Applause rang. The ceremony carried on. But I no longer saw the stage.
I saw him—not the man handing out wands, but the tyrant who rewrote my world.
I clenched my wand tighter, heart pounding.
Doverel wouldn't even meet my gaze, like I was diseased.
Was she afraid of me? Just because I stood up to Arisa?
Seriously?
Love Fairies. Spineless.
They were in my time. Still are now.
Pathetic.
And I remembered—
I was the first of my kind.
The Love Fairy born from magic itself.
Not raised. Not trained. Born.
Magic swirled, crackled, and gave me form—thought, desire, will.
And I used that gift.
I reached into the hearts of others and helped them find each other.
Soon, others followed—empaths, listeners, quiet ones with deep hearts.
We were few. But we were real.
I protected them. Of course I did.
I was the first.
I was the Love Fairy.
I blended enchantments like a storm: love magic with elemental force, defensive spells, even uncharted bindings no one dared touch.
Love Magic is adhesive, malleable. It weaves into light and shadow, adjusts to mood and will. You just have to understand it.
Different spells for different hearts.
If you knew the mechanics, you could do anything.
They called me an architect of magic.
The Queen of Hearts.
Not because I wore a crown. Not because of my magic.
It's because I carried them all.
I loved them all.
I remember Lephi.
Timid little thing. Always second-guessing herself.
Couldn't cast a proper spell for weeks, but her heart?
It could feel sorrow before it was spoken.
I mentored her myself.
Taught her what it truly means to be a Love Fairy.
We needed to love ourselves first.
Then help others find it.
She cried the day she understood.
Said I gave her a home.
That's what love is.
Not obsession. Not control.
But earned.
It comes from friction. From friendship.
From shared grief, shared joy.
And above all—free will.
Was I wrong to believe that?
No.
I was born of magic.
I would know better.
Then came Baltimore—the second Love Fairy.
He had... a different view.
Dominant. Calculated. Efficient like a machine.
He didn't want connection.
He wanted obedience.
He wanted Love Magic to be used from wands.
Specifically, only for crafting romance for all creatures.
"Efficiency," he called it. "Survival."
It was limited—but he said it was necessary.
We argued. Of course we did.
That's family. That was real.
We didn't see eye to eye, but I still healed him once—
when the Dark Fairies invaded and left him bleeding in the sky.
I don't forget that.
I only cared that we were safe. All of us, including Baltimore.
But when I was resting—weak, drained from the battle—he seized the opportunity.
He rewrote everything.
He crowned himself King.
It took time. But I learned how.
A gem.
An emerald. Cursed. Ancient.
I watched him hold it under a full moon. One wish each time.
"I wish everything I say becomes law," he said.
And so it was.
But not for me.
The spell never touched me.
Couldn't.
I was the first. Magic's own breath.
His power could not bend me.
But the others?
They bent like paper in the rain.
Their eyes dulled. Their wills thinned.
They followed.
Even Lephi.
They poured their magic into the emerald like it was holy.
All for a "greater good."
Sacrifice for a good cause?
My foot.
I confronted him. Again. Again. Again.
He didn't even listen.
Just looked through me like I was background noise in his symphony of yes-men.
He taught them to conjure shallow enchantments of affection—
quick, synthetic, empty.
Not designed to connect.
Designed to serve.
And me?
I believed he could still change.
I told them all:
Love, darkness, and light must balance.
That magic without consent is puppetry.
That his spells stole choice.
They called me dangerous.
A traitor.
No hearing. No trial.
Just a cell.
Even the guards who once stood by me mocked as they chained me.
"Queen of Hearts... and Ruin."
At first, I waited.
Someone would remember.
Right?
No.
Fine. So be it.
He locked me away. But he didn't take everything.
I still had my mind.
My magic.
And I knew what he treasured most.
The Emerald.
It rewrote reality—but only under the full moon.
And that kind of power? That's not stable. That's a time bomb.
So I changed it.
From the dungeon.
Stone walls. Magic seals. Cold floor. No light.
But I reached out with all I had.
Red mist spilled from the corners of my cell, threading through stone and shadow, reaching him.
I saw the enchantment lattice in my mind—woven with blood and lies.
I gripped it. Tore it apart.
And rewrote it.
It nearly killed me.
I bled magic like a broken vessel.
The air smelled of ash and roses.
My pulse faded to silence.
But I am the architect of magic.
And I embedded a failsafe.
Now the Emerald would require two things:
A Light Guardian—from a world with no magic.
A scroll—etched with soul-written incantations, hidden in the seams of memory, a spell the Light Guardian could use.
The Light Guardian is not just any human.
Someone pure.
Someone beyond his reach, in a world without magic.
He doesn't know.
Not yet.
The full moon shattered like porcelain in my mind.
And in the shards, I saw him—
A man crossing a street in a magicless world.
Helping an old woman walk safely across.
The Light Guardian.
It worked.
My magic drained.
My body collapsed.
But the spell held.
Let Baltimore raise his arms. Let him chant.
The Emerald won't answer.
He let out an agonising scream at the next full moon.
That's how I knew it didn't work.
Not without the Light Guardian.
Not without the scroll.
He wanted a kingdom of obedient love?
He can keep it.
But it'll never be real.
Blind love and devotion to a mad king?
The world can bend, but I will never bend my knee.
He wanted more?
Well, too bad.
Over. His. Dead. Body.
They sealed my cell in silence.
Told me it was containment.
But I knew better.
It was a prison for my voice.
A tomb for my truth.
A forgotten memory.
But not for long.
Magic remembers its own.