But the forest’s touch was not easily undone. The more L. returned to the stones, the more her form seemed to fade. Her eyes grew dull, her skin pale. She had given so much to the spirits that a part of her had become like them—distant, untouchable, fading.

The villagers, though they had seen the change, said nothing. They returned to their lives, their windows shut tight against the world beyond. The train’s shrieks grew louder, its cries now a constant, an unending reminder of the price that had been paid.

Stolen story; please report.

And the fairies, once bright, now fluttered in the dark. Their wings, once full of color, grew tattered and torn, their forms fading into the mist. L. had not saved them. She had simply become one of them.