Insignificant Little Fae

[Alexia Longbow]

Warning: The following story depicts prejudice/bigotry, abduction, and graphic physical violence.

2017

Sunlight slowly began to shine through the only clean window in the tiny cabin by the university. It warmed a tiny makeshift bedroom and played upon a sleeping dark haired girl with a light smattering of freckles across her delicate nose and the apples of her cheeks. When she could no longer ignore the warmth and brightness that penetrated her eyelids and furrowed her dark pretty brow, she rolled over with a soft groan and reached for the curtain, pulling it completely closed. Alexia buried her face in her pillow, resolving to go immediately back to sleep. After a moment or two, and a defeated sigh, she slowly sat up and swung her skinny legs over the side of the bed. Thin arms bent at the elbows rose and extended with an arch of her back before she stood in front of the window and tossed the curtain wide open, letting in the growing sunlight. With a small yawn stifled behind a petite hand, she began her day.

When she left the cabin, even the birds had yet to begin their early songs. More importantly, her uncle, Master Owen, was still sleeping off the vast quantities of alcohol he had imbibed the night before. This afforded her the chance to run some much needed errands. She had long since taken over the responsibility of crafting and cultivating rare herbs and tinctures as part of a long standing order from the local apothecary. Not through any means of merit in her uncle’s eyes, but through necessity. At present, it was their only reliable source of income and without it there would be no more food. Or liquor. An argument that at the very least quieted his criticisms and protestations when she fulfilled and delivered on that order when he would not. However, in recent days, she noticed his ire with her seemed more volatile than it had ever been, and with it, a startling speed to his backhand.

Thus, she found herself presently making her way to the apothecary early that morning. By the time she finished apologizing for the early hour and collecting payment, it was about the time most stalls in the marketplace were fully open and abuzz with activity. So when she stepped out onto the cobblestone road lined with colorful stalls and tents, it was of great confusion when most of them seemed to shutter closed at her approach. When she finally found one that remained open, she waited patiently until the stocky older woman who ran it finally took notice of her.

“How can I help y- Oh… I wasn’t expecting you.” The woman known to many as Beatrice, paled at the sight of Alexia and her voice grew tight and uncomfortable. Without waiting for a response, Beatrice quickly began trying to lower the large shutter that would close off the stall to the public. Her voice low and hushed, she offered only an unconvincing apology.

“I’m so sorry, dear. There’s been… eh… a family emergency! Yes, I’m afraid I can’t help you today. Goodbye!” The large plank of wood slammed down in Alexia’s face, leaving her astounded. She blinked in sheer confusion, the rest of her face otherwise impassive, before slowly moving on to the next stall. More often than not, every three out of four stalls responded the same way, some vendors not even offering so much as a single word before slamming their shutters or securing their thick curtains. Terribly confused and still in need of food for the week, Alexia simply forged along, taking what she could from the few stalls that were willing to take her business.

By the end of the day, her confusion had quickly turned into fear as small groups of people began to glare at her, follow her every move with their hardened gazes. Some began to voice their opinions that she did not belong with ‘decent people.’ One group in particular seemed to follow her even as she left the marketplace. Unable to return home just yet as her uncle was likely awake and in a hungover state of rage and vexation, she nervously sought out the Red Dragon Inn. In truth, she was unsure if she would be any more or less welcome there, but it was one of her dwindling options. Much to her relief, and as was largely usual, no one seemed to notice her presence. It was with little wonder that when she settled into the safety and comfort of the hearth, she fell fast asleep.

[Alexia Longbow]

When Alexia awoke, it was much later in the day than she had intended. In fact, it was already dark out and still the inn remained surprisingly empty. She didn’t stop to dwell on it and instead gathered her purchases from that morning, stuffed into a large knapsack, slung it over her shoulder, and headed out the door, certain no small amount of trouble awaited her at home for being gone all day.

What she thought would be a nice quiet walk before the impending storm at home, turned out to be quite the large gathering. She tried to circumvent the large crowd of shouting, chanting, singing, dancing, and laughing people. Not just any people, non-human people. Her timidity ever prevalent, she clung to the shadows and small alleyways, terribly curious but nowhere near courageous enough to ask. Luckily, she would receive an answer soon enough as a pair of dwarves passed by holding a sign that read “NON HUMANS ARE PEOPLE TOO.” In fact, the more she looked around, the more signs she saw. Some were colorful and had positive messages like “FAE ARE FANTASTIC”, “NOT HUMAN? NOT A PROBLEM!”, and “PIXIE PRIDE” while others were a bit more serious, stating names of victims and crimes committed against them, presumably by humans. Mostly, a great deal of signs had the words HUMANITY FIRST printed boldly, with the first word deliberately crossed out and scrawled over with HUMILITY.

It all began to make sense. The way businesses had begun to shun her, the stares and whispers she heard. She had long been in denial about her heritage but it was becoming increasingly difficult to deny. So deep in this train of thought, she lost all sense of remaining concealed and began to wander in the vague direction of her home, and in that brief lapse in skittish hiding, she walked out toward a street lamp.

Danny clung to the cool metal of a lightpost, looking over the vast crowd of non-humans and humans alike. The energy in the air was intoxicating. With his camera he snapped picture and after picture, catching drum circles, dancing, chanting, and a myriad of creative signs. In the distance he could see certain humans looking on with disdain, but keeping mostly to themselves.

Satisfied he'd captured everything he could from that vantage point, he loosened his hold on the post, sliding down quickly to the sidewalk below, those old, weather-beaten boots clomping loudly in the concrete with a thud. His knees buckled slightly, absorbing the impact, not noticing the tiny stranger who had been approaching.

The oblivious little fae didn't see him as much as she sensed him. The whoosh of his rapid descent and thud of his boots tore a terrified squeak from the little fae's lips. In her panic, she tried to run but only succeeded in throwing herself and her heavy knapsack off balance.

The knapsack fell first, the strap sliding easily off her bony shoulder. Then her tiny frame hit the ground and her arms instinctively flew to cross over her head for protection. Trembling in a tiny ball, she pulled in as tightly as she could and awaited her fate.

The sound sent a jolt through him, his body and mind suddenly alert. He whipped around quickly, an apology already beginning to escape his lips. It died when he found nobody there. His brows knit together in confusion before he glanced down, catching sight of a tiny woman he just knew had to be Fae. Pretty, despite her emaciated and disheveled appearance.

"Oh, god. I am so sorry!" He said. "Are you alright?"

She had most definitely not expected kindness, much less an apology. Cautiously, she lowered her arms and turned those large dark brown eyes up, up, way up, confusion slowly replacing fear. When she finally saw his face, she could only swallow hard with an audible gulp and nod slowly.

The British journalist crouched down, as much at her level as he could get without laying flat. His head canted to one side. "Where is my mind?" he chuckled, a dazzling smile with impossibly deep dimples forming on his scruffy face. Scars that would soon adorn his visage absent at the time. "So much going on, I wasn't paying attention. I'm very sorry." He said softly. He reached out a hand to the tiny stranger.

"Let me help you up." He said, though it was more of a question.

She couldn't help the tiny flinch when she saw his hand move. But one look at that dimpled face, those eyes, and her hand began to move seemingly of its own accord. Although she eyed him warily, she placed her hand within his, her skin warm and supple. Soft save for a few callouses earned by hard work, her fingers curling just so.

His fingers wrapped around her tiny hand, absolutely dwarfing it. For such a big man, he was incredibly gentle, guiding her to her feet more than pulling. Brilliant green eyes shone down at her along with that dashing little grin. "I'm Danny. Danny Dubek." He said with a polite nod.

Set right and standing once more, she couldn’t help but notice how he easily towered over her by at least a foot. Forgetting fearfulness if only for a moment, the corners of her mouth drew up in a subtle but sweet smile. As a warm touch of color spread in her lightly freckled cheeks, she was suddenly keenly aware their hands had not yet parted. She looked at them with mild curiosity lightly creasing her brow.

"A-l-l-lexia..." She finally murmured, her voice soft and gentle, almost lost in the din of the crowd all around them.

That large, strong hand gave hers a firm shake before letting go. "Lovely to meet you… Alexia." He said committing the name to memory. "What brings you out today?"

Her senses came flooding back. Groceries, her bag, the mad dash into the inn. With a small gasp, she looked around their immediate proximity for her knapsack, spying it a few feet away. A small 'oh!' parted her lips.

"M-My b-b-bag..." she moved timidly to retrieve it, absently tucking a lock of unruly dark brown hair behind a delicately pointed ear.

He halted her gently, and stepped over, collecting the bag and bringing it back to her. "Least I could do for sending you arse over tea kettle." He joked, handing it over.

A small voiceless chuckle pulled her lips into an uncertain smirk, still quite unaccustomed to such compassion.

"Th-Thank you..." She almost whispered. "I-I w-w-was o-on m-m-my w-way h-home..." She answered belatedly.

Danny nodded sympathetically. This woman was no protester. In fact, she looked terrified. Her own shadow would probably give her a start. He looked around at the gathered throng of a kind faces and the very few not-so-kind. He could understand. "Can't say I blame you. Crazy times."

That green-hued gaze turned back to her. "What do you think of all this?"

Reluctantly, she tore her gaze from his and took in the scene before her. Some were dressed in vibrant colors while others were scantily clad. Most gathered there seemed to be happy. Still, she couldn't help the way those thin arms wrapped around her body in apprehension.

"I-I’m n-n-not r-r-eally s-s-sure..." It was the honest truth. She wanted to continue denying she had any part in this, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. Those dark eyes reflected the lights and movement out in the streets.

If he was disappointed in the lack of interview answers, he certainly didn't show it. The journalist simply chuckled. "It's a lot to take in, I'm sure." He said, taking in a deep breath. "It's something that should never need to happen." He exhaled, watching a rotund, human man with a round, angry red face shouting at a pretty, young Faun fearlessly glaring in response. "I'll never understand the reckless hate some people are capable of."

Her expression darkened a touch as she nodded slowly. Although she understood the sentiment perfectly, there was only one person that came to mind. Her uncle.

"M-Me n-neither." She pulled in even tighter, her arms offering little comfort in that self embrace. Eager for a subject change, she turned back to him, eyeing the camera in his hands with growing curiosity.

"Wh-What is th-that?" She gave a small upturn to her head to point with her chin.

He glanced down at the device hanging from his neck by a padded nylon strap. His brow quirked, eyeing her with a crooked grin on his lips. "This?" He asked, holding it up. "It's my camera. I've been taking photographs of everything today. Trying to document everything I see. I must have taken 800 pictures already." He chuckled. "It's been a busy day."

"C-Camera?" She echoed, her brows knitting. Tilting her head, she tried to make sense of the device. Her lips pursed and pulled to one side in contemplation.

“Yeah...um...How do I describe this…” the journalist said, slightly taken aback. He'd never had to perform this little exercise. There was no judgement or condescension in his voice as he spoke, this WAS Rhy'din, and levels of experience with technology were all over the map. "D’you know when you read a book with pictures...not drawings or paintings, but actual images of people and places?" He went on. "This is what creates or records those images."

She was terribly inexperienced, certainly, but undeniably sharp as a whip. Her slow nod became more confident when he mentioned books and she made a mental note to keep an eye out the next time she went to the bookstore. Ever so slowly, a ghost of a smile returned.

"I-I th-th-think I un-under-s-s-stand."

The commotion of the crowd stole his attention for a moment. A band was taking the stage. A group whose name he didn’t quite catch. He couldn't say he'd heard them before, but they were inevitably going to be something he'd want to to cover. Danny turned back to the diminutive fae, that friendly smile emblazoned upon his lips.

"Well, Alexia. It has been a genuine pleasure speaking with you." He said. "I know these are dark days and people can be ugly to each other." Those green eyes locked right on hers. "But...I want you to know, there are more of us than there are of them. In the end, love will win out."

Danny cast his dimpled smile down her way and reached out, gently taking her thin shoulders in his hands. "I promise you, with everything I have… Things will get better."

The smile on his face was full of confidence and warmth. He knew the fear she was fighting. He knew words couldn't make it go away, as much as he wished they could. All he could offer was the assurance that he would give his life to make certain that, someday, she and her kind would never have to be afraid again.

Their sudden proximity, his hands on her shoulders, his handsome face, the kind words that poured from his lips, made her heart skip a beat. A fresh bloom of crimson touched her cheeks and she had to tear her gaze away, her eyes flitting from protesters to signs to the same band that had caught Danny's attention. Quite unable to meet his gaze still, she simply nodded.

"I-I h-hope s-s-so..."

Something about her in that moment struck a chord in him. As covertly as he could, he brought his hands up and snapped a quick shot of her looking off to the side, that worry and nervousness in her eyes, but beneath the surface there was something else. Something he couldn’t quite define at that moment. A strength that belied her frail body. Something he'd later realize was the bitter mote of hope.

Those pointed ears were more than just a pretty feature, they had a keen sense of hearing. The click of the shutter brought her attention back and despite only just learned about cameras and pictures, she was fairly certain what had just occurred. A terribly shy smile played at her lips as she tucked another uncooperative strand of hair behind her ear.

"I-I sh-sh-should b-be g-g-going, b-but i-it w-was v-v-very n-nice m-meeting y-you... D-Danny." She pulled her gaze to his as she said his name, a hint of a dimple desperately trying to form on her right cheek.

Danny grinned and gave her a wink. "An absolute pleasure, Alexia. Take care of yourself. Don't be a stranger!"

With one last dimpled smile, he turned and disappeared into the massive crowd, the image of Alexia immortalized forever on that camera. When she could no longer see those auburn curls, the little fae finally returned to the long, lonely path home. But this time it was different. His words had set fire to something deep within her and for reasons she could not quite put a finger on, she trusted him. It certainly didn’t hurt that the image of his handsome face and winsome smile lingered in her mind. Feeling lighter and happier than she had in a very long time, she resumed walking toward the little cabin by the university, humming softly as soon as she was sure to be out of earshot.

[Alexia Longbow]

A few days later, Alexia slipped out of the dilapidated little cabin and once again headed for the marketplace. It was an unusual time to go grocery shopping. It was late in the afternoon and the sun was quickly setting, the chill of winter still clinging to the air. But all the unrest seemed to have taken a strange toll on Master Owen. He was even more irritable and explosive, forcing the timid little fae to avoid his ire altogether and simply remain holed up in her tiny room. Today was no different. After he drank himself into a stupor a bit earlier than usual, she seized the opportunity to replenish some much needed food items. As much as her uncle would have preferred to subsist solely on corn liquor and misery, they both had to eat.

Already painfully thin as it was, she was practically swimming in her threadbare black leggings and dark green blouse she had hastily fashioned out of scraps of fabric. Her scuffed and scratched soft leather boots offered little warmth in large part due to the holes worn away into both soles and her sorry excuse for a cloak, thinning, fraying, patched and re-patched, singed, snagged, might have been left at home for all the protection it offered against the chill in the air. The hood was useless, beyond repair, and served only to bunch up her unruly crop of hair. Instead, she let it flow wild and free down her back, all the way to her knees. It served two purposes. The long, abundant tresses offered much more warmth than her clothes ever could, and it covered the odd shape of her little ears.

Shopping for groceries proved much more difficult than anticipated. Many of the stalls she frequented quickly shuttered as she approached, their vendors refusing to even acknowledge her presence, much less do business with her, and she could not figure out why. She had always been polite and respectful, rarely haggled and was happy to pay the asked price. By the time she was finally able to gather some basic staples for survival, it was already dark. The lengthy night had rapidly overtaken the shorter day and a deeper chill settled in the air. It was no surprise that it took her longer than usual to realize that the unsettling feeling between her shoulder blades was not just from the dropping temperature, but from being followed. Suddenly feeling smaller than she ever had, she dared a glance over her shoulder and was immediately met with a terrifying sound.

“What the hell are you looking at, pixie trash?” A large boulder of a man stood a few feet behind the little fae, startling her when he shouted.

Alexia whirled around, her thin arms laden with a large bag filled with fruits, vegetables, and bread. More people seemed to materialize from behind the man, each with the same hatred and disgust in their beady eyes. With a hard swallow, she nervously turned back around and tried to walk away as quickly as possible. She didn’t take but a few steps when a tall wiry boy slipped in front of her, blocking her path.

“Going somewhere? Mutt?” Her loomed over her, his breath rancid and overwhelming.

Before she knew it, Alexia was surrounded. Mostly men, a woman or two among them. No matter where she turned, they were there. Some even started grabbing at her, running filthy hands through her hair and pulling a few strands out, pulling at the groceries in her arms until they went spilling onto the ground. Two of the younger men laughed and began stomping her lovely food to ruin while a woman and the boulder of a man closed in on her.

“Fae bitch.” The woman spat at her feet, missing those scuffed little boots by a few inches. “Filthy little peck!”

“What do we do with the little mongrel?” Another woman hung back keeping watch for anyone that might intervene.

The wiry boy, having finished destroying every last berry and leafy green, looked up with a dark glint in his eyes.

“I say we put her to good use.” Alexia’s eyes widened impossibly huge and every bit of her trembled in fear as he took a step toward her, his hands clenched into fists.

The spitting woman made a face and shot the boy a dirty look.

“No son of mine is gonna sully himself with a dirty half breed whore!” Before he could shoot a scathing retort, she raised a hand and struck him hard across the face. The group turned in unison, some in shock, others laughing.

Alexia did not waste the opportunity that presented itself. She turned on her heel and ran as fast as her skinny legs could carry her. Home was too far away, so she made her desperate escape to the only other place she felt relatively safe. The bookstore.

The welcoming jingle of the bell above the front door of the Teas 'N Tones, the warm lingering scent of pastries, all the usual hallmarks of her safe haven quickly soured as she heard the door jingle again behind her. And again. And again. Until everyone of her stalkers was in the bookstore with her. The sudden influx of people drew the attention of the owner, a mild man named Oliver Torrence, with greying hair and wire spectacles. As he walked out from the back room, confusion written clearly on his face, he did his best to put himself between the fragile girl and the small mob.

“What is going on here? Are you alright, dear?” Oliver reached out a hand as if to place on her shoulder, but a sudden CRASH pulled his attention right back to the group of people. The human boulder had reached out and slowly tipped a lovely glass cake display off the counter, sending it smashing to the floor. A sinister smile spread on the face of each posse member as they all reached for something of value and sent it tumbling to the ground. The antique globe near the front door, the cash register, even some of the nearby bookcases, every one of them pushed over and sent exploding on the ground.

“Alright... that’s it. You… You lot have to leave! Get out now, before... before I call the Watch!” Oliver did his best to take charge of the situation, but the human boulder took a menacing step toward him, his grin deeply unsettling.

“We’re not leaving without our friend.” He practically growled as he nodded his head to Alexia.

Try as he might, Oliver simply could not find the courage to stand up to the threatening group. Despite Alexia’s pleading face, his shoulders sagged and he stared, ashamed, at his feet.

“All of you need to leave now. All of you.” His voice dropped to just above a whisper.

“N-No… M-Mr. T-T-Torrence, p-p-please!” Alexia’s tiny voice trembled as she begged for his mercy, but he had already begun to retreat to the back room muttering unconvincingly about needing a broom. Once again, she was completely on her own.

By some stroke of luck, she saw an opening and bolted for the door, the angry group hot on her heels. The bell above the door now seemed to mock her with its bright and cheerful jingling as she darted out into the dark. Too dark. It was almost as if she had wandered into a black fog. She could hear the faint jeering calls of the wiry boy.

“Hey! Hey!! Get back here you fae bitch! Get back he-”

Alexia ran and ran until her bony legs felt like jelly and her lungs felt as though they would explode. She ran until she could hear only the pounding of her blood rushing in her undeniably pointed little ears. She ran until her vision clouded and she had to stop or risk tumbling in the dark. As she stood gasping for breath, one hand pressed into the stitch in her side, waiting for her breathing to slow and her heartbeat to calm, she saw something. A figure, a shape really, off in the distance shifted. She squinted her eyes to try and see when she heard an unmistakable cry for help. Altruistic to a fault, as always, she took a tentative step toward the sound and the figure. Then another. She was nearly there when she felt a rough pair of hands grab her arms from behind, wrenching them back, her shoulders twisting painfully.

Like a cornered animal, Alexia panicked and flailed as hard as she could. Tears streamed down her face, her frightened sobs wracking her tiny frame. She managed to work one arm free, the red marks of bruises already forming. Just when she was about to wrest her other arm free, she felt a sudden sharp pain in the back of her head. Little explosions formed in the perimeter of her vision before going completely black.

Back at the bookstore, The human boulder and his cronies stood, mouths agape as the wiry boy shouted into dark nothing.

“Hey! Hey!! Get back here, you fae bitch! Get back he and take what’s coming to you, you filthy peck whore!”

“Shut up, Jethro!” His mother hissed a loud whisper at him as they tried to make sense of what they all just witnessed. They had been scant steps behind the little fae when it seemed like she stepped into a curtain of black. It hung in the air for a moment or two before clearing to reveal several Watch officers approach the bookstore. In his immeasurable guilt, Mr. Torrence belatedly called for help and he now stood at the entrance waving to the officers and gesturing at the little gang that had trashed his store and threatened his friend.

[Alexia Longbow]

Owen Shadowsoul awoke with a start. Something was terribly wrong. Usually by this time, his charge was already vexing him out of unconsciousness with pleas to eat something before starting the next drunken bender. By this time, she had lit a lantern or two to make the dark little cabin less depressing and almost cozy. By this time, she was home where she was safe. At least safer than she would have been out there. Word had reached him of the unrest, but foolishly he dismissed it. Now, a chill settled deep in the pit of his stomach as he shakily rose from his armchair and ambled precariously toward the door of the makeshift little bedroom.

“Alexia?” His voice wobbled, weak from alcohol withdrawal and lack of proper sustenance and water. No response. His hand trembled so badly, he missed the doorknob the first two tries. On the third, his tremor made the door rattle as he slowly opened it to reveal what he already knew to be true. It was empty.

It wasn’t so unlike her to be gone, sometimes for days at a time. He would simply cast a basic scrying spell and find her asleep at the inn or in the bookstore. But this time it felt different. She felt… gone. Much like when he checked her room, he was certain he already knew the results before he even finished his spellwork. Sure enough, when he looked down at the map of Rhy’Din, she wasn’t simply at a different location. She was simply not there. This meant only one of two things. She had either left Rhy’Din entirely, or something was cloaking her existence. Certain he was nowhere near strong enough to take on an in depth magical search for her, he did the only other thing he could think of.

A grim look of determination set in his haggard old features as he disappeared into his own room. Faint rustling followed by the sounds of the upheaval of drawers emanated from the tomb like quarters, and when he finally emerged, he tucked a folded piece of parchment into the folds of his robes. The next stop was the mantle above the small fireplace. As he collected every last coin he kept in a small box, he noted the fire had gone out. Just another small but dearly missed detail Alexia had always tended to. Next stop was the tiny kitchen to refill his flask, which he did with surprisingly steady hands. Finally, the most difficult item to acquire. Alexia’s hair brush. He stood, once again, in the doorway, staring into the shamefully small but spotless room. She’d made it into quite the cozy little escape with soft colorful pieces of fabric cleverly fashioned together, not only as curtains, but as decorations that brightened the entire space. He took a deep, albeit shaky, breath as he stepped into the room for the very first time since he had hastily fashioned it for her so many years ago. He wouldn’t stay long. He couldn’t bear to. He would only reach out and pluck a small wooden hair brush laying neatly on a small table and make a hasty retreat.

All the necessary effects assembled, he now turned to his bedroom door and muttered a few words. From an old leftover stack in the corner of the room, sturdy planks of wood rose and flew to stack up against the door. A small pile of nails on the mantle swarmed around him and lodged themselves into the planks, sealing the room shut. He waited a moment to see if the boards would hold before treading painfully out the door and toward the Watch to report his niece missing.

[Alexia Longbow]

By the time Owen arrived, the Rhy’Din Watch Central Station was a total madhouse. Modern phones were ringing off the hook, enchanted objects bearing messages darted around, all the psychic mediums were in marathon trances, inundated with overwhelming communications, even familiars were competing for attention with pieces of paper attached to them in one fashion or another. Bits and pieces of frantic conversations buzzed around him.

His distaste for technological marvels of the modern age was only out-measured by the beckoning in his soul for a drink. Desire to return to the numb liquid haze of liquor practically screamed for relief, a demon at the back of his mind. Now is not the time, Owen, he told himself, milky eyes shutting as he centered himself upon his task.

They moved around like ants, busying themselves with the minutia of their work and seemingly completely unaware of the aged mage in their presence. "Pardon me..." he said, seeking the attention of a passerby in vain as the man passed him by.

His fists clenched, the ire rising within him as the demon called to him again. Another came into his periphery, Owen turning once more to beg their attention. "Excuse me." Again, he was ignored.

His teeth clenched hard, the pounding in his head like war drums, aching and building louder and louder until finally, he exploded. "I WILL NOT BE IGNORED!" His voice erupted, sudden and terrifying over the cacophony, the lingering echo hanging over everyone present. A deafening silence settled over the precinct. For the first time in recent memory, he felt far from the paunchy, gnarled old drunk he had allowed himself to become. His posture straightened, his head held aloft with a pride and righteous anger he'd almost forgotten, and for a moment, he was once again Owen the Prodigious, Master Mage.

Slowly, the sounds of activity and borderline panic began to trickle their way back into the atmosphere, but his ire remained. Some quickly turned away, eager to avoid eye contact with the potentially unbalanced old man. Others continued to stare in shock even as they tried to resume their tasks. He glared at anyone who was unfortunate enough to be caught in his crosshairs.

“Ungrateful bastards, the lot of you! Your grandfathers were still messing their diapers while I was training the first officers to ever form this Watch! None of you have any respect for your elders. Not a one of you would ever measure up to study under the great Owen Shadowso-”

“Owen Shadowsoul? Is that? That can’t be… Professor?” A deep, velvety voice called out from a nearby interrogation room. Many of the eyes that were locked on the withered old man now turned to gaze upon the hard set features of Detective Ezileus Gremarim.

Born from a long line of skilled and powerful mages, Ezileus Gramarim had once been Owen’s star pupil. He had been so vibrant and full of hope, determined to make Rhy’Din a better place by serving it through the Watch. Even Owen’s stern and often overly harsh criticism couldn’t dampen his zeal. Now, decades later, the lines etched into his dark brown skin by horrors no man should have to witness much less experience, a small glimmer of that youthful awe for his mentor sparked in his dark brown eyes.

Owen stared for a long moment, the rusty wheels in his head doing their very best. Finally, his ire seemed to evaporate as a look of recognition slowly spread across his weathered features.

“Ezileus Gremarim…” He croaked out in disbelief. “You sodding little prat!” With a raspy chuckle, he hobbled toward the detective, his shaky arms outstretched.

Detective Gremarim’s face began to light up as he closed the distance between him and his former mentor. He had to bend down a bit to complete the embrace. When the two men finally pulled away from each other, their laughter slowly began to fade only to be replaced with matching expressions of nostalgia, remorse, and sorrow.

“You’ve grown into a strapping young lad, my boy.” There was unmistakable sadness in his voice, despite the lopsided smile on his tired old face. “Whereas I’ve-“

“Grown more distinguished.” Detective Gremarim interjected. He hated to see his old mentor in such a tragic state.

“Taken on the appearance of a rotting pumpkin.” He corrected, his voice raspy as he began to chuckle, eventually dissolving into a hacking cough.

The amused grin on the detective’s face faltered, a hand clasping Owen’s shoulder as the fit ceased. “Come. Have a seat.” He said, guiding the ancient man to his desk.

“What brings you here, old friend?” He asked from the water cooler, filling a paper cup.

Owen looked at the cup dubiously, clearing his throat. It wasn’t the clear liquid he’d have preferred, but still, he would keep up the grateful guise. “I’m searching for someone.”

Detective Gremarim set the cup in front of him, his chair creaking as he sat. Those intense brown eyes concentrated on the man before him. “Missing persons case?”

Owen sipped his water and nodded. “My niece, Alexia.”

The detective turned, typing something on his keyboard. “And how long has she been missing?”

Owen knew the response he was going to get before he spoke, but went ahead anyway. “Since last night.”

Gremarim paused, casting a withering look to the old man. “She’s been missing for a few hours?”

That tone. Owen had been dreading it. “I know.”

“Owen, I can’t file a missing persons report based on a few hours. If it were days-“

“Ezileus.” Owen interrupted. “Do you think me a fool?”

Gremarim took a deep breath and sank back in his chair. “No.” He exhaled.

“Am I the...panicky, reactionary sort?” Owen pressed on.

“No.”

The old man nodded slowly. “I know how this sounds. But you know I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe she was in grave danger.”

Detective Gremarim tucked his lower lip between his teeth, considering his next course of action. “Well... with everything going on with the protests, I suppose I can’t blame you. The amount of human supremacy nonsense we’re seeing is disturbing to say the least.”

Owen’s eyes lowered. If one of those bastards laid a finger on her, there was no measure for how vicious and merciless his retribution would be. His current state was proof enough of that. Just as he began to descend into a seething silence, the detective continued.

“Did you perform a tracking spell?” He asked, his eyes back on the computer screen.

“Yes.” Owen could feel his blood beginning to boil.

“A bio tracking spell and not a simple scrying?” Gramarim continued tapping away on his keyboard.

“You know bloody well I did.” Owen almost cut his question off, his intense blue eyes burning.

“And what were the results?” It was becoming increasingly clear the detective was reading questions off a standard form.

“Ezileus, what-” Owen’s ire began to rise.

“Owen,” He cut him off, his voice gentle but firm. “If you want to find your niece and bring whoever took her to justice, we must go through the proper procedure.”

"And what makes you think I give a damn about justice?! I want vengeance and I want my niece back!" Owen slammed his arthritic fist down in the desk, hardly caring about all the tiny stress fractures he undoubtedly caused himself.

Ezileus didn't flinch. He barely even blinked. Instead, he let the silence hang in the around for a tense moment before speaking again.

"With proper procedure comes back up. Fire power. If you want to forego that and go out there half cocked, I promise you, the results will be fatal. Maybe for you, maybe for your niece. Maybe both. Please, let me do my part so we can bring Alexia home safely."

After a long time, Owen sighed heavily and wiped a wrinkled arthritic hand down the length of his face. When he finally spoke again, his voice was tired and resigned.

“There was no result. Nothing organic, living or otherwise. Either she is no longer in this world, or someone has gone to great lengths to make it seem that way.” Before Detective Gremarim could ask his next question, Owen reached into the folds of his fraying filthy robes, pulled out the folded piece of parchment paper, and handed it to his former apprentice.

With great care, the detective took the paper and carefully unfolded it, nearly gasping at the sight that awaited him. A beautiful face with large dark eyes and a soft smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose stared up at him. She didn’t look a day over sixteen, but the younger mage knew far better. Before he could tear his eyes away, Owen slid a simple wooden brush with soft bristles over the sketch, obscuring it. His mouth began to open in question when he saw a single strand of long dark hair. Pressing his lips together, nodded in understanding and plucked the strand between careful thumb and forefinger.

“You know what to do, Ezileus.” Owen rasped, his voice pleading and heavy with sadness.

Gremarim held the strand of hair in front of him, his own dark brown eyes losing focus until only the black of his pupils could be seen, and uttered a few words. With a sharp, metallic crack in the air and a quick burst of silver smoke, his pupils slowly narrowed back down to normal. Frowning, he gave Owen a single nod of understanding.

Relief washed over the old man as he watched the detective call over a young officer and order several dozen reprints of the sketch to be posted throughout the city and for two other experienced detectives to prepare for a long night.

[Alexia Longbow]

Pain. Darkness and pain. That was all Alexia could feel through her foggy state. There were no dreams, no vivid happy memories to pass the time and delude her for even a moment that all might be well before the cold harsh reality hit her like the freezing concrete floor beneath her. No, there was only sinister darkness and excruciating pain. Her head throbbed where she was struck the night before and she struggled to open her eyes against the heavy concussion. Before she could form any kind of clear thought, she heard the chilling sound of heavy iron bars being swung open and then immediately shut. Slow and deliberate, the sound of footfalls neared before she felt searing agony rip into her wrists and ankles.

With a deep, high pitched gasp, her large dark brown eyes flew open, wide with fear and burning pain. A dark cloaked figure had hauled her up by her hair, causing heavy chains to weigh on the iron manacles that bound her. Without uttering a sound, the figure pulled back and threw her against the concrete wall with a sickening crack. Little white explosions flared in the periphery of her vision and her lungs felt as though they were on fire as the impact knocked every last ounce of breath out of her. This time, there would be no merciful fade to oblivion. Alexia remained conscious and horrifically aware of every new wound and injury. It seemed like an eternity when air finally filled her lungs again. It came in rapid gasps, panic overtaking her as the sound of steps grew closer yet again. Despite the blistering pain with every movement, she desperately tried to get up, succeeding only in pushing herself up into a half seated position.

“Wh-Wh-”

With a swift movement of his hand, the figure reached out and struck the little fae across the mouth, opening a fresh split in her bottom lip. Rather than respond, he simply lifted his index finger and slowly ticked it back and forth. There would be no speaking.

[Alexia Longbow]

Back at the precinct, there was utter chaos. Detective Gremarim and his team had managed to unearth a very disturbing pattern. It seemed the same group of people seen following and harassing Alexia had also been seen all over town during the weeks following other non-humans as well. It was the same MO. Spot a non-human being, follow them, harass them, then they would disappear. The only difference was, after Alexia’s disappearance, they stopped. Confused and incensed by intrigue, Detective Gremarim set out to retrace the little fae’s day. Begrudgingly, he let Owen tag along with the argument that he knew her better than anyone and would be of use. That, and having worked side by side with the decaying mage for the last three days, subsisting on little more than burnt coffee and stale pastries, some fresh air proved quite the necessary change of pace.

Eventually, Owen and Gremarim’s search brought them to the warm, welcoming confines of the Teas N’ Tomes. It was no secret Alexia was a frequent guest, and usually, the place would be a pleasant sight, but their errand today was anything but. Owen’s comparatively diminutive frame struggled to keep up with Gremarim’s powerful, long-legged stride as they moved down the sidewalk.

“Let me do the talking, Owen.” He said in that commanding, official tone in his voice that left no room for argument. Were he capable of thoughts that didn’t dwell on his missing niece, Owen might have been impressed with the man his one-time protege had become. Today, unfortunately, would not be that day.

“If that blind weasel knows anything about my niece’s disappearance, I’ll-”

“Owen.” Gremarim interrupted, a warning look in his voice.

The old mage deflated visibly. The man was right. It wouldn’t do to get worked up. Owen nodded his tacit approval of the plan.

Gremarim pushed his way into the store, that delightful little twinkling of bells announcing their entrance. Torrence’s bespectacled eyes peered up from his counter, that ever-present smile on his face until he saw the uniform...and the filthy torn robes.

“M-Mister Shadowsoul...” the shopkeep stammered, trying to reclaim the faded smile. “Welcome. It’s been quite some time! What brings you here?”

The tension in his voice was thick as molasses. Owen forced a tight smile, blue eyes flicking to his companion, practically screaming ‘Show I’m keeping quiet?’ Gremarim never let that stoic, professional facade drop.

“Mr. Torrence.” He greeted the old man with a quick flash of his badge before returning it to his pocket. “Detective Ezileus Gremarim. We have a few questions for you.”

Gremarim could read the guilt on the man’s face as clearly as if it were tattooed on his forehead. Nevertheless, the shopkeep stammered on. “Of...of course, Detective. What can I do for you?”

“Three days ago, Professor Shadowsoul’s niece, Alexia Longbow was seen entering your shop, pursued by a number of unknown humans. It was the last time anyone saw her. We were hoping you might be able to tell us what you remember.”

Mr. Torrence’s lips parted but no words left them. Behind his lenses, those eyes fell to the floor. Owen broke off from the duo, pretending to peruse the shelves of books as Gremarim continued his interrogation as he stifled the urge to grab the man by the collar and play “bad cop”.

Ezileus tilted his head, trying to reclaim the man’s attention. “Mr. Torrence.” He demanded. “You know, Ms. Longbow, do you not? From what I hear, she’s a frequent visitor to your shop.”

Torrence blinked and looked back up at him. “Of...of course. Delightful, sweet girl…”

Gremarim nodded slowly. “Yes. Well, we have reason to believe that delightful, sweet girl is in grave danger. If you know something, I think you’d better tell us.”

The shopkeeper’s shoulder slumped, his face contorting in sadness. “I...you must understand. There were many of them, and I was...I was frightened of what they would do.”

Owen’s fists clenched into tight little balls, a sidelong glance tossed to the pair of them.

“The humans?” Gremarim asked for clarification.

Torrence nodded. “They were vicious, vile sort of people. I asked them to leave...I just...I didn’t want any trouble.”

“All of them?” Ezlieus asked.

“All of them.” Mr. Torrence echoed softly.

“Even the girl?” The detective eyed him sternly, already knowing the answer.

Oliver Torrence slid his eyes shut, a breath leaving him in a quivering sigh as he nodded.

“You sent a girl being victimized by Human Supremacists out onto the streets with her attackers?” The ancient, craggly voice of Owen came from the stacks, shaking with rage. He stepped forward, the anger in him almost melting away the years of decay that hunched him over like lead weights tied to his shoulders.

“I...I was scared-”

“YOU were scared?” Owen said incredulously. “My niece was being hunted by the dregs of our society...filth without remorse or honor simply because of what she is, and YOU were scared?”

“Owen…” Gremarim tried to calm his former mentor to no avail.

“Where is my niece, you rotten, cowardly son of a bitch?!” His fists slammed upon the countertop, the sound echoing in the empty shop. Torrence shook almost as much as Owen, though it was out of fear rather than rage. “Do you have any idea what I can do to you, old man? It is not those thugs you should fear. Not my friend here. No. You...should fear...ME. Now tell me...what happened to Alexia?”

“They followed her out. Chased her away.” Torrence quaked.

“Where?” Owen demanded.

“I don’t know.”

“Where?!” Owen shouted.

Before the old shopkeeper could respond, there was a change in the air. Hard to place at first, but unmistakable. For Owen, it was almost like being drunk, without the haziness of alcohol. Long since accustomed to functioning in various states of inebriation, he hardly showed a reaction. Gremarim, however, stumbled and reached out for the nearest surface, his hand landing on the counter between him and Mr. Torrence, confusion upon his face.

“Owen?” he muttered hazily..

The old mage cast a glance around the room. Everything seemed the same, but something intangible was off. “What is this?” He whispered to himself before turning his gaze back to Torrence. “What have you done?”

The old man’s eyes went wide. “Nothing! Nothing, I swear!” He lifted both his hands in defense and from them sprayed forth a shower of silvery grey sparks, causing the lights to flicker and a stack of papers nearby to swirl about in a small whirlwind before slowly fluttering to the ground. Shock tore a gasp from his lips as he stared at his slightly aged but otherwise fairly smooth hands.

Suddenly, there was a huge boom from outside and the entire shop shook, dust falling from the ceiling, lamps and porcelain cups rattling. Ezileus and Owen exchanged glances. They had to go. Owen hooked his arm under the detective’s and reached around behind him, arthritic fingers grasping his belt loop. WIth all the strength a withered old drunk could muster, he lifted him mostly to his feet and half dragged him toward the door.

“W-W-Wait!” Mr. Torrence called out, holding a hand out.

From his palm more shimmery sparks burst forth and hit the bell above the door in a small blast, knocking it off its hook and sending it flying across the room.

“Mr. Shadowsoul… Owen, please! Don’t leave me here like this! Help me!”

Owen paused, halfway through the door and turned to give the old shopkeeper a look of mock innocence.

“You must understand, Oliver,” His voice dripped with saccharine as he feigned sympathy. “We’re frightened of what you might do.” As his words took effect, he dropped the facade and sneered as he and the weakened Detective Gremarim resumed their hasty exit.

[Alexia Longbow]

Over the next three days, Alexia experienced indescribable pain and fear for her very life. She was starved, denied water, mercilessly beaten, her little hands and feet stomped upon by heavy boots, her face relentlessly thrashed until she could no longer see out of one eye for the swelling and disfiguring. She was asked no questions. Given no threats. Only pain without rest. As soon as she would begin to lose consciousness, she was reeled back by magical means. Often other prisoners, fellow fae and non-humans, were thrown in with her. Sometimes horribly injured, often beaten or mortally wounded in front of her. And each time, she would heal them the only way she knew how. By taking their wounds and afflictions into herself. She would heal and heal until all color left her battered little face, until the last bit of spark left her fathomless dark eyes. And each time she healed, her back, stomach, and thighs were whipped with a modified cat o’ nine tails, each end tipped with a rusted iron barb. Eventually, these other prisoners were made to take over the insidious task of torturing the dying little fae or face a similar fate.

“I’m so sorry! I’m SO sorry!” Whispered a weeping dryad as she pulled a sputtering Alexia out from a large basin of water.

The sharp crack of a whip preceded the shriek of pain that parted the dryad’s lips. Her face full of sorrow and agony, she once again shoved Alexia’s head under the water’s surface. Despite the dark situation she found herself in, Alexia couldn’t help feel sorry for the dryad. After all, none of this was her doing. She was merely trying to survive. She even found herself wishing she could reach out and comfort her. Unfortunately, she was slightly preoccupied. With drowning.

Just when her vision began to cloud and the pain started to fade into oblivion, she was hauled out once again, gasping air into lungs that burned like fire. The dryad, whose name, sadly, Alexia would never learn, cradled the little fae in her arms. With a delicate touch, she brushed wet matted tangles of dark brown hair out of her eyes and tucked it lovingly behind her pointed ear. But before she could utter a single kindness, the dryad was hauled away by her own hair, kicking and screaming, desperately reaching for the frighteningly still form lying in a pool of blood and water.

“No! NO! Let me go! Please! Let me go to her! It’s not right! It’s not fair! I’m sorry, sister! I’m sorry! I’M SORRY! NOOOOO!” Her voice trailed off, the echoes bouncing off the solid concrete walls until she could no longer be heard.

Alexia was alone. Or so she thought. The familiar sound of a pair of boots thudding slowly across the ice cold concrete floor set her heart racing. On the verge of panic, she could feel her breathing become erratic and closer to hyperventilation.

“Calm yourself.” There was something about his voice that formed an icy dread in her very core. It was calm and even, almost lifeless. His words seemed to sap what little warmth remained in the room.

“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Dommik. No, please, don’t get up.” There was a cruel mirth in his tone that quickly faded.

“I’ll not waste any more of our time together.” He began again. “Put simply, you should not exist. You are an abomination. An atrocity that stands in the way of a perfect world. One free of meddlesome and ruinous filth such as yourself.” As he moved closer, Alexia watched him with her one comparatively good eye until he towered over her prostrate form. For the first time in three days, the dark looming figure finally pulled back the black hood of his form fitting clothing to reveal his terrible face. His skin was stark white with eyes so black they looked like pools of ink, shoulder length black hair slicked back and left loose, and a mouth barely more than an etched line in his deathly pale visage.

“You see, your kind should have been eliminated eons ago. So imagine my surprise when two hundred thirty-five years ago, I learned of your existence.” The last word he spoke in an angry whisper, as though she had intentionally defied him by being born.

“I-I… d-d-don’t under-s-s-stand…” Alexia surprised even herself when she spoke, almost not recognizing the strained, anguished voice that barely made a sound. “Th-There are s-s-so m-many f-f-ae, wh-why is m-m-my l-life of a-any c-c-consequence…” She trailed off as she saw an eerie glow intensify in his eyes. She could feel the rage and insanity build within him like an inferno.

“Fae?! You think the dark glory of the void is held at bay by an insignificant FAE?!” For the first time in many decades, he let slip the barest hint of emotion. Alexia stared at him as hot tears spilled from her eye and streaked clean trails down her bloodied cheek.

After a few steadying breaths, Dommik seemed to compose himself. He turned his head at an awkward angle until a loud crack sounded. His tone once more even and controlled, he spoke again to the trembling Alexia.

“The lies that man, that mage must have woven into your every memory. Tsk, tsk... You are no ordinary fae, my dear Alexia.” He reveled in her shock when he spoke her name. “You are the perfect reprehensible blend of human, mage, elf, and faerie, and the origin of all the bastardizations thereafter. It is because of your kind that the void was trapped. And it is solely your existence left that stands between me and my master.”

His answers only brought up a myriad of questions in Alexia’s already swirling mind. Before she could try and sort any of them, Dommik turned toward the iron bars and lifted his index finger. With a subtle flick, he beckoned two large figures into the dungeon like room. One by one they entered, the first with a small but sturdy cot which he set up in front of Alexia. The second with a rolling table of crude surgical instruments and a burlap sack. Once everything was set up, the figures snatched Alexia’s broken little body and tossed her face down onto the cot. They wasted no time twisting the chains that bound her blistered and bleeding wrists and ankles under it until they were sure she could not move. Alexia’s back heaved with shaky panicked breathing as Dommik waved the men away to wait in the corner.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I don’t just kill you. To be quite honest, I seek recompense. Your defiance in merely existing and evading my efforts to find and capture you for all these years has left quite the sour taste and only your complete and utter decimation will cleanse my palate. I am going to literally take you apart, piece by putrid piece, starting with those faerie wings your idiot uncle thought he could conceal from the world. And you.”

As he spoke, Alexia’s breathing turned into the ragged high pitched gasps of pure terror. She strained against the biting iron manacles to no avail as the deranged Dommik lifted the back of her frayed and shredded blouse and reached for a scalpel from the rolling table.

“Make no mistake, Alexia, I intend to enjoy dissecting every inch of you.” Without wasting another moment, he brought the blade down to the tender flesh on her back, easily splitting it open. Her primal shrieks of insurmountable pain only seemed to urge him on as he dug deep into her body and began to carve out a pair of silky, pearlescent wings from their very root, one at a time.

[Alexia Longbow]

It seemed like hours before Master Owen and Detective Gremarim made it back to the relative safety of the precinct. The perilous journey was fraught with utter chaos. Non human beings were running for their lives, screaming and wailing in fear and confusion as many humans with unexplained abilities and powers chased them down. When they arrived, there were no words to describe the madness that awaited them. At least half the officers were out of commission. Lacking their natural abilities, they were weakened and left defenseless against even the tamest of interactions. The other half were on the brink of panic, many of them had to be placed in magical holding cells for their own safety as much as the safety of others. Owen continued to drag the unsteady Ezileus to his office and only released him into the sanctity of his desk chair.

“Wa… Was that a flying car?” The detective almost slurred as he tried to steady his swirling vision.

Owen had already pulled the flask from his robe and easily downed half the contents before holding it out to his protege with a shaky hand. Ezileus waved him off with an equally shaky hand and was about to speak when there was a light knock at the already open door. The two men within turned to find a very pained looking young woman who looked as though her head might explode.

“Yes? What is it, Cortez?” Gremarim asked weakly.

He tried to sit up a bit straighter and give of some air of professionalism, but found he lacked the ability to do much else but sit there and feel like a pile of sludge with a heartbeat. Cortez, a young petite blonde with thin wire-frame glasses, quickly put her hand up, wincing.

“Please, not quite so loud, sir. I was digging through those old case files you gave me and you were right, there was indeed a pattern. And for the record,” she snapped her gaze to Owen who still stood over the enfeebled detective, “I graduated from the same program as Detective Gremarim at the age of 24… two years ago.”

Owen blinked in surprise and sputtered a bit before finally able to speak once more.

“Yer a psychic?” He brought the flask back up to his lips where it hovered a moment, awaiting the young woman’s answer.

“No.” She said, her voice tinged with exhaustion. “At least I wasn’t. Up until about an hour ago, I was just your average human. Now? I can hear people’s thoughts. From across the building.”

Cortez closed the distance between the door and Detective Gremarim’s desk, wincing at the sound of her own heeled footsteps. When she was within arm’s reach, rather than risk more loud footsteps than necessary, she tossed a thick case file onto the flat surface, immediately regretting her decision as the muted thud sent a wave of nauseating pain over her already pounding head. Ezileus opened his mouth, but Cortez cut him off.

“Yes, that’s the Iron House case file with all the cold cases even remotely tied to it. You’re welcome. Now I am going to sit in the old file room in the dark and secluded basement for a while. Nobody think too loudly, please.” With that, she unabashedly slipped out of both low heels and left without another word.

Seemingly out of some stray notion of compassion, Owen waited until Cortez was out of sight, before attempting to form his next thought. Giving his best attempt at nonchalance, he turned a mildly curious gaze to his former protege.

“What’s the Iron House case?” His words were carefully metered as he finally brought the flask to his lips, quickly draining the last of its contents.

“No.” Said a weary Gremarim.

“No?” Owen echoed, desperately trying to sound confused.

“No.” The detective confirmed. “No, I will not let you look at the Iron House case file. I know you’ve heard the rumors. Everyone has. Fae and other non-humans go missing, circumstantial evidence points us in the vague direction of the estate so saturated with iron even our team of top mages can’t scry into it, and by the time a physical search team gains access, the place is scrubbed a little too clean. Owen, I don’t need Cortez to tell me what you’re planning on doing.”

Owen Shadowsoul, former great mage of Rhy’Din University, grumbled like a petulant teenager, growing in agitation as he paced the length of the office. Finally, after working himself up, his ire finally spilled over.

“You and I both know that’s probably where Alexia is being held. She could die. She could be dead already!” The withered old man slammed his arthritic fist down on the desk, his face red and etched with purple bursting capillaries. Ezelius sighed heavily, letting his eyes slide shut as he gently pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to breathe through what he could only guess was some kind of magical withdrawal.

“I told you before, Owen, we do this by the book. If we want any chance at justice, we have to do things the right way. Is that clear? Owen? Do you understand what I am telling you? O-” Detective Gremarim finally opened his eyes only to find Owen had left and a quick glance down to his desk confirmed his worst fear. He had taken the first page from the case file. The one that contained the exact address of the “Iron House.’

“Dammit, Owen!” Ezelius stood, a little too quickly, and wobbled as he watched the office distort and swirl around him. Catching himself on the edge of the desk, he lowered himself to his knees, barely managing to snag the nearby trash can before throwing up violently into it.

[Alexia Longbow]

Alexia lay dazed and weeping on the cell floor. Left to bleed profusely from the crude gashes for some time before finally being sewn up with a rusty needle and little better than twine, she was dying. True to his word, Dommik had indeed taken his time and sick pleasure in tearing and carving, slicing and ripping every last shred of delicate pearlescent wing from the very root within her body with the promise of more pain and mutilation to come, even, as he’d made quite clear, long after her life had extinguished. Now, after being left alone to agonize for what she presumed was the entire night, she felt as much as heard the familiar thudding of boots on the concrete floor. She didn’t have the strength within her to panic, even as she heard the iron bars swing open and then slam shut.

“Good morning, my dear. I trust you slept well?” Dommik’s voice was smooth and dripping with malice. Still, all Alexia could do was weakly track his movements with her one good eye.

“No? Well, no matter. I’ve a special treat for you today.” The excitement that crept into the madman’s voice was what finally succeeded in filling Alexia anew with dread. How had she not noticed the cot and the rolling table in the room? The very same cot and rolling table from before… Lying on her side, the very life seeping out of her, her chest began to heave with ragged breath as once again large rough hands grabbed her broken little body and slammed her roughly down on the freezing cold metal surface, this time on her back. Pain redoubled and surged from the horrific wounds on her back, stealing her strained breath for a moment.

With a cruel smile, Dommik once again plucked a filthy scalpel from the tray of instruments. His dark inkwell eyes held an indescribable madness as he closed in on her, step by excruciating step. She wasn’t bound to the table this time. There was no need. She was far too weak to even consider fighting back and both she and Dommik knew it.

“I was quite surprised, you see. Those wings of yours proved… delectable.” His smile twisted into a chilling smirk and Alexia couldn’t quite figure out exactly what he meant.

“And, so,” he continued, his voice cold and smooth. “I am curious if there are any other… parts… worth exploring. Perhaps that voice box of yours would make a decent woodwind, hmm?” His tone and word choice brought a fresh wave of nausea to wash over the petite fae. Despite the severe dehydration, large hot tears began to slowly roll down her broken little face. She could only watch. She watched as he neared deliberately, excruciatingly slow. And aimed the filthy blade for her throat. Certain her fate was sealed, Alexia closed her eyes and fell into what almost felt like a slumber. The grimy, freezing cold cell began to fade as she sank into a memory. She thought of her childhood home, an almost hobbit-like dwelling carved into the massive stump of a fallen tree and the deep serenity she felt when she lived there with her loving family so long ago.

Suddenly, she could smell wildflowers and freshwater, she could smell warm bread baking in the little stone hearth outside, she could even hear the sound of a fiddle, her father’s, playing lively music while her mother sang.

“My mother's child is a savage
She looks for her omens in the colors of stones
In the faces of cats, in the falling of feathers
In the dancing of fire
In the curve of old bones…”

When she opened her eyes again, she was no longer dreaming. She was there.

[Alexia Longbow]

It was dark.

“My mother's child dances in darkness…”

But the little fae wasn’t afraid. She felt warm and safe, as though she were wrapped in blankets.

“She sings heathen songs
By the light of the moon…”

When she sat up, there was no pain, only warmth.

“And watches the stars and renames the planets…”

She swung her legs over the side of the soft bedding she lay upon and slid down, her bare feet making no sound when she stood. Somewhere outside, she could just make out the muffled sound of her mother’s voice

“And dreams she can reach them
With a song and a broom…”

Out of the cozy little room she went, following the sound of singing. As she neared the door, she could also just make out the sound of her father’s fiddle playing vibrantly. As she stepped through, the smell of wild flowers and a fire burning in a small pit hit her senses. For several moments, she simply watched as her father lowered his fiddle and turned it over to drum out a steady beat on the strongest curve and her mother sang and danced, her feet hardly touching the ground.

“I am my mother's savage daughter
The one who runs barefoot
Cursing sharp stones
I am my mother's savage daughter
I will not cut my hair
I will not lower my voice…”

“Mo chroí…” Erolith Longbow murmured to his wife who immediately stopped singing and cast piercing blue eyes at her husband. When their gazes met, Erolith smirked and tilted his head toward the front door of their modest, warm little house.

“It would seem someone has decided nap time is over.” Amusement dancing in his large dark brown eyes. Milisindiel followed his gaze, her own eyes resting on Alexia. She smiled brightly, a single dimple appearing high on her right cheek as Erolith scooped two year old Alexia up into a warm loving embrace before taking her to her mother.

“Halò, a ghràidh. What are you doing up so soon? Well, no matter. Come, dance and sing with mamaidh.” The half faerie cooed as she took the little halfling from her half elf father. “Do you remember the words, mo ghaol? Yes? Alright then, let’s hear it.”

As Milisindiel and Alexia began to sing, Erolith resumed drumming out a solid beat on the back of his fiddle, eventually flipping it back to take up the jovial tune that accompanied the powerful words.

“We are all brought forth out of darkness
Into this world, through blood and through pain
And deep in our bones, the old songs are waking
So sing them with voices of thunder and rain…”

Even as a toddler, Alexia’s voice was softer than the gentlest breeze and sweeter than the most delicate silver bell.

“We are our mother's savage daughters
The ones who run barefoot
Cursing sharp stones
We are our mother's savage daughters
We will not cut our hair
We will not lower our voice.”

Milisindiel twirled them both around and around until Alexia’s smile was as bright as the midday sun. Here in this humble little home with her loving parents, she felt safe, warm… strong. She closed her eyes contentedly wishing she could stay in this moment forever, when suddenly the shock of the freezing cold metal table and searing iron shackles tore her deep brown eyes wide open.

[Alexia Longbow]

Her beautiful little home and smiling parents were gone and the immense pain and dark reality of the situation came flooding back. With shallow, ragged breath, she watched as Dommik raised the scalpel to admire it in all its rusted filthy glory. Then, something shifted within her. The remnants of her mother’s voice and her father’s fiddle echoed in her memories and, for the first time in over two centuries, she felt angry. She felt cheated of a happy childhood and robbed of parents who had loved her dearly only to disappear one day. She didn’t even know if they were dead or alive and so was also robbed of being able to grieve properly and instead had to watch her once beloved uncle twist and wither into an abusive alcoholic. All that loss and grief once bottled up and hidden away suddenly began to bubble up and overboil.

Just as Dommik drew close enough to drag the spotted blade down her throat, a shower of dark purple sparks emanated from her small form. The sudden attack was enough to shock the sinister look off his face and he jumped back in surprise, knocking over the rolling cart and all its contents. More unsanitary instruments went clattering to the stone floor as well as small stoppered bottles of nefarious looking liquids, some of them incredibly volatile. When they shattered and the droughts inside mingled and mixed, the reaction was almost instantaneous.

Smoke began to rise and the temperature in the once freezing room began to rise rapidly. Dommik tried to steady himself. The surprise attack from what seemed to be the little fae’s aura coupled with the noxious fumes created by the mixing liquids almost proved to be too much. Still, he managed to remain upright. That is, until the caustic mixture slowly trickled its way between the nooks and crannies and cracks in the floor, eventually meeting an errant spot of the little fae’s blood.

The explosion caused by the combination was enough to fling Dommik back into the iron bars and knock him momentarily senseless. It was also strong enough to blow a hole in the concrete wall, letting in fresh air and waning sunlight. In the fray, Alexia pulled and tugged painfully at the manacles that bound her. One of her hands was just broken enough, just blood soaked enough, to slip right through. Despite the excruciating pain, she reached for her other hand and worked it free as well, using her horrific injuries to her advantage. Next her left foot, then her right, until she was free. Free to run for her very life.

With Dommik slumped against the iron bars, which remained locked anyway, her only choice was out through the sizable hole blasted through the wall. She didn’t have time to think about how high up the cell was or even how it came to be in the first place, much less care. Entirely unaware she had even been the cause with the power surge from her magical aura, she simply lurched toward the opening and let herself free fall down. She hit the ground with a small but sickening thud and lay there for many moments. It wasn’t long before the adrenaline rush kicked in and she was hauling herself up, limping as far away from the looming tower as quickly as she could.

[Alexia Longbow]

Owen Shadowsoul moved at a half run, half stagger. He had only one thing in mind. To find his niece and exact painful revenge on the ones that took her. The dark grey building whose address he had gleaned from the report on Detective Gremarim’s desk loomed in the distance. It’s bleak and foreboding appearance only served to fuel the fiery rage that burned in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know exactly what he would do, how he would rescue Alexia, but he would not leave without her. He owed her that and so much more. Still, the nearer he drew, the more he realized, he would need some kind of plan. And that was enough to give him pause just a few hundred feet from the dark grey tower. While he hated to admit the detective may have had a point about doing things by the book, having the backup of the city Watch at that moment sounded really good.

Before he could entertain the idea of turning back for help, a large explosion blew out one of the windowless walls and made the ground pulse with the aftershock. He squinted his eyes against the last few dying rays of sunlight and caught a glimpse of something small tumbling from the hole in the concrete structure. It wasn’t until that tiny something stirred and began desperately dragging herself away from the building did he recognize the little fae. His once beloved Alexia. In that moment, all his maladies, all his aches and pains, all the decades of alcohol and dark magic abuse seemed to fade away in a burst of adrenaline as he broke into a full run toward that frail figure. Fear and anger drove his breakneck pace and he reached her just in time before she fell back to the hard ground.

“Stupid girl!” He began, just as he had during any one of his countless drunken tirades. But this time was different. This time there was a softness, a tremor in his voice. Tears ran down his face as he held her bloody and broken little body. They flowed down his cheeks and onto her swollen face. He could hear the unmistakable rattle in her labored breathing. She was dying. As he wept, he repeated the phrase through sobs.

“Stupid… Stupid girl. What have you done, now?” His voice cut out and the last word came out in a whisper. Suddenly, the old Owen was back. Gone was the miserable abusive, fallen from grace, alcoholic, dark and twisted mage. And in his stead, the loving, doting uncle that had once treasured the little fae as though she were his very own daughter. Struck with a sudden moment of kindness and clarity, he put a weathered, liverspotted old hand to her cheek and let his cloudy blue eyes slide closed. His body was old and weak and could only take on so much damage. He wasn’t even sure if his powers had fully returned, but he had to try. If it would help her, keep her alive long enough to get her somewhere safe, he would heal her in the same fashion she healed others. By taking her pain and suffering and horrific wounds into himself.

Slowly, deep cuts and lacerations, the telltale black bruising of broken bones, devastating crush injuries, all began to show up on his face and body. His breathing became difficult as hers began to steady. Try as he might, he made no more progress. He was simply too weak and out of practice. But it was just enough. She still wasn’t in the clear and she would need a lot of intensive care and treatment, but she was no longer actively dying. His eyes slowly opened to see a very surprised looking little fae staring up at him in confusion and wonder.

They were both weak and shaking, but each had enough strength now to recover. Although the pain that shot through his body was intense, Owen managed to lift Alexia up and set her to stand, albeit unsteadily. Her lower lip trembled and she furrowed her brows as she spoke.

“U-Uncle?” She croaked with a strained voice. He smiled at her and lifted a now swollen and likely broken hand to gently cup her bruised cheek.

“Oh, my little one. You deserve so much better than this…” He managed a weak smile and for a brief shining moment, they both thought they just might make it. That’s when they both heard it. The desperate animalistic howl of a crazed zealot about to lose everything.

[Alexia Longbow]

Dommik lay in a rumpled heap against the thick iron bars. When he finally stirred and began to regain his senses, there was a dull ringing in his unmistakably pointed ears. Snarling, he rose unsteadily to his feet and lumbered over toward the large hole in his building. He peered down just in time to see Alexia hit the ground, taking no small amount of satisfaction from it. With an arrogant ‘hmph’ he turned and headed toward the iron bars. Despite the urgency to recover his lost property, he refused to suffer the indignity of letting himself fall a second time, and out of a building at that. Instead, he barked orders for the cell to be opened, angrily shoving the footman as he passed through.

He threw open doors and raced down the spiral staircase, cursing them under his breath. When he finally reached the bottom, his eyes were wild and almost unseeing with rage. He had tunnel vision only for the little abomination that had eluded him for so long and now, after all he had accomplished in finally catching her, still somehow stood in his way to the perfect dark world he so desperately sought.

“No!” Dommik screamed, his voice losing all pretenses of decorum. “Vermin! Cockroach! You will not escape me!”

Now in the full light of day, the damage from the explosion was in full view. His hair was singed, his clothes still smoked, and on his neck and up one side of his face a nasty burn mark grew red and angry as he. He seemed uninhibited, but rather fueled by his state of disarray. He stormed in the direction in which he saw Alexia crawl away. Before long, he saw her in the distance with a withered old man. With a sneer, he brought his hands together, curving his fingers into a hollow sphere, and growled an incantation. Within the empty space, a ball of sickly green light grew. It crackled and intensified with raw energy until it could no longer be contained within the cage of his fingers.

As he continued to run toward the little fae, he raised his hands behind his head and thrust them toward her, sending the blinding ball of power barreling ahead of him toward Alexia’s still bleeding back. It would have taken a fraction of the power to end her life and it brought a cruel and twisted smile to Dommik’s face.

[Alexia Longbow]

Owen Shadowsoul knew in his dark and twisted heart he had a lot to answer for. He owed the broken little fae before him a lifetime of explanations and he resolved to answer every question she could ever have no matter how difficult or painful it would be. Unfortunately, for both of them, he would never get the chance. Alexia’s confusion matched her uncle’s as they both looked around in search of the demented cry that seemed to fill the air.

The withered old mage was the first to see. Something bright caught his eye and before he could fully react, his long dormant instincts to protect his niece at all costs suddenly awoke. Still holding her cheek, he spread his fingers and gripped the side of her head firmly before putting all his remaining strength into a swiping shove, effectively knocking her back onto the ground. She landed with a small thud and a very surprised squeak. Frightened and hurt and terribly confused, she looked up at her uncle just in time to see him struck in the gut with the full force of Dommik’s attack. The shockwave crackled and spasmed through his body before he simply dropped into a rumpled heap.

“No!” Alexia cried out as she scrambled to his side. Bewildered, she shook her head. Not moments ago their roles had been reversed and now she knew, somehow she just knew, she had very little time to say goodbye.