The wind howled.
Not a breeze, not a gentle whistle through the leaves—but a deep, guttural howl, as if the trees themselves screamed from their roots. The old branches of the swamp forest trembled under the touch of midnight wind. One tree in particular stood taller, older, blacker—its trunk as wide as a house and its bark cracked with glowing veins like dying embers. The great tree moaned, a long, drawn-out creak that echoed through the cliffs where no villager dared tread after dusk.
Theo stood there, his blonde hair tousled by the breeze, his tiny frame trembling not from cold but from something else—curiosity… wonder. The tree before him didn't just stand; it loomed. A memory stirred in his young mind: an old story, a piece of folklore whispered by his mother before she died. About fairies, strange and forgotten creatures of beauty and fear, who hoarded treasures and only revealed themselves to those brave enough to show kindness.
And now, under this howling tree, there she was.
The black-haired woman—his savior.
Her silhouette sat cross-legged beneath the gnarled roots, surrounded by shimmering golden lights that danced around her like stars pulled from the sky. Her face, usually hidden behind a veil of fear or silence, was turned toward the tree's bark. She was singing—soft, tuneless humming, distant as a dream, unsettling as a lullaby sung in mourning.
Theo didn't know what to say. He'd followed the golden lights from his hut near the cliffs, pulled forward like a moth to flame, only now realizing how dangerous the woods were. But still, he stepped closer—one crack of a twig underfoot, and her head whipped around.
Her black eyes glowed faintly, wide with alarm. "What are you doing here?" she hissed, her voice breathless with fright, scanning the shadows behind him.
Theo froze, lowering his eyes. "I-I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to… I just saw the lights… and…"
"You should be asleep," she said, turning away quickly. Her voice was less angry now, more flustered—like someone caught crying in secret. The golden lights dimmed a little around her, flickering with uncertainty.
Theo took a step forward, heart pounding, voice barely above a whisper. "Are you… a fairy?"
There was a pause. Then a sigh. A strange sound left her lips—half laugh, half weariness. "That's blunt," she said, looking at him again, her eyes both terrifying and tender in the moonlight. "Yes. I am. What of it?"
His eyes shone, not with awe, but desperation. "Then… then I have a wish. Please."
She raised an eyebrow. "Do you now?" Her voice was amused, but something behind her smile cracked—an old pain. One filled with greed, contentions and wars. "What does a village boy know about fairies?"
He stood straighter, though his knees shook. "Mama told me stories. And my uncle. They said… if you show a fairy kindness, they grant you a wish. That's what I want. You saved me. So…"
Her gaze softened. "I see." She lowered her voice. "So what do you want, then?"
Theo's eyes welled with unshed tears. His fingers clenched into his torn shirt.
"I want… strength," he said. "To protect. To take revenge."
A gust of wind ruffled her black hair as she stared at him.
"Both?" she asked, lips curled upward, both amused and sad. "That's a dangerous wish, boy. You're brave, asking me this. You know I could kill you, don't you?"
"You won't," Theo said firmly, looking her in the eyes now. "Fairies don't kill."
She blinked, the words catching her off guard.
"No… we don't. Can't, actually," she muttered, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Not unless we fall."
"Fall?" he asked, tilting his head.
Her voice lowered, hushed like a curse. "If a fairy takes a life, they become something else. Fae. We are no longer connected to our mother. Gaie the mother of nature and its machinations, We loose our power source and food -mana- and become hungry creatures that feed on… negative emotion. Hate. Anger. We become monsters." Her voice quivered, just slightly. "And I'm not a monster. Not yet."
She snapped her fingers suddenly. The air shimmered, the forest twisted—and suddenly, Theo and the woman were sitting together on the thick root at the base of the tree, high above the swamp's murky floor. Golden lights floated lazily around them like lazy fireflies.
"I'm still a fairy," she whispered. "I think."
Theo looked up at her, wide-eyed.
"What's your name?" he asked.
She looked away, uncomfortable. "Names are… old things. I've forgotten mine. Even if I did remember you wouldn't know how to say it. But I know yours. Theo. Your grandmother told me all about you."
Theo flinched. "She did?"
"She said you were kind. Even when you were cursed." Her voice grew gentler. "She told me what happened with Elise's brother."
Theo turned away. The air felt heavier.
"She said it wasn't your fault," the woman added softly.
Theo's shoulders shook. He lowered his head until his tears fell freely, soaking into the tree's root. "Even if it wasn't… no one believes that. Everyone blames me. Even Elise. She says I'm a demon. She wants me gone. I-I don't want anyone to hurt grandma again."
He hiccupped through his sobs. "I want to be strong enough to stop it."
The woman watched him in silence. Her face unreadable, her fingers tightening in her lap.
When she finally spoke, her voice was the closest to motherly it had ever sounded. "Okay. I'll grant your wish. But one day, when I ask something of you—you have to do it. No matter what."
Theo looked up through tear-streaked eyes. "Anything," he whispered.
She smiled, that same eerie, beautiful smile that blurred the line between human and something much more ancient. She cupped his cheek.
"Good," she whispered, "Because I think… I think you're worth saving." She leaned in as she gave him a deep kiss on his lips, tongues intertwining stirring up a hidden power within Theo. As their tongues fought for determination Theo felt warmth, Warmth he had never felt as a kid, not from his parents, not from his grand mother. And you know what? He liked it. An eerie smile appeared on his face. His eyes blooming an unfound darkness.
Dawn had barely broken. The air was heavy with dew and silence—thicker than usual, as if the world was holding its breath.
Elise crept from her family hut like a ghost, the wooden floor whispering beneath her feet. Around her fingers, she spun colored threads—glowing lines of mana that shimmered in unnatural hues: violet, sickly green, sharp pink, and rust-red. She weaved them into geometric loops in the air, drawing sigils only she understood.
"Can't let papa see me, can't let mama hear~" she hummed.
The threads slithered down like snakes, attaching themselves to walls and corners. With a childish giggle, she skipped past a shimmering line—an alert barrier her father had placed.
"Chosen, chosen, I'm the chosen one!
Born from the stars and the blazing sun!
Devils die and angels run,
When Elise comes—then I've won!"
Her voice lilted in a sweet, melodic nursery rhythm as she danced between the threads, pulling mana with her steps, skipping barefoot through the mud. Her white nightdress was stained from earlier wandering, but she didn't care. Her golden hair bounced wildly, unbrushed and tangled, as her glowing amber eyes pierced through the dim twilight.
But those eyes—oh, something was wrong with those eyes.
They didn't shine with joy. They burned.
It was as if she wasn't seeing the world, but seeing through it—into something crueler, older… hungry.
The trail of colored threads led her to the edge of the swamp forest.
She stopped.
A thick fog clung to the base of the trees, too early and too still for dawn.
Something wet hit her cheek.
Drip.
Drip.
She looked up.
Blood.
Thick, red-black, clotted blood dripping from the leaves like dew.
She stepped back, eyes wide. "What...?"
Her gaze trailed up the tree's bark—and froze.
Thomas was there. His eyes bulged open, but it was his smile that shattered something inside her.
It was stretched—unnaturally wide. His mouth had been torn open, and his own hand protruded from it, jammed so deep his wrist bones cracked out from his jaw. His legs dangled awkwardly from the branch, twisted like rope. His belly was bloated, and flies circled lazily above it, as if death had been waiting.
"No..." Elise whispered, stepping back.
She turned—and screamed.
Lina. Her friend. Her arms were reversed, bones pointing backward like a creature born wrong. Her legs bent the other way too. Her head was gone—but not gone. It was fused into her own chest, eyes still twitching, her mouth stitched shut with violet thread. That same sickly thread Elise had used in her "magic play" yesterday.
Then she saw Markel, hanging upside down from a vine. His skin peeled in strips like cloth, and his tongue was pulled out and nailed to his chin with a sharpened stick.
One by one, all those children who had bullied Theo.
All the ones who laughed. All the ones who joined Elise.
All of them... art now.
Gruesome, horrifying art.
The fog turned crimson.
Elise dropped to her knees, her nails scraping through the soil.
"No, no, no! I didn't mean for this—I didn't—I didn't—" she clutched her face. Her threads sparked and fizzled out, mana lines shattering around her like glass.
She ran.
Sprinting through the grass and mud, her body scraped by low branches, her nightdress catching blood and bramble, her bare feet slicing on rocks. But she didn't care.
As she ran, she tripped falling on a large root of a tree, She then felt a thick liquid on the floor, some slowly entering her mouth. Her grabbed unto a squishy substance that felt like a long snake. Elise looked up to see what her hand held. As she watched the scene before her she spiraled into greater insanity, Howard, he was on the ground tongue sticking out, part of his brained looked chewed out and his entrails spilling from his guts, moreover it was in her hands. She then dropped Thomas' entrails and began running faster, faster than she had ever felt.
The only thing that mattered now was telling her father.
She burst from the forest, breath ragged, and stopped before her family hut.
The sun was just beginning to rise, casting long red streaks across the sky.
Her father, Gerald Harrow, the village head, was standing outside. His tall, broad frame stood firm, clad in a simple woven coat with gold trimming and leather boots muddied by a morning patrol. His stern eyes turned to her instantly, but she wasn't alone.
Beside him stood a woman. She was Seraphine, a brown-haired nun dressed in a dark blue wimple and robes embroidered with tiny silver threads shaped like wings. Her skin was fair, but her eyes were alert—too knowing, too calm. A traveling healer, some said. A monk. A spy, perhaps.
Elise didn't care.
She grabbed her father's cloak, sobbing, incoherent.
"THEY'RE DEAD! THEY'RE ALL DEAD!"
Gerald raised a brow, but his jaw tightened. "Who?"
"Th-Thomas, Lina, Markel—all of them! In the forest—They're dead! Killed! Killed like monsters! Howard was worse" Elise said frantically, her hair scattered all around the place, her body filled with scratch marks and blood drops from her wounds that showed she had been running with fear.
Seraphine gasped and covered her mouth, she felt extremely sorrowful of her daughter's current state.
Gerald's face paled slightly, then turned hard. His eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped low.
"Guards," he barked. The two armored men at the gate stepped forward immediately.
"Follow me," he said, stepping down from the porch. "Elise—show us."
Elise, trembling, nodded.
But behind her, her mother stepped out—Lady Mirelda, eyes full of horror. "Elise... what have you seen?"
Elise didn't answer.
Her eyes, now wide and feverish, reflected the dawning sun—but there was no warmth there.
Only madness.