a fairy, I''m bound to the pact that our foremothers sealed with the prophet of your God, so I cannot step on sacred ground, like your churches."


    Mrs Longo furrowed her brows as much as they could be reasonably furrowed and then a notch or two more. It looked like she was about to say something, but she ended up just muttering something to herself while making a strange gesture, moving her hand quickly from her heart to her forehead, then back down to her stomach, repeatedly. Clelia was sure she had already seen that gesture before, but couldn''t quite put her finger on when.


    Bouncing in place on her armchair, little Teresa beamed in her prissy little pink and white dress, "Is it true that you lived in a castle? Rumours say that you lived in a castle! Are you like a princess of the fairies? Is your mother an evil queen?"


    Giovanna extended one of her plump arms to try and restrain the young girl at her left. "I''m sorry, my sister has always liked fairy tales."


    "I don''t mind these questions," Clelia chuckled, before addressing Teresa directly. "I did live in a castle, and I guess you could say that my mother is something like a queen. I wouldn''t know about calling me a princess though."


    Her eyes kept on wandering back towards Marianna and her splendid eyes. She wore a cream coloured dress with tight fitting and neckline just low enough to show off her magnificent physique. Out of all the girls present, Marianna was by far the closest to the type of stunning beauty that her and Rosalba had been talking about a couple of nights prior. The red lips, the pale silky skin, the perfect hair, the captivating voice. Several times, Clelia had been fascinated with Damian''s neckbones and wrists, and she found that her gaze lingered in the same spots with Marianna too. Their shape and texture, although very different from Damian''s, were equally captivating. Same thing for the smoothness of the white skin on her perfect neck. She gulped. She was married now, it probably wasn''t a good idea to let her eyes wander around that way.


    "But I''ll tell you something," the fairy continued, still talking to Teresa, "since coming here, I''ve been happier than through most of my time at my mother''s castle."


    "Huh? How could that be?" protested the young girl. "Living in a castle is the best, isn''t it?"


    "Depends on who else lives in the castle," Clelia shrugged. "Think of the meanest person you know: would you like to live in a castle if, to do so, you had to share it with that person forever?"


    Little Teresa pouted a bit, caressing the long braid of blond hair that descended from her shoulder. "I guess not."


    Marianna suggestively raised a brow, maintaining her captivating smile with natural ease. "Still, going from living in a castle, being waited on hand and foot, to this small village certainly had to be some kind of a shock, yes? Does your husband¡­" she stopped mid-sentence, and, before continuing, she gave a quick but meaningful glance at young Teresa. "¡­make you happy?"


    Clelia blushed a little. "Well, we haven''t been married for long, you know¡­ we''re still getting to know each other. But¡­ he is really sweet."


    Marianna clicked her tongue, seemingly unsatisfied by that answer. "Damian always was a sweet boy. He was a bit of a pushover as a kid, in fact. Being my cousin, I never saw him that way, you know, but I''ve been aware of the fact that many of my friends, growing up, seemingly had eyes only for him. Because of how¡­ reserved he''s always been, I can''t help but be curious: can you describe a little how he is, when the two of you are alone?"


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "You''re his cousin?"


    "Indeed," she confirmed, "but I''ll only tell you about it after you answered my question."


    Mrs Longo rolled her eyes. "The way a husband and his wife are behind closed doors is between them and our Lord, not a spectacle for the rest of us to enjoy."


    As much as she appreciated the excuse not to be forced to go into more detail with a roomful of strangers, something in that statement rubbed Clelia the wrong way.


    "Um, excuse me," she began, "I''m new to human society and there are a lot of cultural elements that escape me. What do you mean by that? How is the private life of a married couple something we share with a lord?"


    The tall girl gasped and placed her hand on her chest, as if to keep her heart in place. "Why, how can you be so ignorant on the ways of our Lord? The Lord of Light, the almighty creator, the beacon of our hopes and master of all that is holy."


    Clelia repressed the impulse to slap her own forehead. Of course Mrs Longo had been referring to the Lord of Light: humans, after all, had an even closer relationship with their God than fairies had with their foremothers.


    "I still don''t get it, though," Clelia puzzled. "Our foremothers weren''t gods, but they still were too powerful to care about something as insignificant, in the grand scheme of things, as a couple, and the way they are in private. Wouldn''t a god be above even that?"


    An elegant chortle erupted from the beautiful girl in red. "You make a fantastic point. Perhaps, He may be above something as petty as that, but the same couldn''t be said of His servants on earth, who try to brighten their boring lives by being insufferable busybodies."


    Mrs Longo opened her mouth with a furious scowl, but Marianna cut her off before she had time to even get started, nonchalantly checking her fingernails. "Of course, I''m not trying to specifically single out anyone else in this room, I''m just pointing out a trend I''ve noticed. If someone were to get offended by such a general remark as mine, perhaps they should look inside and try to understand why they feel called out."


    Giovanna clapped her hands a couple of times to get everyone''s attention. "Girls, girls, come on, we''re here to have a nice time together, there is no need to spoil the mood with this kind of subjects. Let''s try something else: have you heard who is going to be at the opera, tomorrow?"


    Mrs Longo''s eyes twinkled. "Why, of course! My husband, after all, got out of his way to get me a ticket for loge seats."


    "Ooh, so lucky!" bubbled Teresa.


    "Damian and I are going too. It will be my first time seeing an opera: what should I expect?"


    "If I am not mistaken," answered Marianna, "for tomorrow''s event they''re going to play Rigolino, one of Maestro Azzurri''s most famous works. It''s a tragedy with love, betrayals, and curses. You''re very lucky to have tomorrow''s representation be your first opera: Maestro Toscanetti will be conducting, and the lead tenor will be Carusi. Not everyone can have one of the best conductors of our time and one of the best tenors to be their very first introduction to opera."


    Giovanna sighed. "So, will Teresa and I be the only ones in our association not to go? My husband told me he''ll take me some other time, when the tickets aren''t quite as expensive. One Rigolino is as good as the next, if you ask him, all the extra cost is smoke and mirrors to squeeze more money out of the rich and those who like to pretend to be rich."


    "I mean no offence," started Mrs Longo, with ill-concealed pride in her smile, "but that''s why your husband works in personnel and mine in sales: my darling does understand the subtleties of high society and how to get the attention of those who matter."


    Giovanna waved her hand dismissively. "No offence taken, you are absolutely right. Dario may be a hard worker, but he''s so boorish at times."


    Stirring one of her luxurious black locks again, Marianna commented, "It''s not just about the opera and who plays it either. Before the show, after, and during the breaks there will be plenty of chances to socialise with a lot of important people, and chances like those are priceless. Tell me, Clelia: how up to date are you, when it comes to the goings on, gossips, and rumours?"


    The fairy shook her head. "I''m not up to date at all. I''ve had¡­ a lot on my hands, since after the wedding."


    "Ooh," cooed Giovanna, "then we absolutely need to fill you in! After all, your marriage has been under the spotlight for a few days too, so it''s likely that people will try to get your attention and speak to you, which means you can''t afford to be completely unaware of everything."


    They proceeded to fill her in. Clelia did her best to show interest, although she found it difficult to commit a lot of attention to much of the gossip concerning public figures she knew nothing about to begin with.


    "What else is there?" Wondered Giovanna at some point, while Clelia did her best not to noticeably nod off.


    Adjusting her small glasses, Mrs Longo intervened. "It''s a few months old news, at this point, but I suppose it might come up. Earlier this year, for months on end, the entire country was ravaged by riots and uprisings, mainly protesting stuff like our defeat in Habesha, the rising costs of living, working conditions¡­ you know, the usual."


    This shook Clelia off of the drowsiness caused by the previous topics. "Riots? For months on end? How did your kingdom deal with that?"


    Marianna sipped out of her flowery porcelain cup. "Well, suffice it to say that, tomorrow, going to the opera, there''s a chance you may still see in the square some craters caused by the cannons."


    "If you ask me," Mrs Longo huffed, "they should have deployed the wizards. With all of the subsidies they get from the King''s Treasury, the least they could do is to show up in times of crisis. All those barbarians causing a mess all over the place deserved more than the cannons."


    Teresa pouted. "We didn''t go to the circus because of the riots. I''m glad they''re over."


    Giovanna intervened, "The riots may be over, but it''s still far from safe out there. Lately, the papers have been reporting on a wave of petty crimes, especially committed by very young people."


    Marianna clicked her tongue again. "Even our village has been touched by this. Some people have been taking advantage of the new legal reform that bans convicting minors of eighteen years of age in most circumstances."


    Clelia couldn''t help but think about Rosalba, the way she had broken into her house, and her admitting it hadn''t been the first time. Come to think of it, it had been a few days since the last time she had heard from her: hopefully, she was fine.


    Mrs Longo addressed Marianna. "I know you very well: I''m sure you know something we don''t. How about you spill the beans?"


    With the slightest hint of a smile, Marianna sipped again. "I''m afraid I can''t disclose many details just yet. It''s for legal reasons, so don''t insist. But I can tell you that there is a bit of a doozy waiting to be unveiled, something that happened very recently."


    The beautiful girl laid down the empty cup with a satisfied grin. "Hopefully, this might help shifting the discourse in a way that will lead to decent people being protected once more. A criminal is a criminal, no matter their age, if you ask me."


    There was something ominous in those words that caused a chill to run down Clelia''s spine. Up until that moment, the beauty of the girl in the red dress had been one of the things that had captured her attention the most, in that little get together, but her tone in talking about stuff like that caused her to see her in a different light. It made her consider how Rosalba''s fate could have been much different if Marianna had caught her red handed instead of herself: it was true that she had been upset at Rosalba for what she had done, at first, but she was very glad that she ultimately ended up befriending her instead of turning her in.


    And it wasn''t just about Rosalba either. Clelia''s stomach churned as she remembered someone else she once knew who had been, by all accounts, judged as nothing more than a criminal.


    "I think it''s not a bad thing to show clemency sometimes," Clelia replied. "People make mistakes, and I don''t think it''s right to ruin someone''s life because of just one mistake, especially if they''re young."


    Marianna chuckled. "Of course, I cannot agree more. This doesn''t apply, however, to someone who makes the same mistakes again and again, and even less so if the mistakes they make keep on getting bigger and bigger. Clemency is one thing, but to allow others to step all over us in the name of clemency is nothing if not foolish. At some point, we have to recognise that a mistake is no longer a mistake, but a deliberate act of malice, and bad faith actors have no place in society."


    Approving murmurs and nods came from all the other girls, so Clelia found herself nodding along, incapable of finding a satisfying response. Something deep inside of her, however, called her a coward for doing so.


    Even as they moved on to different topics, Clelia was incapable of shaking off the uneasy feeling that that conversation had implanted in her.

 Her Night at the Opera (Part 1)

    Clelia fiddled nervously with her skirt during the bumpy ride. The light blue dress she was wearing was different from the usual one, with white plant patterns finely embroidered on the gown. The adherent bust made her feel self-conscious, because its excellent cut hardly managed to mask the plainness of her body.


    "Are you sure I look fine?" She asked him.


    Damian smiled and grabbed her hand. "You look wonderful. Don''t worry too much: as long as we stick together, I''m sure everything will be fine."


    Before she could respond, the carriage halted.


    Without letting go of her hand, he said, "It''s time. Are you ready?"


    "No," she chuckled.


    He tilted his head. "Are you sure you''re alright? You seem¡­ a little off today."


    "Oh, I''m probably just a little tired. You know, it''s been busy lately."


    "If you need anything, I''ll be by your side." He kissed her on the forehead.


    They walked out of the carriage and into the crowd of well dressed people, their arms locked together. He advanced with confidence and she felt as if, through the firm gentleness of his hold on her arm, he transmitted to her some of his ability not to be affected by the multitude of bodies around them. When they reached the entrance, Damian extended both of their tickets to a large man, who then let them in.


    The hall of the theatre was magnificent: everything was made of marble, with elaborate architectural flourishes and even some sculptures around the walls. What got her attention the most was the huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling, holding dozens of small lights and dozens more finely cut crystals hanging from its many metallic arms. This had to be done with magic, there was no way that humans managed to put together something as grandiose as that without magic, right?


    Despite it not being quite as crowded as outside, the hall was filled with the same kind of elegant people that Clelia had already seen on that sundowner they had attended to the previous week, when she had to attend with an illusion to cover her broken glasses and the aching bump on her forehead. Again, the variety of coloured dresses and extravagant hats worn by the women present contrasted with all the similar looking men, all seemingly dressed with black suits and cylindrical hats. Damian, of course, was dressed like all other men present, but¡­ as ridiculous as it seemed to her for all of them to appear so similar, she had to admit that that look on Damian, specifically, was growing on her.


    "Ah here you two are," declared a dusty voice as they approached a small group.


    Damian''s mother, before speaking again, gave a passing look at her son, then thoroughly and deliberately observed Clelia, from the bottom up. The fairy, for her part, did her best to ignore her stomach clenching under those inquisitive eyes.


    "Hm. This will do, I suppose." She brushed her dark sleeve with her hand a couple of times, as if to clean it from some imaginary dust. "Now, join the rest of us: we have seats in the same loge."


    Aside from Damian''s mother, their group was composed of three other people. There was one young man with red hair, walking side by side with a blonde young woman, with shimmering blue eyes smiling from atop her yellow dress and generous neckline, showing off the elaborate jewels on her necklace.


    The young man extended his hand to Clelia. "Hi, I''m Flibert, Damian''s brother, very nice to finally have a chance to meet you."


    She felt as if he hesitated fully committing to the handshake when she reached over with her hand. "Curious, I don''t remember seeing you at our¡­ oh, yeah, now that I think about it Damian did mention the fact that one of his brothers was abroad during our wedding."


    Flibert nodded. "Yeah. And it has been a very intense week for business, I barely had any time to even see my darling Margherita, here. She''s my fianc¨¦e."


    Margherita performed what Madame Guillardine had explained to be a curtsy, to which Clelia tried responding in kind.


    The third man in the group looked like an older and slightly taller version of Damian, with a perfectly trimmed short beard to frame his beautiful features instead of the smooth clean shave that Damian had. She had already met Vaufrej, Damian''s oldest brother, two times no less, but the first time she didn''t have her glasses yet, and the second time had been at their wedding, so she barely remembered him.


    The tall young man addressed Damian. "Despite all of the inconveniences caused by the timing of the ceremony, I have to say that I''m glad that tonight we could participate with your wife already at your side: as far as I could observe, she''s one of only three fairies at this event. She did draw a lot of eyes toward us."


    Clelia''s head snapped to look around them. She had been so focused on the architecture and dresses around them that she hadn''t even considered there might be other fairies, aside from her. She knew she hadn''t been the first fairy to have an arranged marriage with some high society human, so it made sense for her not to be the only one there. Now that she paid attention, she managed to spot two other pointy hats with large veils in the middle of the crowd, a pale yellow one and a dark blue one. She could catch a few glimpses of the young women wearing them, and she was sure they had to be fairies as well. She wasn''t close enough to be able to tell, from their dresses, to which gens they might belong to.


    A familiar, flourished voice called out for them. "Why, hello my wonderful nephews!"


    Indeed, it was Aunt Lucia, followed closely by the beautiful figure of Marianna. Both wore dark red and black, with large hats, the former with extravagant plumage and the latter with flowers. Clelia ignored her stomach clenching once more at the sight of Damian''s pretty cousin approaching.


    The tall woman approached Vaufrej and kissed him on the cheek before he could react.


    "Aunt," he protested, "have some dignity in public."


    She loudly sighed,"Ah! But I never get to see my boy these days! You''ve gotten so tall and handsome, I¡­"


    He firmly separated from her. "This is no family reunion. We must show decorum."


    Marianna greeted Clelia and Damian with a big smile and an elegant wave. "Good evening Clelia, Damian. It''s the first time I get to speak with both of you at the same time."


    "Hi Marianna," responded Damian. "Clelia told me about meeting with you yesterday."


    "She''s lovely." Marianna theatrically adjusted her hair behind her ear. "And the other girls liked her too, especially little Teresa."


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Damian gently pulled Clelia closer by the arm. "Lovely is the right word indeed. Glad to hear you had a good time together."


    Something in the tone with which Damian said those words put Clelia on edge. It was as if he was trying to hide some kind of underlying hostility. If that was truly the case, Marianna gave no outwardly sign of acknowledging it.


    Her hands still tingled after applauding the end of what seemed like a popular aria. She had familiarity with ensemble music, but she had never seen such a big orchestra playing, nor had she ever seen anyone sing like the actors on stage. Their voices were full, powerful, and agile in a way that was completely new to her. The story wasn''t complicated, even if the language used was rather poetic, perhaps a little verbose at times, making it somewhat hard to follow at times. But the music was undoubtedly stunning.


    And yet, despite the fantastic music, something didn''t feel right. Even throughout all the time in which nobody really paid any mind to her, she felt her stomach clenching harder and harder, in a way she couldn''t quite explain. She glanced at the seats below and loges above, filled to the brim with elegantly dressed people. Her eyes then darted between Damian''s profile and the silhouettes of his family around them, towering judgementally over her. She wished to tell everyone that she wasn''t feeling too well, so that she could go somewhere quiet and sit there alone for a while¡­ but that would cause a scene, which was the last thing she wanted to do on her first outing with Damian''s family.


    Her head drooped as her hands joined together, her fingers idly toying with each other in the dim light. For most of the time she had spent among humans, she had been too caught up in her own little world to pay too much attention to what Damian''s family wanted from her. And, even if she had paid attention, until very recently it wouldn''t have mattered all too much, considering her intentions to leave, sooner or later. But now¡­ now that she had allowed herself to grow attached to him, she realised that she could no longer afford not to care about his family''s expectations. And what did they want, exactly? Apparently, all they wanted from her was for her to be a pretty face at Damian''s side, all exotic and fairy-like, so that she could be a conversation piece with the people they wanted to impress. She shuffled nervously in her seat. She wasn''t even all that pretty.


    That thought wasn''t exactly new, but, again, it hit her differently now that her marriage with Damian had started becoming something more than just business. Some kind of invisible wall grew thicker and thicker around her, separating her from the unfamiliar environment and the unfamiliar people surrounding her all over. She aborted a feeble attempt at grasping for Damian''s hand, fearing that he might be annoyed by her trying to steal his attention. She could feel tears hidden deep within conspiring to burst out, together with a primal scream just waiting for an opportunity to break free. But that plot against her composure, despite being blatantly present and active, was nowhere near strong enough to break through the walls of apathy that padded the walls of her consciousness. Instead of crying, she felt nauseous.


    A pale vertical line (like a raindrop frozen in time), thinner than a hair, slowly became the focus of her attention. It oscillated, as if moved by an absent wind. A tiny white spider timidly crawled down the line. She gently placed her index finger in the path of the little creature (it feels like I''ve done this already), and it accepted the ride she was offering. Its tiny legs caressing the skin on her fingertip, lighter than a whisper, felt soothing, familiar.


    A small, sad, familiar voice spoke to her. "My greetings, Clelia."


    The memory of a pale child in the shadow of a colossal dark tower assaulted her. "You again. What do you want from me?"


    "I''m not looking for your help right now. We have all the time in the world for that." The spider gently tiptoed further along her finger. "Now, I''m here only because I want to look out for you."


    She took a breath to respond, but she realised that someone might have heard her talk to the spider, so she raised her eyes to see if anyone was paying attention to her, only to realise she was surrounded by darkness.


    "Are we¡­ are we in the dreamscape?" She wondered.


    "Indeed," the spider oscillated, as if to nod. "I wouldn''t be able to speak to you otherwise, because I have no presence in the physical realm. At least, not one that would be able to communicate."


    "You said you''re looking out for me, and I''d like to know how exactly."


    "Your emotional state is unstable," the sad voice replied. "There are powerful presences that either mean you harm right now or will very soon. By whisking you away into the dreamscape, I was able to hide you, at least temporarily, but I won''t be able to do that every time. You need to master your magic. The witch you met will help you, but, after she shows you how to move your feet, it will be up to you to actually get up and walk."


    "So you''re here just to tell me that I need to calm down?" Clelia trembled. "How can you expect me to calm down? Do you even realise in what kind of situation I am right now? I can barely keep it together as is, how can I keep doing it if you tell me that, if I don''t, I will be in danger?"


    "It''s unfair, I know," sighed the spider. "But you are not alone. I sense a kindred spirit by your side, and the witch I was talking about, and some smaller faerie under your protection. And you have myself, too. Don''t make it hard on yourself: if you feel like you can''t do it alone, look for help from wherever you can get it. When you wake up, someone will be there for you: let him in, allow him to help."


    "Who are you anyway?" Clelia finally asked.


    "My name is Aracne," the voice responded. "You still aren''t ready to know what I am, but apparently, this time, you''ll be able to remember my name."


    Something grabbed Clelia''s shoulder.


    "Ah," said the spider, "it''s time for you to go. I only wish we could meet in merrier circumstances one of these days."


    "How do you keep on finding me?"


    "I don''t need to find you. For as long as you carry your wand with you, I''ll be there too, and I''ll reach out whenever I can, if the need arises." The tiny spider waved with one of its minuscule legs. "Until next time."


    A firm hand gently shook her awake. The dim light, the music, the unfamiliar silhouettes around, everything popped back into reality.


    Damian''s voice whispered in her ear, "Are you feeling well? Are you tired?"


    She was about to respond that she was fine, but something inside told her that she needed to ask for his help.


    "I feel a little nauseous," she whispered back.


    He glanced at the rest of his family, then gestured her to follow him in silence. Since they were behind everyone, they were able to sneak beyond the curtains in the back of their loge.


    Between the seats and the door to the corridor outside, there was an empty room, filled with almost complete darkness and the slightly muffled sound of the opera on stage.


    "Do you need to go to a restroom?" He asked with a tone of concern.


    "No, I''m not that nauseous¡­ besides, if we opened the door in the back, wouldn''t your family notice?"


    "Who cares about that?"


    "Well," she fiddled with the frame of her glasses, looking away, "I don''t want to cause a scene."


    After a brief silence, he inquired, "What is the problem, exactly? I want to help you, but I can''t do that unless you tell me what''s wrong."


    Clelia sighed. "I''m just¡­ really overwhelmed right now. Too much stuff happening too quickly. Too many people all around us, too many new sounds, too much pressure!"


    She whimpered, trying her best not to let her voice become too loud. "I''m really sorry, I don''t want to ruin the night for you. I think I feel a little better now that I''ve been able to get it out a little."


    Even in the almost complete darkness, a glimmer of his beautiful eyes managed to reach her. "Are you sure you don''t need me to do something for you? Something more practical, I mean?"


    She hesitated for a moment. "May I ask for a kiss?"


    With a quiet chuckle, he caressed her cheek and obeyed her request. He was calmer than he had been during their first kisses, more poised, more firm. The cluster of gnawing discomfort in her stomach melted away, at least in part.


    After separating, she approached him again and whispered in his ear, "Did I ever tell you that you''re really handsome?"


    Even in the dark she could feel him shiver.


    Before he was able to respond, a roaring applause erupted.


    "That''s the end of act one," he explained. "Do you want us to go out or do we go back with the others?"


    "I''m fine now, thanks," she smiled. It was mostly true.


    Clelia followed her husband back to his family. They still had most of the night to go through, but now she did feel a lot better, somehow. Hopefully, it would be easier going forwards.

 Her Night at the Opera (Part 2)

    The contraption in front of them flashed, leaving a puff of smoke with a sharp odour. The journalist emerged from behind the odd machinery.


    "I appreciate you giving me some of your time" thanked the journalist, caressing the upward-facing tip of his big moustache. "The other fairies haven''t been as forthcoming as you."


    Clelia and Damian stood side by side, holding each other''s hands in a way that reminded Clelia of some wedding portraits she had seen before.


    "So, if I understood you correctly," Clelia tried to summarise, "that thing you just did with that machine will produce something similar to a portrait of the two of us? And you intend to use it for an article on fairies in human high society?"


    "Oh yes. Absolute marvel of Alchemy and engineering, the iconograph," gushed the man, still minding his moustache. "My prediction is that, in a decade or two, these machines will have completely made artists obsolete. They just need a few improvements."


    Clelia furrowed her brows. "Wouldn''t that be pretty sad?"


    The journalist shrugged. "It''s progress, you know?"


    A floaty, distinguished voice approached them. "Mr Giachin is right. I wouldn''t expect a fairy to know, given how conservative fairy society is, but progress really is unstoppable."


    The man approaching was very different from the other people present in the hall: instead of the same kind of dark suit that the other men had, he was wearing what looked like a blue and white uniform, completed by a white cloak with golden embroideries of strange geometric symbols, topped by a large brimmed hat. He had an ebony walking cane with an ivory handle encrusted with jewels. His dark long beard and bushy eyebrows were streaked with elegant silvery strands.


    Damian bowed politely and Clelia almost followed him suit, then remembered to curtsy instead. The men acknowledged their bows with a slight nod.


    "So," the man started, "What did you think of the opera? Was this your first time seeing one?"


    "Yes, it was my first time," Clelia adjusted her glasses. "I found the music astounding, to say the least. I''m not used to this kind of storytelling. May I ask to whom I have the honour to be speaking to?"


    Damian cleared his throat. "My dear, we''re in the presence of one of the most important men in Taurasia. He''s the Duke Carlo Adelasio of House Rivoira, cousin of our King Alberto Camillo, and Archwizard of the Alexandrine Tower. It is an honour to be speaking with you, my Lord."


    "It is my pleasure, really," the man responded amiably. "After all, it''s not every day one gets to meet with what is essentially fairy royalty."


    "I''m afraid I need to correct you," Clelia asserted, "we fairies have no such thing as royalty: none of our noble families has authority over the others."


    The Duke nodded. "Indeed that''s what I heard. Yet, at the same time, not all noble clans of your kind hold the same level of prestige and influence. Two bloodlines, in particular, seem to be particularly respected and revered: the Apodia gens and, of course, the Arania gens. The latter managed to spawn the one most infamous name of all faerie kind: Lausenna the fay, sometimes known as the ''Looming Fate''. And, relevantly for our conversation, your mother. Fairies may not have a monarch, but the sheer authority of your name is definitely comparable to what we humans understand as royalty."


    "Your knowledge of our nobility is superior than most humans I met, my Lord."


    He chuckled. "I''d be surprised if my knowledge of your kind was inferior to that of any other human you met. Wizards, such as myself, spend a lot of time studying ethereal beings, their customs, and, where applicable, their history. It is, after all, one of the sources of our power."


    Clelia''s mind immediately went to Madame Guillardine. "Does that mean that you spent some time among our kind?"


    "What?" He waved his hand, dismissively. "Oh, of course not. Even if I wanted to, no noble fairy would have allowed a human male in their court for prolonged periods of time."


    Clelia nodded. That was absolutely true, she couldn''t picture any of the matriarchs trusting a man to become a guest in her home indefinitely. A witch maybe, but an adult human male? No conceivable way. The young fairy smirked with the knowledge that, after all, she had actually met at least one human who probably understood faerie kind much better than this Duke.


    "But I don''t need to live among your kind to understand you anymore than I need to live in Hell to understand demons," the wizard continued. "For instance, my opening question wasn''t an educated guess: I know for a fact that fairy music isn''t as sophisticated as what you witnessed this evening, so I knew you probably never saw opera."


    Clelia crossed her arms with a hint of irritation. "True, our ensembles aren''t as big as the orchestra I saw tonight, but the acting and scenography were, how should I put it? Quaintly crude. I wouldn''t have brought it up, I understand that magic doesn''t come as natural to humans as it does to us, but, as long as we''re making comparisons, we are capable of putting on a much more believable show on stage. We don''t need to use a red handkerchief to simulate blood after being ''wounded'' by a prop knife, we could create a vivid illusion of someone being stabbed and bleeding to death with minimal effort."


    The man clicked his tongue and gave a knowing smile to Damian. "See what I mean? I''m afraid you really are married to fairy royalty. A human wife is already a handful as is, hope you''re ready to handle it."


    Damian laughed nervously. "Of course, my Lord."


    "Incidentally, my boy, may I ask you something unrelated?"


    "By all means."


    The Duke stroked his beard and followed the well cured curve of his moustache. "I cannot hide that I find your family, your older brother in particular, quite interesting. Of course, I did some digging into all of you and I stumbled upon your own academic results and achievements. You even won a prize for an essay you wrote on the impact of industrialisation over modern academic disciplines, though I wasn''t able to find the time to actually read it. Seeing that you decided to pursue further your academic inclination, I thought I might see your name among new students at my own faculty of Wizardry and, well, imagine my surprise when I discovered that you''re studying Alchemy instead. May I inquire about the reasons behind your choice? Were you perchance too distracted by the preparations for your wedding to perform well in our entrance exam? If that''s the case, I can easily pull some strings."


    The boy bowed. "As grateful as I am for your extraordinarily generous offer, I¡­"


    Damian''s head lurched forwards after being smacked by a big hand from behind. The full, elegant voice of his older brother Vaufrej interrupted him. "Pardon me for intruding, my Lord. If a man of your stature is interested in talking business with my family, it would perhaps be more productive to discuss with myself, the acting head of the family, rather than my enthusiastic and idealistic younger brother."


    Vaufrej addressed a brief but eloquently cold glance to Damian as he was opening his mouth to say something, making him remain silent. Clelia was about to speak on his behalf, but she felt her husband''s arm pulling her back, in a silent plea for her to stay quiet.


    "Vaufrej Neuman," the Duke pronounced. "Your family name isn''t Tallian, correct? Your grandfather was from New Helvia, if I''m not mistaken."


    "My Lord is well informed, as expected," flattered Vaufrej. "What would you think of continuing our conversation more privately? They''re serving some excellent vintage, Brambolo ''76, over there."


    "It would be my pleasure."


    As soon as the wizard had finished his response, Vaufrej discreetly gestured Damian to take his leave. Before Clelia had a chance to reply, her husband pulled her away by her arm.


    Once they were out of earshot, Clelia protested, "You should have let me say something. It''s not right for him to treat you like that!"


    He gestured her to calm down, sighing heavily. "It''s alright. Talking back to him would have been counterproductive anyway. Besides, imagine how pathetic I would have appeared if I needed to be defended by you, instead of doing it on my own."


    She furrowed her brows. "Why? It''s clear that your brother has authority over you, but that''s not the same for me."


    He shook his head. "Trust me, it''s better if we don''t mess with him. He wouldn''t listen to me and I don''t think he would listen to you either. Let him do his thing. Besides, you didn''t seem particularly enthused by our conversation with the Duke."


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    She fiddled with the bridge of her glasses. "Well, he was being rather judgemental."


    "See? Vaufrej gave us a good excuse to get out of there without making a fuss. Let''s just try to survive this evening until it''s time to go home."


    He barely had time to finish his sentence before aunt Lucia waved at them, gesturing to join her and the group surrounding her. Clelia noticed that, among them, was one of the fairies they had spotted while entering the theatre. This other fairy had a yellow dress with white lace. The heptagonal motifs on the lace and on her pointy hat allowed Clelia to identify her as a member of the Apodia gens. She was taller and more mature than Clelia, her hair made in an elaborate, soft sculpture of lucid brown that stylishly framed her delicate features. Her eyes were of a mesmerising deep blue. When the other fairy''s gaze met with Clelia, her expression immediately turned sour. Why did it have to be someone from the Apodia gens? Even the gens Saturna would have been preferable.


    Aside from aunt Lucia and the fairy, the group included Marianna and two other women, one of whom accompanied by a man who presumably was her husband.


    "Clelia dear!" Chirped aunt Lucia. "Would you look at this? I managed to meet another fairy like you."


    The young woman from the Apodia gens hid any disdain she may have had behind a mask of polite coldness. "My pleasure. I''m Beatrice from the Apodia gens, though these days I go by the name of my human husband."


    So she said, but it didn''t escape Clelia''s attention that Beatrice did not so much as mention what her husband''s name was. Beatrice''s name wasn''t new to her: though she had never met the Apodia gens in person, her tutor had made sure that she''d know as much as possible about the other noble fairy families, and she presumed that the same held true for Beatrice too.


    Clelia bowed her head. "I''m Clelia Neumann. I was from the Arania gens. Nice to make your acquaintance."


    "Tell me, Clelia," Beatrice dragged out Clelia''s name, "how are you adapting to life among humans?"


    Caressing the temples of her glasses, she responded, "It may be a little early to say, but so far it''s going well. I have to admit, I didn''t imagine that I''d meet the youngest of the Apodia sisters tonight."


    The other fairy opened in a wide smile. "So you know who I am. I do apologise, but your mother had so many daughters that I can''t truthfully tell you I remember where you fall, within her line."


    "That''s fine, I don''t mind. How long have you been married?"


    She sighed in response. "It will be two years very soon. As¡­ quaint as the city of Taurasia is, I cannot hide that, at times, I miss my old home. These last six to eight months have seriously been difficult to live through." She turned to face aunt Lucia. "You''re lucky, dear Lucia, that you live in the countryside: the riots that plagued the city since the turn of the year have been really disruptive for people who just want to live their lives in peace."


    The other women in the group nodded solemnly. The only other young man, aside from Damian, voiced their thoughts, "An absolutely dreadful affair. I''m ashamed to say that the youth of our generation is growing more and more pampered, making us lose sight of the values that our beautiful country was founded on."


    Although the subject had been touched upon during the tea party the day prior, Clelia had to admit that she was still curious about them.


    Marianna toyed with one of her beautiful, dark locks. "If I may ask, Beatrice and Clelia, do you fairies have to deal with riots too?"


    Clelia shook her head, but Beatrice was the first one to respond. "Are you joking? First of all, our servitude has nothing to complain about: in exchange for their service, our families protect them from other, more dangerous faerie and allow them to exist in the prosperity of our homes, instead of the inhospitable wilderness. They eat our same food, drink our same water, partake in the same festivities. If they do have grievances, they are allowed to petition our matriarchs about them."


    Damian tilted his head. "What if they''re not satisfied with the response they get?"


    Beatrice shrugged. "For starters, they wouldn''t resort to violence."


    Marianna gracefully covered her mouth as she giggled. "How wonderful. Whatever system you have in place, it must be very effective, especially with the fame that the lesser faerie have for being chaotic and uncontrollable."


    The other fairy placed her hands on her hips. "That fame is not as deserved as you may think. We don''t even have to go and look for lesser faerie to become part of our servitude, they come to us of their own will, specifically because they know that, despite our magical might, we won''t use that strength to hurt them, but to protect them. And, for the most part, they reciprocate the favour quite well. They''re free to leave, if they so choose, but they rarely do."


    "Is this why we have those three lutin around our house?" Damian inquired.


    Clelia nodded. "Yes, I have an agreement of a similar nature with them."


    Beatrice sighed again. "You''re lucky you live out of town. There are faerie in the city too, but they''re¡­ different. I tried approaching a water dwarf by the river, once, happy to see other faerie for the first time in months, and he very rudely told me off. I just wanted to have a talk."


    Aunt Lucia said, "My, if what you''re saying is true, and I have no reason to believe otherwise, then it sounds like the faerie in your land understand the values of gratitude and hard work better than some humans we know. But, say, if by hypothesis you matriarch had to deal with something like this year''s riots, what do you think she would do?"


    Beatrice pondered for a moment before answering. "I suppose my mother would just use her magic to banish the offenders from our castle forever. Even if they were to try violence against us, I think responding in kind should only be reserved as a last resort. What about your mother, Clelia?"


    Clelia''s head drooped. "I¡­ I''m pretty sure my mother wouldn''t be violent per se, but I doubt she''d stop at just banishing them. For how I know her, she''d bestow horrible curses on the offenders, to make examples out of them."


    The fairy in yellow raised a brow. "You don''t seem too happy about that."


    Once more, Clelia had to chase away the memory of iridescent dragonfly wings.


    "If I can be honest," Clelia caressed the frame of her glasses, "I think that that would be disproportionate punishment. If a wolf pup bites his mother with all his strength, the mother won''t then bite back with all of hers, or she would kill him. The stronger, wiser, more powerful party should exercise restraint, in a case such as that, and hold back on their strength."


    Beatrice clapped her hands. "I have to give it to you, I wasn''t expecting I''d agree with a daughter of the Arania gens so easily, but here we are."


    "How noble, it seems that fairies really are something special," commented aunt Lucia. "But the power dynamic between people like me, my brother, Beatrice''s husband, and the masses who revolt against us isn''t the same as the one between fairy matriarchs and the lesser faerie at their service. If we let them bite us, they won''t merely innocently draw blood like an overenthusiastic wolf pup playing with his mother, they may cause some real harm to us. I think we should be allowed to have appropriate retaliatory policies, such as that it would help us prevent them from biting us in the first place."


    Clelia shivered, Beatrice nodded. The latter responded, "If I hadn''t been in town during the riots, I may not be able to understand where you''re coming from, but I do. How do you suppose we can help prevent something like that in the future?"


    The smile that appeared on aunt Lucia''s lips reminded Clelia of a cat who has successfully predicted the hole from which the mice will come out next. "Why, funny you should say that, my dear, because that''s something I would have loved to be able to discuss with you and your husband. In our current time, because of journalists and the cini system, the spread of information has become a lot faster and easier, which has made it so that politics isn''t just made through policy, but through information as well. I think we would need some kind of big story, something that the high society can rally behind, maintaining at the same time the favour of the masses. Some kind of big event that, if told properly, could make everyone, both the humble worker and the lofty aristocrats, understand where our society stands on the issue."


    "I''m not sure I follow," Beatrice shook her head, "what kind of event are we talking about?"


    "I''m thinking of a trial," stated aunt Lucia with a glint in her grey eyes. "A trial under the magnifying glass of the press, one where the right and wrong side are both very clearly portrayed, so that everyone can see them for what they are. It would be a story and, as such, it would have twists and turns to keep everyone invested. Then, once it reaches its proper, natural end, a message would be sent, a message capable of cooling down the hot heads in our kingdom."


    "I''m assuming you already have a story like that on your hands?"


    "Indeed, my dear. And, though your husband isn''t with us at this time, I''m sure that he, as the editor in chief of Vita Taurasiana, would love to have some exclusive information before every one of his competitors."


    Beatrice nodded. "I''m sure he would. I wouldn''t mind putting you in contact with him, so that he can asses by himself if your story is something he''d like to cover. Can you give me some details?"


    Aunt Lucia smiled again. "I can only tell you that it starts with a problematic youth stealing from her guardians, but that''s just the beginning. It gets a lot juicier than that."


    As if the icy hands of the spirits of winter had grabbed Clelia by the back of her neck, a shiver shook her body. She had a feeling she didn''t want aunt Lucia to say anything more on the subject.


    "A problematic youth," the tall woman continued, "who has been generously fed, and sheltered, and raised as part of the family, and, to repay her benefactors, not only steals from them and everyone around them, not only throws mud on their reputation with her vulgarity, but takes advantage of sympathetic discourse over the plight of the worker to shirk her due punishment."


    There was no way. No way, right? Aunt Lucia wasn''t talking about the same person that Clelia was thinking, right?


    Marianna intervened. "I am a witness too. I was there, when they finally put that scrawny good-for-nothing in cuffs. I know all she has done."


    The beautiful girl turned to face Damian, who had been listening intently to the whole conversation and now, looking at him, he seemed just as concerned as Clelia.


    "You actually knew her too, you know?" Stated Marianna. "She was among the servants who played with you when Vaufrej excluded you, when we were little."


    Damian quickly grabbed Clelia by the arm with unexpected strength. "I''m afraid my wife and I have to go: I saw my brother calling to us. We will resume this conversation at another time."


    He didn''t wait for pleasantries to be exchanged, he just dragged Clelia away.


    "Hey! What gives? Why are we running away like this?" She protested.


    He didn''t respond until they were out of the hall. Then, he finally let her go.


    "Clelia, I have to ask you something. Do you know Rosalba, the childhood friend of mine they intend to frame?"


    "Yes, but¡­"


    "I apologise for dragging you away like that, but I could see that you were about to do something we''d regret."


    "What do you mean?"


    He pointed at her hand and, when she looked down, she realised she had summoned her wand. She knew then that, had he not acted the way he did, she definitely would have done something she''d regret.

 Her Magpie

    Repeatedly and skilfully, Madame Guillardine''s thumb led the blade of her pocket knife through the wood of the small sculpture she was working on. It was only partially done, making it difficult, together with its puny size and the witch''s hands being in the way, to see exactly what it was supposed to represent.


    Clelia sat on the sofa across from her, and Damian was right by her left side. The fairy deliberately hid her scowl from him with her left hand.


    "Hmm. Sounds like you two had a very eventful night," Madame began. "Why did you think to come to me, though? I''m sorry for what is happening to your mutual friend, but I''m nothing more than the widow next door, how do you two expect me to be capable of providing help?"


    "Madame, stop selling yourself short," the fairy pleaded, trying her best to keep her frustration inside. "You''re knowledgeable and smart, and you''ve been nothing but helpful since I got here. Is there really nothing you can do to¡­"


    "Clelia, dear," Damian gently interrupted her. "It''s very late, we shouldn''t be bothering Madame like this with our problems. We need to take a good night sleep and then, tomorrow, we can figure out something by ourselves, alright? I''m sure that I could find a way to pay for a decent attorney for¡­"


    When she suddenly turned to face him, he stopped and backed up a little. "I know that I''m unfamiliar with how humans deal with this kind of stuff, but I don''t think that that''s going to be a solution. I have a feeling that, if we allow Rosalba''s case to go to court, she''s essentially going to be doomed."


    "There''s no way to know what the outcome would be," he retorted, his tone a bit shaky, holding his hands in front of him as if to suggest her to calm down. "Besides, if aunt Lucia has already pressed charges, there is no legal way to avoid this going to court. All we can do is find a way to help her through the process, and maybe someone who could represent her."


    "Oh, what a cushy and convenient way to face the issue," she hissed. "I''m sure you''ll be able to sleep comfortably, knowing we did everything we could, by just dumping the problem on someone else."


    His voice got lower and steadier, his eyes more serious. "Clelia, that''s uncalled for. I''ve been her friend for much longer than you, I care for her and I truly want to help. I''m just trying to find a way that isn''t reckless and irresponsible."


    "You two, quiet!" Madame''s voice harshly stopped the fairy before she could even open her mouth to respond.


    "That was uncharacteristically cruel of you to say, Clelia," Madame admonished her. "I understand you have to be quite distraught to have your first marital spat in front of your neighbour, but that doesn''t give you the right to put into question your husband''s good will. Have you two been at each other''s throat throughout the entire way back?"


    They didn''t respond. Clelia wasn''t entirely sure at which point, during their carriage and train ride back, they shifted from both being upset at the same thing to being upset at each other.


    The woman sighed. "Do you even know what charges your friend will be facing?"


    Damian responded, "I think she''s been accused of stealing three golden Cunias. I''m not sure if there are other charges at the moment, but that''s the one I''m aware of."


    Madame flinched. "That''s a hefty sum, for someone like her. I can see why that would cause some issues. And do you think she''s guilty?"


    He awkwardly averted his eyes. That gesture, for some reason, made Clelia angry at him again, but something else bothered her way more than that. Three golden Cunias. Something in that sum felt worryingly familiar to Clelia.


    Deliberately looking away from her husband, Clelia tried reasoning. "I know that she has stolen food before, but I offered her to give her some in exchange for the help she''s given me, were she to need it again. Apparently, they don''t feed her regularly, at the farm. I haven''t known her for long, but I don''t think she''d steal if she thought she had a choice. How much food can you buy with the sum she''s accused of stealing?"


    Focusing back on her carving, Madame calmly answered, "You can comfortably feed a family for a few weeks with that. The good stuff too, not some cheap scraps thrown together. Most people don''t even see golden Cunias very often: the common folks generally use the much less valuable silver pieces for everyday normal needs."


    "Where did she even take those, then?" Clelia fretted. "I know she wouldn''t steal food from the farms, knowing they keep track of it, so I think that, if those coins are as valuable as you''re saying, they''d keep track of those too. Because of that, I don''t think she''d steal that sum from the farm. Are there many houses in the village with that kind of money laying around?"


    "Well, ours for starters," Damian replied. "That doesn''t answer the question, though, because, to my knowledge, we''re not missing money. Then, there''s my family. As far as I know, they didn''t experience thievery of any kind as of recent. Finally, there''s a few high ranking employees in the factory, but they''d all raise a serious stink about being stolen from, especially for that much money, and we''d definitely hear about that."


    Not knowing where the missing money came from strengthened the eerie sensation of void forming within Clelia''s abdomen. Something about the whole thing just didn''t feel right. She felt as if she was on the verge of grasping something, something she already knew, that would explain that feeling, but she was unable to get a good grip on that thought.


    She glanced at him, catching him do the same, and both turned away in unison. Madame was right, she did go too far in the way she had spoken to him, but recognising that made it that much harder for her to talk to him again.


    With a sigh, she resolved to at least try and bridge that cold stream running in between them. "How confident are you that, if we find someone to represent her in court, we''ll get her out of trouble?"


    He flatly answered, "We can do our best, but there is no guarantee. Especially if we don''t know all the facts yet."


    She shook her head. "That''s not good enough. There has to be something more we could do. Guilty or not, all that self-righteous talking aunt Lucia did makes me think she''s just been waiting for the right moment to accuse Rosalba of something. Maybe starving her was the point from the very start: they didn''t give her food so that she''d become more and more desperate, hoping they could catch her red handed."


    He nervously tapped his foot. "While I can''t deny there being some logic in what you said, I think that''s stretching it a bit. That sounds like a lot of effort to go through just to get rid of one servant girl when she could have just kicked her out at any time."


    While putting some finishing touches to her small sculpture, the witch interjected, "Sounds to me like you two don''t have a full picture of the situation."


    "Full picture or not," Clelia declared, "the way I see it, the only thing that we can do that is guaranteed to save Rosalba from this mess is helping her escape, providing her somewhere to hide too, if necessary."


    He turned to face her, shocked. "What? No way, I can''t allow that."


    "Madame, please, can we drop the charade?" Clelia pleaded. "I want us to speak freely."


    Slowly getting on her feet, Madame responded, "There are laws, you know, to prevent magical creatures from doing what they want in human society. What you propose is a crime way worse than the one for which your friend is awaiting judgement. It''s not a line of action I can advise or endorse."


    She gestured them to follow her. They obeyed, and Madame led them into the entrance of the house, where she touched the beret on the Lararia, at which point the house changed to the version Clelia had already seen before, the one with all kinds of trinkets and amulets occupying the walls and hanging on strings coming down from the ceiling.


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    "It''s unwise to speak of certain matters without taking precautions, child," Madame explained to Clelia. "I don''t think it''s very likely that we were being actively spied upon, but tonight in particular it is better to err on the side of caution."


    Damian looked around the house, completely stumped by the change in scenery. "Madame Guillardine, what is the meaning of this? And why do you not seem very surprised, Clelia?"


    "Allow me to explain," responded the witch. "Don''t take it on your wife, she kept my secret because she understood I didn''t want too many people to know about me."


    "To know about what, exactly?" He queried, warily eyeing the exit door.


    The way he was cautious about his surroundings made him look as cute as a lost puppy. She grabbed him by the arm, reassuringly. "Dear, Madame Guillardine is currently acting as my mentor, since no one else in the village can help me with magic."


    "She knows magic?"


    Madame chuckled. "How unbecoming it would be for a Masca not to know magic."


    "Do the Lares in this village even work properly?" Damian burst out. "First the demonic cat, then that hooded creature, now a Masca. Weren''t the Lares supposed to guard our homes from such creatures?"


    Madame grinned and raised her brows. "Well, let''s see what they themselves have to say, shall we?"


    She removed the beret from the Lararia and a booming, gravely voice came from one of the low-relief figures engraved in it.


    "Can you believe today''s youth, Calpurnia? Doubting that we, the Lares, are capable of doing our job! What society is coming to, I swear. When I was young¡­"


    The other figure sighed with exasperation. "Oh, will you stop it with the youth already? You say that every single generation without fail."


    Clelia blinked. "I haven''t seen them speak since my very first day in the village."


    "Well you can''t bloody well expect us to be at your beck and call every day, young lady, now can you?" Shouted the man figure.


    The woman figure placed one hand on her hip and scolded Clelia with the finger of her other hand. "For once that bloated wineskin of my husband is right. Don''t you know how disrespectful it is to question our¡­


    Madame Guillardine interrupted her, placing the beret back on the Lararia "Don''t be harsh on her, you two. The only reason why you can even speak outside of the equinoxes is that I give you the energy to do so." She then turned to face Clelia and Damian, who stared with his mouth agape, and explained, "The fumes of the factory weaken the bond of the Lares with the gods of the land, making it harder for them to perform their protective function. That is why I feed them with the power they need."


    "So¡­ you''re telling me that you''re working to protect the village?" Asked Damian.


    Clelia nodded. "Yes, she is. When you were assaulted by the Babau, you were rescued by a tiny snake at first, remember? He''s the protector serpent of our Lararia and Madame Guillardine is the one who gave him life."


    "That¡­ thing was the Babau? Just how much stuff happened to you without my knowledge, while you were here?"


    "You''re one to talk," she drily replied. "Until just now, you never told me you met the Gatto Mammone."


    "I was under no obligation to¡­"


    "Kids," the witch interrupted them once more, "don''t start getting upset at each other all over again. Listen to me, I''ve been married for many years, and both my husband and I were hotheads, especially when we were young. When stuff like this happens, in particular when you don''t have an easy target to be mad at, you''re looking for a way to discharge all of that frustration, so any number of small things that may not have bothered you otherwise become annoying, and things you genuinely found annoying become unbearable. Your spouse, at that point, becomes the easiest possible target for your frustration. It''s a trap, don''t fall for it, especially this early into your relationship."


    Damian nodded, turning his attention on his wife. "She''s right. I apologise, I should have been more sensitive towards your perspective. In my defence, I can only say that I really cannot accept any solution that puts you in danger of ending up like Rosalba or worse."


    Clelia grabbed the fabric of her skirt with both hands. She should have been the one apologising first: what she had told him, in the heat of the moment, had been unnecessarily mean spirited and hurtful. "I''m¡­ really sorry as well. I don''t know what came over me. I just¡­ I fear that, if we don''t take some risk, we can''t ensure Rosalba''s safety.


    He hugged her and she allowed him. "I understand. But, do keep in mind, if we try to get her out of trouble by breaking the law, she will become a fugitive, and we might too, unless somehow we can avoid being identified, which wouldn''t be easy. In the long term, this solution only creates more problems, don''t you think?"


    Eventually, she returned the hug with her left arm. "I understand, but¡­ Rosalba is a servant being accused by her master," Clelia pointed out. "I''m not sure if it''s different among humans, but, the way I see it, when appealing to a higher authority, this authority is much more likely to take the side of the master. Moreover, aunt Lucia doesn''t strike me as the kind of person to make something like this public unless she''s quite sure she''s going to win. I think you and I are woefully unprepared to face her in front of a judging authority."


    "If we find a good enough lawyer, I''m sure we can turn things around." He declared.


    Clelia shook her head. "Do you think your family is more likely to support us rather than aunt Lucia? I wasn''t even able to get my eyesight improved without the support of my family, do you think you''ll be able to get a lawyer without the support of yours?"


    "Er¡­ well, I do have some money saved up, so maybe¡­"


    Madame clapped her hands twice, loudly, and the two of them separated. "Now, while this is a better attitude with which to approach the topic, I don''t think you''re in any condition to find the answers you''re looking for. You''re both tired and upset, not to mention you don''t even seem to have a clear and complete picture of the problem you''re trying to solve. You don''t know the charges that your friend is going to face, for one, and everything you told me suggests that, on your aunt''s part, there is much more to this whole situation than meets the eye. You two should get to the bottom of things before you start forming a plan and, seeing the state you''re both in right now, sleeping on it wouldn''t be a bad idea either."


    Damian crossed his arms "That doesn''t sound like a bad idea to me."


    "I agree," Clelia seconded. "Forming a plan right now, when we know so little of what we''re about to face, is probably useless, since the plan is definitely going to need to be changed, when we find out more information."


    Madame smiled "I''m glad to see you two are willing to think it over and find a compromise. Now, next on tonight''s program, I have to warn you that I won''t be able to help you directly in this matter. Not only I wish to keep my being a Masca a secret from the State, I''m afraid I''ll be out of town for a while."


    "What? Why? What about our training?"


    Madame blew on the tiny wooden sculpture, still in her hand, causing a small, dusty cloud of shavings to fall off from it. "Your presence here, child, has a lot of consequences. I need to consult with other Masche in the region about, among other things, how much of my knowledge I am allowed to share with you. We''ve been sending messages back and forth in the past few days to arrange our meeting, and tomorrow I''ll be leaving."


    The witch extended the small sculpture to Clelia, who took it without hesitation. Now that it was in her hand, she was able to tell that it was shaped like a magpie.


    "You can use that to access the realm we use to train," Madame explained. "We''ll be able to meet and talk to each other in there, so we won''t have to interrupt our training. And, seeing these latest developments, I will also be able to give you advice while the current crisis evolves, even though I won''t be able to intervene directly."


    Clelia took the little sculpture to her chest with both hands, as if to protect it. "I''ll be taking good care of this, then."


    Madame nodded. "I''m sure you will, you''re a good student. And, final point in our agenda, I''ll need you Clelia¡­ well, now that I think about it perhaps even you, Damian, can help."


    "Sure, I''ll help if I can. What is this about?"


    Madame took the beret from the Lararia once more, causing the Lares to raise their voices again.


    "Oh, so the young are no longer the only ones to lack respect!" Barked the male figure.


    "Be quiet, Diadumenianus," replied the woman figure.


    "What? With what right you''re telling me to be quiet, woman?"


    "She said she''s going to leave for a few days. If you thought anything through longer than a heartbeat, you''d know that she''s about to discuss our treatment in her absence."


    With a chuckle, Madame nodded. "Right you are, Calpurnia. Since I have been preparing for my leave for a few days already, I have already prepared everything you two will need. All Clelia and Damian will have to do is to come here and ''feed'' you every other day, exactly the same as if I was still here."


    She took out of her petticoat a small purse and extended it to Clelia. "Inside here you''ll find some small crystals. They''ll only need one every two days, don''t give them more unless I specifically ask you to. You can give one to Horatius every once in a while too, if he''s being a good boy."


    "Understood," Clelia replied.


    "How do you need me to help?" Asked Damian.


    "You''ll be taking over this task if Clelia can''t do it, for whatever reason."


    He nodded firmly.


    Clelia adjusted her glasses. "So, um¡­ for how long will you be away?"


    Madame shrugged. "I''m afraid I can''t be sure. A few days if everything goes uncharacteristically smooth, more likely a few weeks. A month or two if something goes really bad. The elders of my kind are quite old, so they have a difference sense of time, compared with the rest of us."


    Clelia let go of Damian''s arm and hugged the Masca, who didn''t immediately reciprocate, clearly surprised. "Thank you for everything you''ve done, Madame. I hope you come back soon."


    The witch hugged her back and warmly replied, "We''ll be seeing each other in the other realm soon enough, but I thank you for your regards."


    When the two of them were about to leave her home, Madame said, "Make sure to take good care of each other, you two."

 Her Misty Morning

    The dark silhouette of the old oak tree rose through the mist like watercolour on a grey canvas. Clelia wore a wool cape over her shoulders, barely enough to protect from the chilly morning, omen of the incoming autumn, herald of an inclement winter. She cupped her hand over her mouth, in order to breathe some warmth back on the tip of her nose, but got startled when doing so fogged up the lenses of her glasses. When she looked at the side of the tree, she wasn''t excessively surprised to find that the wooden door she had previously used to visit the court of the Gatto Mammone was nowhere to be found. With a sigh, she turned and began to plod back towards the village.


    Something small softly brushed against her leg. It was the striped grey cat with the M on its forehead, the one that had previously guided her to the Feline Court. She crouched down to scratch it behind the ears, to which it responded with enthusiastic purring.


    "I don''t suppose you could lead me back to the Gatto Mammone, right?"


    "Ah, so that''s the reason you came all the way out here after all," responded the familiar echo in her head carrying the voice of the Gatto Mammone. "What is it that you seek from me?"


    The fairy caressed the grey cat''s back all the way. "I only wanted to have a talk with you again, that''s all."


    "I can sense that you''re upset about something. Are you reaching out in hopes that I''d be your emotional support? If so, why didn''t you go to your husband, or the widow, instead?"


    "That''s not it." Clelia stood up. "I''ve been having some weird dreams lately. I don''t think they''re natural dreams, I think they''re some sort of warning coming from somewhere in the dreamscape. I couldn''t ask Madame Guillardine about it because she left earlier this morning to go meet with other Masche, so I thought I''d come to you instead."


    "And why, pray tell, would you think I''d be able to help you?"


    "Well, while Damian and I were talking with Madame, yesterday, it came up that you two have been in contact a few times before I met you. He actually told me about your first meeting, before going to bed. You are capable of inducing that sort of dream, so I thought maybe you''d know something that I could use."


    The grey cat brushed its head against her shin one more time, then jumped into the tall grass surrounding the dirt path they were on. A small black cat trotted out the grass and joined Clelia, looking back at her with bright yellow eyes.


    "Alright," the voice eventually agreed, "I accept to have this conversation. I''d like something in return, however."


    Clelia crossed her arms. "What kind of something?"


    "Nothing more than information," the cat assured her. "It is well known that we, cats, are curious creatures, and I myself am by no means an exception to that. You are somewhat of an odd occurrence, as a fairy from a well respected noble family who decided to live among mankind. In any case, let''s have the rest of this conversation somewhere warmer."


    The court of the Gatto Mammone wasn''t much different from the last time Clelia had seen it. This time around, it seemed like most of its occupants were sleeping or relaxing rather than working. Inside of that place, the temperature was pleasantly warm, despite no fires being visible anywhere. Come to think of it, Clelia wasn''t entirely sure where the source of light was in that realm, and there seemed to be no obvious answer, looking around.


    The black cat sat on a pillow with her paws tucked beneath her body, her eyes semi-closed, and Clelia sat with her legs crossed in front of her.


    "Since you came looking for my help," the cat started, "I think it''s only fair if I ask my questions first. Any objections?"


    Still trying to settle on a comfortable position over her pillow, Clelia responded, "No objections on my part."


    "Very well. I''ve been able to assess the reason why humans have started wanting to have marriages with noble fairies, but it''s still a mystery to me why reclusive creatures such as your kind would be willing to go along with it. Why do you suppose your mother accepted to marry you off to a human?"


    Clelia shook her head. "I''m not sure myself. Maybe she wants something from my husband''s family, but¡­ even though they seem to have a very important role in this village, yesterday we went to a high society event and the impression I got is that they are small time players in that game. I can''t begin to imagine why she, of all people, would want to get involved with them."


    The cat tilted her head. "I thought you''d be involved in whatever scheme your family concocted, yet I don''t sense any sort of deception within your words. Did your mother, or anyone else from your family, try to communicate with you, since the wedding?"


    "No, not at all. Except¡­"


    Clelia stopped herself short of talking about the bag of spells. Was she sure she wanted to bring that up?


    "Except what? Don''t forget that we have a deal: if I think you''re hiding something from me, I won''t answer your questions."


    "Fair enough," Clelia nodded. "I haven''t told anyone else yet, but I''ve found, among my stuff, a bag full of old spells."


    The cat''s ears twitched, interested. "That could be it, perhaps, if¡­"


    "I though about it," Clelia interrupted, "but I don''t think my mother is involved. Those spells are way too old for them to be made by her, and, for how I know her, she''s too proud of herself and her mastery of magic to rely on someone else''s spells for her schemes."


    "Then," Gatto Mammone wondered, "why wouldn''t she communicate with you in any capacity, since the wedding? Or, at least, it seems to me that they''d try to communicate with your in-laws."


    Clelia nodded. "That would make sense. However, I can''t verify that very easily: I have yet to see my father in law, supposedly he''s very sick and very few people have been authorised to see him; I only met my mother in law twice since the wedding, and neither time she seemed very inclined to have a meaningful conversation with me. She gave no indication of being in contact with my mother."


    The golden eyes of the black cat looked down, confused. "How vexing. This doesn''t sound like Lausenna the fay as I know her. She''s not a shy person, I find it hard to believe she wouldn''t have talked with your in-laws or your husband by now, if she wanted something from them."


    "You know my mother too?"


    "Everyone does, darling. I, in particular, used to be under her protection a while ago, but we didn''t see eye to eye on several issues, so I left as soon as I had the capacity to build my own corner in this wild world with my own strength."


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    Clelia let out a bitter laugh. "Let''s add another name to the list of creatures with bad blood with my mother, why not."


    "We''re straying from the point at hand," Gatto Mammone pointed out. "What does Lausenna want from your marriage? If she wanted something specific, I think she would have already made some kind of move by now."


    Clelia''s head shot up in realisation. "Unless¡­"


    "Unless what?"


    "Unless she¡­ didn''t actually have any grand plan behind this wedding."


    The black tail of the cat started moving aimlessly. "Sure, but then why would she agree to marry you off?"


    Clelia sighed. "Perhaps she¡­ just wanted to get rid of me. Pawn off her undesired weakling of a daughter, have me move away to some kind of place where my failures wouldn''t rub off on the Arania''s good name. It''s such an easy explanation, yet I had never even considered that until now."


    Gatto Mammone''s tail swung a few times, annoyed. "I¡­ can''t find a fault in your reasoning, yet I feel that this answer is profoundly unsatisfying. Even if she does consider you a weakling, I have trouble believing she''d just agree to give one of her daughters away for no discernible benefit."


    "I¡­ can''t help but agree with you on that one. Maybe this was just some wishful thinking on my part, spurred by your line of reasoning."


    "Well," the cat shifted her tone to one a bit less resigned, "I believe it is now my turn to provide some kind of explanation. Before I do, however, can I ask another, much smaller question?"


    "Sure," she shrugged.


    "You came here to ask me about some dreams, but I sense that that''s not the main thing causing you concern right now. Wouldn''t you want to address what''s really having you worried at the moment, rather than this?"


    "I¡­ Damian and I agreed that he would talk to his brothers today specifically to try and address that issue. It''s a purely human matter, I don''t presume you''d have a solution to it in the first place."


    "Even so," the black cat insisted, "why would you come looking for me instead of dealing with that matter some other way?"


    "Alright," she sighed. "Being a purely human matter, there is very little I can currently do about it, given that I don''t know a lot about how humans deal with these things. Since Madame Guillardine left this morning and my husband went to talk to his brothers, the only things I could do were maybe reading a book or weaving some spells, but I didn''t think I''d be able to do either with all of this on my mind, so I thought I''d try to address another issue in the meantime."


    "Hmm, that sounds like a reasonable answer. Very well, let''s get into your question, then. You said it''s about some weird dreams?"


    Clelia caressed the frame of her glasses. "Yeah. Not all dreams are actually connected with the dreamscape, that much I know, and I''m also aware that it''s different to enter a realm within the dreamscape, like your court, compared with having a dream connected with the dreamscape. This, however, is pretty much all I know on the matter. Can you tell me something more about how dreams and the dreamscape interact with each other? Can dreams within the dreamscape be prophetic? And, if so, how do I decipher the prophecy?"


    The cat sat up from her previous laying down position. "First of all, no, I have no reason to believe that dreamscape dreams have any kind of prophetic property, at least not any more than a regular dream. The dreamscape is a plane of existence adjacent to ours and it obeys to some of the same fundamental rules. For example, it is just as bound to the laws of causality as the material plane, though they manifest differently there. The future can''t be observed, it can at best be guessed."


    Clelia silently nodded with decision, signalling her understanding to Gatto Mammone.


    "Regarding the nature of dreamscape dreams¡­ that''s a little bit more complex. The dreamscape, or, at least, the region of the dreamscape that is closest to material reality, is reactive to thoughts and emotions. Thoughts and emotions, if uncontrolled, mainly just innocuously send ripples across the dreamscape, but, much like tossing a stone in the sea during a storm, those ripples are so small that they don''t really register against everything else that happens around them. In normal circumstances, those ripples just don''t do much, which is why, typically, emotional outbursts from most creatures don''t result in anomalous events either in the dreamscape or in material reality. Some creatures, either through instinct or through study, learn how to make use of those ripples."


    Clelia nodded again, "Yeah, this is, in a nutshell, how magic works."


    "Indeed. That''s what happens when thoughts and emotions affect the dreamscape. However, if it is possible for thoughts and emotions to affect the dreamscape, the reverse is also true: it is possible for the dreamscape to affect the thoughts and emotions of creatures interacting with it. Not everything that happens in the dreamscape affects our thoughts and feelings, only ripples with certain¡­ let''s say ''shapes'', for lack of a better term, can do that, and those ''shapes'' rarely happen naturally, without external interference. What I''m getting at is that dreamscape dreams are, almost always, caused on purpose by something or someone. I can create such dreams on purpose, for instance, and so can the Widow, though not as well as I can. The creature lurking in the dark with a big, stinky sack doesn''t have this ability, fortunately."


    Clelia adjusted her glasses. "Are you sure about that? It once tried to sink my husband into a living nightmare, and would have succeeded if I didn''t come to rescue him."


    "That was a realm," the cat explained. "That creature can create a realm that shapes itself around the fears of those who occupy it. A dream caused by the dreamscape is something that happens inside your head, it''s, in a way, the dreamscape ''leaking'' into the material reality through your mind. A realm is the exact opposite: it is a portion of the dreamscape shaped in a way to simulate material reality, in a way it''s material reality ''leaking'' into the dreamscape. Being able to control one of these phenomena doesn''t make you capable of controlling the other, though some have managed to learn how to do both."


    Clelia furrowed her brows, staring at the ground. "I see."


    "Was my answer to your satisfaction?" Questioned the cat.


    "Absolutely. Back home, we only ever briefly touched on this subject, never really delved into it because it wasn''t crucial for learning how to use our traditional magic." Clelia fidgeted with her fingers. "I have another question, if you don''t mind."


    "Ask away."


    "Do you suppose it''s possible for dreams like these to be induced by a spell?"


    The cat blinked. "Of course, that seems rather¡­ obvious. The maker of the spell would just need to know how to build a spell to induce a dream. Why do you ask?"


    Clelia clicked her tongue with frustration. "No, I don''t mean someone creating a spell with the intention of causing dreams, I mean¡­ say I had a spell embedded in my wand: would it be possible for that spell to, I don''t know, communicate with me by inducing a dream?"


    The cat blinked twice. "I¡­ don''t know. That would imply that the spell itself is sentient. I don''t know enough about fairy spells to give a definitive answer, but I never heard about sentient spells before."


    She covered her mouth with a hand, lost in thought. "Thank you very much."


    After a long, dense silence, Clelia said, "Gatto Mammone, you''ve been a huge help today. I cannot thank you enough."


    The cat puffed her chest. "Of course, I am a magnificent and magnanimous creature, after all. Praise me more."


    With a brief chuckle, she added, "And your fur is fantastic: it looks as soft as velvet and as dark as the realm of demons."


    "Indeed, indeed, that it absolutely is."


    "So¡­ may I ask one more question?"


    The tip of her tail moved slightly. "You caught me in a good mood, so I''ll grant it."


    "There is¡­ something that''s been bothering me since yesterday." She caressed the bridge of her glasses. "I won''t go into detail right now, but it has something to do with the human problem my husband is dealing with as we speak."


    "I don''t think I can help you with that, I''m afraid."


    "Nor would I ask you to," the fairy quickly added. "There is just¡­ a detail that I''m missing. Something that makes me nervous, but I can''t quite put my finger on it. Do you think it would be possible for me to explore it through a dreamscape-induced dream?"


    The cat pondered for a moment, then it raised up and stretched. "I think so, in theory, but you wouldn''t know how to induce such a dream by yourself, would you?"


    She sighed. "I suppose not. Maybe I could ask Madame Guillardine, the next time we meet in her realm for a lesson."


    "That doesn''t sound like a bad idea. Before you go, would you like some fish? One of my retainers caught it by the fishmonger today, it smells fantastic."


    Clelia hesitated, while getting on her feet. "Oh, um¡­ thanks, I guess, but I¡­ better not spoil my appetite. The lutin always work very hard to make good meals for us, I wouldn''t want them to go to waste."

 His Brothers Study

    The least elaborate piece of furniture in Vaufrej¡¯s study was the pendulum clock punctuating the silence from Damian¡¯s left side. The desk was of exquisite quality, the kind of manufacture that could only come from the hands of a master artisan. There even were some paintings hanging from the walls, including one of the snowy peaks towering over the home town of his grandfather.


    That painting, in particular, had the power of reminding Damian of an old memory of his. As children, many years prior, they had gone to visit the family of their grandfather, the founder of the factory and the village around it, in the mountains of New Helvia. During that trip, they had gone on several hikes, experiencing all kinds of wonderful vistas and, occasionally, spotting wildlife in their natural habitat. One such event had always stuck within Damian¡¯s mind. It had begun when they heard some whistling coming from a slope; a distant cousin, their guide, stopped dead in her tracks and pointed to them, in the distance, the spot where a small creature observed them from afar. It was a groundhog. She had explained to them that groundhogs whistle to warn their families of incoming danger, so that they may burrow in their dens and tunnels before a predator could catch them. From that moment forth, in Damian¡¯s mind, a warning to an unseen danger sounded like whistling.


    He stood in silence in front of the desk, where Vaufrej calmly kept on working on his paperwork as if nobody else was in the room. Damian forced himself to not start tapping his foot impatiently, knowing full well that that was par for the course when talking to his brother during work hours. If he had so much as made a peep to try and get his attention, Vaufrej would have silently raised his hand with his index finger pointing up, as if to say ¡°one moment, please¡±, without so much as looking up from whatever it is that he was busy with. Waiting was the only option. Perhaps that wasn¡¯t a bad thing, however, he reasoned. After all, he could use that time to gather his thoughts, try to calm down, come up with a strategy.


    Precious inlay work decorated the bookcase besides him, with several different kinds of wood and some iridescent mother-of-pearl creating geometric shapes on its surface. Many books gathered dust on its shelf; most of them, Damian suspected, hand-picked to create the best possible impression on any well educated guest to visit that office, more than to reflect his brother¡¯s personal taste. Pleading Vaufrej to help with Rosalba¡¯s situation could not be done by leveraging his compassion, as Damian wasn¡¯t sure his brother had any, so maybe he could try to spin it in a way that doing so could be good optically, in a way that would put the Neumann family in a good light. That wasn¡¯t a bad idea, but how would he achieve that?


    First of all, what did he know about the situation? Trying to summarise it in his mind would, perhaps, bring clarity on the best course of action to follow. Supposedly, it all started when, right around the time he and Clelia got married, Rosalba allegedly made three golden cunias disappear. Then, after something like a full week, she comes forward and asks Damian the same sum. Finally, Marianna apparently saw them when he gave her the money and snitched. While the entire thing didn¡¯t seem very clear to him, there was one giant question that really bothered him: if aunt Lucia really was so confident of Rosalba¡¯s guilt that she¡¯d make a big deal of it with the rest of high society, why did she wait that long before having Rosalba arrested? Something didn¡¯t add up.


    Perhaps, he could play up that angle with Vaufrej: if the whole thing went public and then it turned out that aunt Lucia had been in the wrong, this could reflect poorly on their family too. Aunt Lucia had declared every intention of making a big scandal out of the whole thing, and it was a good moment too. After all, the discourse of servants and workers versus the rich and the masters was still very polarised, due to the riots earlier that year, and a big scandal like that would inevitably be used to create a narrative favouring one side or the other, and, if the case was mishandled, it could easily backfire against aunt Lucia and, by proxy, against the Neumann company too.


    ¡°Thank you for waiting,¡± Vaufrej declared, finally setting his pen down on the desk and turning his attention to Damian. ¡°It¡¯s good that you came here, today. I would have sent someone for you if you hadn¡¯t. Saved me some trouble.¡±


    ¡°Brother, I¡¯d like to talk about yesterday evening,¡± Damian started, consciously trying to keep a level headed and confident tone.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Vaufrej quickly responded with a smile that didn¡¯t extend to his eyes. ¡°I have to give it to you and to your wife: both of you left a good impression of yourselves and our family during the evening. You defied expectations, I¡¯m glad to see you show signs of growth, finally.¡±


    Damian¡¯s train of thought was momentarily derailed by Vaufrej¡¯s words: he had been bracing for his brother to push back against anything he had to say, he hadn¡¯t been ready to be met with praise instead.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he responded, knowing well he shouldn¡¯t give Vaufrej any reason to accuse him of being ungrateful or impolite. He needed to be careful, now that the conversation actually started, or his brother would steer it away from where he needed it to go.


    Vaufrej picked a small ivory comb from a drawer in his desk, using it to carefully comb his moustache. ¡°I managed to secure some potentially very good ties yesterday, in no small part thanks to your wife¡¯s presence. The most notable of which, of course, was his Excellency Duke Carlo Adelasio¡­¡±


    ¡°A very distinguished person, no doubt. Thanks to aunt Lucia we were also able to speak with another fairy,¡± Damian inserted himself in the briefest of pauses in his brother¡¯s speech.


    ¡°Really? Ah, you must be talking about the wife of Gioele Cabrera, the chief editor of Vita Taurasiana¡­¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± pressed on Damian, ¡°a pity her husband wasn¡¯t present.¡±


    Vaufrej gestured with his hand to the chair next to Damian. ¡°Please, sit down: you don¡¯t need to be standing uncomfortably for the rest of this conversation.¡±


    Once more, his brother¡¯s offer took him aback, interrupting his train of thought and preventing him to finally reach the core of his plea.


    ¡°As expected,¡± Vaufrej continued as Damian sat, ¡°the opening night of the opera season was ripe with all sorts of opportunities. What distinguishes a good businessman is his ability to capitalise on such opportunities¡­¡±


    ¡°For sure,¡± Damian inserted himself in his brother¡¯s speech again, ¡°and it seems like aunt Lucia is giving it a serious try herself. Have you heard about it?¡±


    Vaufrej raised a brow. ¡°Heard about what?¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Damian refrained from relaxing for successfully catching his brother¡¯s curiosity. He then proceeded to explain, as succinctly as possible, what had happened after he and Clelia had left Vaufrej with the Duke. For once, his older brother listened silently and intently, not moving a single muscle.


    Once the recounting of the events was over, Vaufrej clicked his tongue disapprovingly and sighed. ¡°Is that so? We can probably expect to have journalists pestering us fo interviews on the matter, in the near future, due to our familial bonds and proximity to her farms.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t seem too enthused, brother,¡± Damian pointed out.


    ¡°I don¡¯t mind journalists,¡± the young man behind the desk clarified, ¡°but this kind of drama is only incidentally related to us and our business. I wouldn¡¯t want something like that to overshadow our hard working efforts.¡±


    Damian saw an opening. His brother had a tendency to be somewhat of a contrarian, when it came to suggestions from others. Maybe he could try to use that to his advantage¡­


    ¡°I thought you would like something like this,¡± Damian commented casually, feigning disaffectedness, ¡°after all, you too didn¡¯t like the riots very much, nor the fact that some of the workers seemed to agree with them.¡±


    ¡°You are correct, Damian. However, consider this: aunt Lucia owns a farm complex and has been using her incidental blood relation to us and our successful business to elbow herself in high society. This behaviour, of course, isn¡¯t unbecoming of a woman like her, but I worry that getting involved with legal matters might put her out of her depth.¡±


    Damian was about to slam his hands on the desk, excitedly, but, once again, managed to refrain his instinct. His brother was taking the bait, and it had been much easier than he had foreseen. He wasn¡¯t out of the woods quite yet, but he was making more progress than expected.


    ¡°I hadn¡¯t thought of it like that,¡± Damian acknowledged, still making a point to appear indifferent.


    Vaufrej gave him a smile that could come off as warm, by his standards. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I didn¡¯t expect you to. You are smart, but you¡¯re still very inexperienced and naive. That¡¯s not necessarily a bad disposition to have, in a vacuum, but it¡¯s not what I¡¯d associate with business acumen. However, it does fit quite well with a more¡­ academic path.¡±


    Damian¡¯s mind whistled like a groundhog. Vaufrej was not someone he trusted to have a genuine change of heart on his academic aspirations.


    ¡°What do you mean by that?¡± Damian blurted out.


    Vaufrej stood up from his chair, his palms firmly planted on the desk. ¡°Damian, my dear brother, I have made no mystery of my concerns regarding your career path. I didn¡¯t see what academia could bring to the table, when it comes to the family business. However, my talk with the Duke, yesterday, was really an eye opener. He told me of all the ways you could build useful technical knowledge, as well as important connections, if you were to follow this path. I admit, I never thought much of that award you won a while ago for that essay, but his Excellency thought it was impressive that you¡¯d manage to win an award like that before you even graduated. He said that it would be a waste not to cultivate your talents. Of course, after all that, I had no choice but to accept on your behalf his extremely generous offer to allow you to switch course and study Wizardry, rather than Alchemy.¡±


    Damian¡¯s mouth went agape. ¡°You¡­ you what?¡±


    ¡°And you,¡± Vaufrej continued relentlessly, ¡°you¡¯re going to go along with it. An opportunity to gain such a direct connection with the royal family cannot go to waste. For the most part, wizards belong to noble families with wizardry deeply embedded in the history of their ancestry. Being able to become part of their circles will allow us to gain connections with some of the richest, most powerful people in the entire kingdom.¡±


    ¡°Hold on, don¡¯t I get a say in this? Didn¡¯t we agree that I¡¯d marry who you wanted if I¡¯d get to study what I want?¡±


    Vaufrej paused. He sat back down. ¡°If my memory serves me well, the agreement was that I¡¯d allow you to pursue further studies at all, no mention of what faculty.¡±


    Damian shook his head. ¡°No, no, no. I know what was said, I minded my wording when proposing my side of the deal. I¡¯m positive I specified that I wanted you to allow me to choose my faculty.¡±


    Vaufrej smirked. ¡°Is that so? That¡¯s not how I remember it. Shame we didn¡¯t put it in writing.¡±


    Now it was Damian¡¯s turn to quickly stand up on his feet, making his chair noisily slide against the wooden ground. ¡°Are you trying to mess with me? Is this how you would conduct business? Grandpa would never go back on his word, even if it hadn¡¯t been put in writing, and you claim to be his next heir? He¡¯d never¡­¡±


    ¡°Sit. Down.¡± Vaufrey ordered drily.


    ¡°No, I won¡¯t sit down, you¡­¡±


    ¡°And for the love of goodness, stop shouting.¡±


    Damian slammed his fist on the desk. ¡°Listen to me! Stop interrupting me and just listen to what I have to say for just once in your life!¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t treat someone who¡¯s acting like a spoiled child as if he was a fully fledged adult. You think grandfather would have? He wouldn¡¯t have gone very far in business if he had.¡±


    Damian lunged forward and the next thing he knew he was pinned on top of the desk, his cheek uncomfortably pressed against the wooden surface and Vaufrej¡¯s strong arm twisting his wrist behind his back. His nose hurt from an impact he just realised he had suffered in the process.


    ¡°You know, little brother,¡± Vaufrej calmly taunted, ¡°this is the second time in as many days that I pinned a brat to this very desk for very similar reasons. Both of you came hoping to convince me of exactly the same thing.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Damian sputtered, noticing just then that blood was flowing out of his nostril.


    ¡°You though you were the first to come here about all the nonsense aunt Lucia is trying to start? Your friend, the new captain of the stepball team, came yesterday trying to convince me that his little girlfriend had been arrested for something, but was actually innocent.¡±


    Luca already knew? Why didn¡¯t he say something to him first? Why would he go to Vaufrej directly?


    ¡°I have to give it to you, you were handling yourself much better than he did, but then you threw it all out the window once you started shouting. Whatever, I won¡¯t hold something like this against you or your friend. You¡¯re still boys, both of you. If, from now on, the two of you behave, I won¡¯t have to discipline you.¡±


    As he finished the sentence, he let go of Damian¡¯s wrist. His attempt to get back to an upright position was anything but graceful, and the drops of blood copiously dripping on the wood didn¡¯t help.


    Damian panted a few times. ¡°Listen brother, I¡­¡± he swallowed, with no small effort, ¡°I apologise. I was impulsive, I shouldn¡¯t have made a scene with you.¡±


    ¡°Correct.¡± Vaufrej nodded.


    ¡°But¡­ I think the timeline of events really is weird, when it comes to the trouble aunt Lucia wants to start. I think the possibility that Rosalba might actually be innocent is very real, and I¡¯d like for her to get a fair trial, a fair chance to demonstrate her innocence. That¡¯s not what our aunt is trying to do, we heard her speaking and she seems to have every intention of making sure she wins at all costs. It¡¯s true, both Luca and I have been too¡­ too emotional for our own good. But that doesn¡¯t mean that we¡¯re in the wrong here. Vaufrej, you have more authority than aunt Lucia does: if there¡¯s anyone who can stop this whole circus before it goes way out of hand that¡¯s you. Please, I know you have it in you.¡±


    Still fixing and straightening out his clothes after wrestling Damian down, Vaufrej responded, ¡°This whole ¡®circus¡¯, as you¡¯re calling it, is weighed very heavily on one side. If the scandal comes out, and, after it reached the ears of the wife of the editor in chief of Vita Taurasiana, there is no stopping it, openly going against aunt Lucia is going to be a bad look for us. After all, the story won¡¯t be about a young girl wrongly accused of theft, it will be about an ungrateful brat biting the hand that feeds her. That story will resonate with many of the most powerful people in the kingdom, especially after the riots. I shall not do anything that might put me or the business in a bad light with those people.¡±


    He took a white handkerchief from his pocket and started gently cleaning up and plugging Damian¡¯s nose with it. ¡°If you promise to study Wizardry, like the Duke offered, I can at least promise you I¡¯ll stay out of the whole story, I won¡¯t help aunt Lucia at all. But you¡¯re in no condition for asking me to put our reputation at risk by actively going against a narrative that the powerful will probably eat up.¡±


    Damian addressed him an accusing look, and he smirked. ¡°I¡¯ll even put this one in writing.¡±

 [Happy Holidays, Im on a brief break]

    I''m so sorry for not updating earlier. I have been rather busy in my personal life during this past week, partly due to the incoming festivities. I will soon be back with more Wands and Chimneys, I''m really excited about what will come next and can''t wait to go back to a more consistent schedule. I hope to see you all then! I wish all of you a nice time: Merry Christmas to everyone and, generally speaking, Happy Holidays!


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Next time I''ll be here to celebrate the new year with you all ;)