Wow, I am starving. Did I forget to eat all day again? I open my eyes to another new ceiling. Wood this time. Alright, which motel did I wind up… is this a hammock? Wait…

Oh. Oh-OH, that’s right I, uh, died. Kind of. Died-ish. Oof. Well, that’s… a thing.

I stare up at the ceiling for a few minutes, thinking about everything that’s happened. I keep expecting the other shoe to drop and, I don’t know, throw me into an existential crisis? But no, nothing. Even speaking out of turn around the king was more stressful. I didn’t even panic about being stuck on a stick. I guess I’m just like that?

“Que sera sera,” I mutter with a shrug. Oh well! There’s no sense worrying about stuff you can’t help, and even less sense worrying about not worrying about that! Or worse, worrying my sister about it.

I slide the rose petal off of me, then stand up and stretch. It’s amazing how normal my wings feel to me, like it’s no stranger to see them or move them about than it is my arms and legs.

Not that this body is completely without its learning curves. It took me about an hour to figure out I’m supposed to sleep on my stomach and that I’m too light for my weight to be a concern when doing so.

It took another hour because I liked to sleep in the dark back on Earth, and apparently this soft pale aura of mine is both involuntary and permanent. I’m a living nightlight, and there is no off switch. That’s going to take some getting used to.

It looks like Belladonna is already up, so I fly down through the gap in the floor to the dining area.

“Morning, Bella!” I call out as I spot her in a nook on the dining wall, working her way through a colossal blueberry. Ah, no, wait, that’s a regular blueberry, damn we are tiny! She is never going to finish that, it’s bigger than she is!

She smiles and waves a purple-stained hand as I fly in. This place is neat, it’s like there are little restaurant booths carved right into the wall. Wait, is that…?

“Good morning, Liandan,” Rocket greets from a larger nook further down the wall before taking a sip out of a wooden teacup. It looks like she’s having another mushroom for breakfast today.

“Miss Rocket!” I welcome. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon! Weren’t you going to send someone to check up on us in the morning?”

“A change in plans,” she says, putting down her cup. “I’ve been assigned by the king to be the guardian of you and your sister, so I’ll be staying for the next few years at least.”

Surprise, happiness, a bit of confusion. Yeah, I share the sentiment, sis. “So… does that make you our mom?”

Rocket froze with sudden realization. Silence ensued.

AWKWARDNESS.

Bella! That is not helping! Aw crap, I hope this isn’t some kind of endless empathic feedback loop. ‘Dying of embarrassment’ is not supposed to be literal!

Rocket breaks the pregnant pause a few seconds later. “I… suppose it does.”

Right, time to change the-“AAH!” I yelp, interrupted mid-thought by an instantaneous shift in Belladonna’s mood followed by getting tackled mid-air into Rocket.

Affection radiates off my twin as she attempts to hug me and the larger woman at once, pressing us together with rapid wingbeats as she nuzzles the larger woman.

“Oh, now you’re feeling huggy?” I teasingly pout. I tried to sound hurt by that, but even without the empathic link I’m pretty sure I failed, and she just sniggers at the jest and pats me on the back.

“Alright, alright,” Rocket says in a tired but patient tone, wearing a slim smile. She grabs Bella’s wings between two fingers and pulls her away gently. And it’s damn unnerving. The scales here are super uncomfortable. It’s like watching a female titan pulling down someone’s hood, and she has to be less than a foot tall! It’s just another item on the ever-growing list of things I’m going to have to get used to, but boy does it make me want to grow up all the faster.

“We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other. I have a few things I need to teach you today,” Rocket says.

“Okay, but I’m really hungry, so I’d like to eat first,” I reply.

“Of course.”

“Is that tea? Can I have some?”

“Oh, not this cup,” she laughs. “This is monkshood tea.”

“So… wolfsbane. That was your birth flower, right? You’re the poison expert, so I’m guessing you’re immune to it, but isn’t that a little… cannibalistic?”

“No. We’re born from flowers, we aren’t flowers ourselves,” she explains. “I’m not completely sure how it works without the system, but we inherit certain traits from our mother flowers. I’m immune to monkshood and resistant to other poisons.

“You two were born from nightshade, so you should be immune to it, and resistant to other poisons.”

Oh, I adore this woman. This is fascinating! “Ooh! So, how strong is this resistance? What’s the LD50 here? What’s the prospect on mithridatism with this? Does that work on chronic poisons like arsenic, or heavy metals like lead? Is this like monarch butterflies eating milkweed to become poisonous? What are-”

“Liandan!” Rocket scolds. “One question at a time. Let’s see…

“You start with a mild resistance and can build it up, and it works on all poisons, or at least it did while the system was up. And yes, as fairies born from poisonous plants, our blood is toxic, unlike a fairy born from cherry. Eating and drinking poisons enhances that.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“I’ve been doing this for a long time, and my blood is particularly lethal. Do NOT drink my tea, it’s too strong for you.”

“Yes ma’am,” I say sheepishly.

Rocket sighs. “If you’re really that interested, I’ll start planning out a regimen for you,”

“Could you?” I ask. Hey, at this size I’ll take any advantage I can get, even if it’s just ‘I taste nasty and it’ll kill you if you try to eat me.’

“Sure, but for now go join Belladonna, I doubt she’s going to finish that blueberry.”

With that I tuck in and start eating the fruit with my hands, being extra careful not to touch my dress. I’d asked before, but apparently even fairies had a hard time making utensils for people as small as myself.

I liked blueberries well enough as a human, but it tastes so much better now. Different tongue, different tastes I guess. It isn’t long before I’ve had my fill. Very carefully, due to the surface tension, I rinse my hands in one of the beads of water in one of the smaller dining nooks.

After breakfast, Rocket sat us down for a talk. “The King brought a guest after I returned last night,” she announces. “She’s here to deliver something. Before you meet her, though, I have to teach you about how to act around outsiders. There are a few rules you need to follow.”

Curiosity and apprehension flashes through Belladonna as we nod in unison. As for me I’m feeling more curious than apprehensive about that. Is this part of some kind of tradition? Maybe a reporter? I have no clue.

“Rule one: don’t use your true names around them. As spirits, we’re subject to summoning rituals, and if the mortals learn your true name, they can attempt to summon you specifically.” I raise my hand, and Rocket gives me a curious look. “Liandan, what are you doing with your arm?”

“I have a question!”

“Okay, why would that make you raise your arm?”

“Wait, what? So we don’t need to…” I think out loud.

This is a different culture; another world entirely. There’s no reason to assume they’d have the same traditions. Raising one’s hand when needing to ask a question was learned behavior. I’m an idiot.

“… never mind,” I say sheepishly. “But is there any way to defend against getting summoned?”

“Sure. Just hit ‘no’ on the menu to decline the summons,” Rocket answers. I give her a flat look and wait for the penny to drop, and it doesn’t take long for her brow to rise in realization. “Ah! Right, no system. All the more important not to use your true name.”

“Yeah, that sounds important,” I say. Bella nods in agreement. Conditions six and seven might mean the worst case scenarios are eliminated, but getting summoned definitely sounds bad.

Sure, the best case scenario is getting summoned, putting some cash under a pillow and swiping a tooth on the behalf of some random parent, and then getting unsummoned right back home. A little annoying, but no big deal.

It’s every other scenario that concerns me.

For starters, we’re tiny. That’s a massive problem for personal protection. I’m not sure what our defenses look like in our homeland, but by Earth logic even the biggest of us, sans King Finvarra, would lose a fight to an average sized dog. Just because you can’t be stripped of your free will doesn’t mean you can’t be made into someone’s pet.

Even I was cool with some kid going ’Liandan, I choose you!’, unsummoning would have to be a thing. If it’s not, well, let’s assume this world is the same size as good old Earth was.

Imagine living in Cardiff and winding up in Melbourne, and then having to walk and row your butt all the way back to go home. No, at my size it’s more like walking a lap around a temperate sun. And that’s assuming you even know the way! S-C-REW that!

“Yes, which is why we use false names around them,” Rocket says. “Which means we’ll need to come up with one for each of you. Liandan, the king recommended the name ‘Phoenix’ for you.”

‘Phoenix,’ huh? A bird, a flying creature, who dies in flame and is reborn from the ashes. I can’t deny it’s fitting. Still, Finvarra gave me my true name, kind of. I’d rather not take his suggestion for this one too.

“Well, it’s apt, but isn’t that a bit… grandiose?” I ask, turning to my twin. “I’d rather you name me, sis.”

Sparkling eyes. Giddiness. Excitement. Enthusiasm.

Oh no.

She points to Rocket and nods. “Feemee!” she exclaims before frowning at her attempted pronunciation.

Really? Et tu, Belladonna? With a loud sigh I relent, “Fine, fine, I’ll take that as an alias, but for short call me ‘Nyx.’” Feeney would sound a bit too much like a 90s schoolteacher. “We still need one for you, sis. Any suggestions, Miss Rocket?”

“None that the king gave,” she replies. “We’ll have to come up with one.”

“Okay, let’s think,” I say.

Okay, think fae. Modern fae, clearly, because I’m not naming my adorable sister after a redcap or something. Not that I know my mythology well enough to name one. Do named redcaps even exist? Those are goblins, right? Are goblins fae?

Maybe Morgan, after Morgan le Fay? Morgana? No, no, too evil, that would set a bad precedent. Giving Bella an alias based on a villain sounds like a good way to hose our relationship from the jump.

Titania? That’s the Fairy Queen in Shakespeare’s… something or other, right? Nah, it’s not like I’d hate the idea of naming my sister after royalty, but that’s probably taken. Maybe a variation? Titania Scarlet? Hah, maybe if fairies had tails!

There’s something else. Queen Mab? Yeah, that’s another one. Was that Celtic or Shakespearian? Hm, still probably taken. A variation would be… oh, I like that.

“How about ‘Mabel?’” I suggest. Heh, calling my happy-go-lucky sister living in the woods with magical stuff ‘Mabel.’ Yeah, that’s fitting. The more I think about it the more I like it.

Fortunately, she seems to agree, judging by the smiling nod she gives me.

“‘Mabel’ and ‘Phoenix’ work,” Rocket says. “You can change those as you need to, only your original names are permanent, but stick with those for now. My false name is Wolfsbane, so please call me that around foreigners.

“Now, the person you’re going to meet is under the king’s supervision, so no pranking her just yet. I know you’re going to want to put mites in her hair or hide her clothes or telekinetically steal her possessions, but-“

“Wait! Wait! Wait a moment,” I interject. “’Telekinetically’? We can use telekinesis?”

“Well, yes. All fairies can.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t use spells without the system?”

“It’s not a spell,” Rocket says. “It doesn’t have any interface or incantations or keywords, it’s just something we can do.”

“How is that not magic?” I groan.

Darn it, Albert, this is your stupid system’s fault, isn’t it? Gah, I’m starting to see why future me would have taken umbrage with the man.

So, magic is a thing, 100%. Magic with the system had been a thing, 100%. Spellcraft and magic were not considered mutually inclusive. Makes sense. But they seriously considered any magic outside of rituals and the system as ‘not magic’? Good grief! What’s this ‘it’s not magic, it’s waterbending’ tripe?! That! Is! Not! Physics!

Ugh, if I had another ten conditions, then I definitely would have added a ‘No ‘biters’ instead of ‘zombies’’ condition to the list. Sad to say with one condition left I’m just going to have to deal with that. I still don’t know what the limiter on me is, but the rain check is a precious resource I can’t afford to burn for anything less than a catastrophic event or oversight.

Just then, there’s a knock on the door. “That’ll be the outsider,” Rocket says. “We can talk more about magic later.”

She looks down to the door below, then moves a hand as if reaching for it. She swipes her hand toward the center of the room, and the door swings open. “Come in!” she announces as she flies to greet the guest and motions for Bella and me to follow. We do so.

She stops in midair a meter from the door with her arms folded and a look of suspicion on her face that she makes no attempt to hide.

“Thank you. Are these they?” a woman’s voice asks as she steps into view.

She’s wearing a white robe under an amber-gold skirt that matches her eyes, which are slitted like a cat’s or, more aptly, a fox’s, judging by the fluffy appendages trailing behind her. Her skirt has several pockets visible on the side, and a canvas pouch hanging at her hip.

I’d expected a human, or maybe an elf. I hadn’t expected a redheaded woman with fox ears, twintails, and twin tails.

If she uses those as rotary wings, I’m going back to bed.