The purple-eyed girl stood frozen, her gaze fixed on the fairy king's outstretched hand, a delicate offering suspended in the air. Yet she showed no inclination to accept it.
Instead, she spoke softly but with unwavering resolve, “I can’t touch you.” Her words hung in the air like a fragile crystal, eliciting a look of bewilderment on the royal face before her; his head tilted in a curious blend of shock and intrigue.
“Hm? Why—” The fairy king began, his voice trailing off as the blue pixie suddenly zipped in like a shooting star, colliding with his hand in a flurry of iridescent wings and glittering dust. In her tiny bravado, she attempted to thwart any possibility of contact between the king and the girl.
“Hey! You could’ve hurt yourself!” The fairy king’s reprimand was both bemused and exasperated, his tone rich with concern as he pointed out the folly of her actions. But before he could finish, the spirited sprite shot back at him, hands planted firmly on her hips, her brows knitted in fierce defiance.
It appears she turned the tables around on him instead. An intense cacophony of ringing and jangling erupted from her, like a tempest of tiny bells caught in a whirlwind, underscoring the tension in the air.
The fairy king maintained an air of calm nonchalance, his demeanor as unruffled as a still pond, even in the face of the blue pixie’s aggressive antics and sharp gestures. It was as if he were a seasoned performer accustomed to the unpredictable whims of his spirited audience.
Iris couldn’t help but marvel at the striking contrast before her; the pixie, small yet fierce, radiated a wild energy that seemed almost formidable. She’s somehow scarier than him, Iris mused as her gaze flit between the two.
He stood in serene silence as absorbed the melodic chime of bells that danced around him like playful sprites, offering brief nods to her gestures toward the unconscious girl and the peculiar state of their surroundings.“It appears I have overlooked dear Yzen's vital reminder about you,” he said, his voice smooth as silk yet laced with an undercurrent of gravity.
His gaze shifted back to the girl he had named, now sharpened with newfound focus and intensity. A gentle smile adorned his lips, but in the depths of his eyes flickered a subtle chill, like the first breath of winter whispering through a sunlit meadow.
It’s almost as if he’s staring at me with contempt, she thought—a shiver racing down her spine at the unsettling realization. There was no denying the shift in his gaze; it now held a deep reservoir of emotions that sent ripples of unease through her.
Sensing the sudden shift in mood, the girl felt the unmistakable weight of disdain and disfavor radiating from the fairy king like a chilling breeze on a warm day. A flicker of fear danced in her chest, igniting her instincts to retreat.
She quickly replied, her voice tinged with urgency, “Ah... yes! Then I suppose I don't have to explain why I can’t shake your hand.” Her words tumbled forth like leaves caught in a gust of wind, each syllable a delicate attempt to sidestep the storm brewing in his gaze.
Clearly sensing the sudden change in mood and attitude brought about by him, the king swiftly retracted his hand—"My mistake. I would like you to follow me," he said, his voice taking on a warmer, more cordial lilt, as if he were trying to sweep away the oppressive clouds of tension and invite in a ray of sunshine.
“To where?” The girl hesitated, a whirlwind of thoughts swirling in her mind. She remained crouched for a moment longer, feeling the cool earth beneath her palms—a grounding reminder of her reality. Doubt gnawed at her; what awaited her beyond this moment?
With each passing second, the weight of his gaze pressed upon her like a heavy cloak. She could almost hear the distant echoes of her own heartbeat thudding in her ears, urging her to make a choice. Finally, summoning every ounce of courage she could muster, she slowly unfurled herself from her crouched position like a delicate flower reaching for the light.
“Meet the Highland Councils,” the king declared, his tone firm and resolute, echoing with the weight of ancient authority. The words hung in the air like an incantation—leaving no room for argument or negotiation.
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The air was different here—lighter, humming with energy. She had followed Argastal, the fairy king who had reluctantly allowed her presence, after the cautious introduction orchestrated by the blue pixie.
Yzen hovered slightly a distance away beside her, her tiny form now more at ease. She even chirped and squeaked to the male spirit in what seemed like an explanation. Iris didn’t know what Yzen was saying, but she hoped it was something good. Her heart warmed as she saw the pixie’s once hostile eyes now glancing at her with what seemed like a hint of sympathy—or, at the very least, less anger.
Argastal felt a mixture of emotions and feelings stirring within him as he led the girl whom he had named Iris to their destination, the magical inhabitants of the ethereal highland's substratum.
Her presence already drew curious glances like moths to a flickering flame; it was wise to guide her to the elders. Yet, he couldn’t help but anticipate the interesting reactions that would surely follow.
The fairy king’s attention flickered to the gloomy figure trailing behind him, her appearance and expression mirroring the withering life that surrounded them—a living shadow amidst the vibrant chaos. She was trying desperately to shake off the weight of guilt that clung to her like morning mist. The aura of melancholy radiating from her seemed to harmonize with the dark trail she left in her wake, each step a soft echo of sorrow.
Iris moved with a fierce determination, her focused expression set like stone. She placed each foot down deliberately—toes touching first, as if she were tiptoeing through a garden of fragile dreams. Her efforts were palpable; she fought against the decay that threatened to seep from her very being.
The sight of her determined yet forlorn expression stirred a tempest of questions within the fairy king. How could one so seemingly fragile wield such potent powers? Does she truly command them in the first place? The question lingered in the air, unanswered, as he pondered the enigma before him.
Suspicion clouded his thoughts, a veil of prejudice that he felt justified in casting over her existence. Could this be a clever ruse? he mused, wondering if she was merely playing the part of the innocent. Yet, as he continued to observe her, Argastal's indifference began to wane.
The ancient wisdom granted to him as an elder of the forest sharpened his perception, allowing him to sense the energies swirling around those in his presence. What he perceived was unsettling: a mauve-hued aura enveloped Iris like a stormy mist, a menacing haze that pulsed with aggression toward everything around her while paradoxically cradling her in its embrace.
It was a vile energy, both beautiful and terrifying, whispering secrets of turmoil and conflict that danced just beneath her surface.
In the midst of the vibrant, kaleidoscopic forest, Iris stood out like a solitary storm cloud against a cerulean sky. Her very presence seemed to clash with the jubilant atmosphere and the natural symphony of life that thrived around her. It was as if she were an anomaly—a whisper of darkness in a realm bursting with color and vitality, her essence appearing almost incompatible with the exuberant ecosystem.
She is an oddity, the energy that radiated from her possessed a dark, malevolent tint, reminiscent of ancient magic long forgotten. To compound her strangeness, she speaks in an archaic jargon that flowed naturally on the tongue.
The fairy king's keen gaze followed the trail of withering life left in her wake—a stark contrast to the flourishing flora that surrounded them. Where vibrant greens and lively blooms once flourished, now lay evidence of decay. Yet, curiously, this ominous aura treated her differently; it enveloped her like a soft-hearted mist, cradling her in a gentle embrace rather than inflicting harm.
Could it possibly be a warding shield? A flicker of contemplation sparked in his eyes as the fairy king abruptly halted in his tracks. The girl behind him reacted with alarm—instinctively stepping back to distance herself from him as if to avoid any potential contact with the unsettling energy that seemed to swirl around her.
His gaze flickered to the greenery around them. The vibrant life of his beloved forest withered in her wake, drained of its essence like a flower deprived of sunlight. The sight unsettled him deeply; he cherished the tranquility and harmony that had once enveloped the woodland, a serene sanctuary now marred by her presence.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“Woah!” The sudden halt caught her off guard, and startled exclamations tumbled from her lips as she nearly stumbled backward. “Oh, why did we stop? H-have we arrived already?” Iris asked, her voice flustered and tinged with confusion.
It was as if the very air crackled with tension, shadows lengthening in response to his agitation. I must gain a better understanding of this strange phenomenon.
“Not quite,” the male spirit replied, his smile all too familiar yet insincere, a mask that hinted at something else. It was clear he had conjured a sudden idea to act upon. “We are still far from our destination. I believe a break would serve us well,” he suggested, his tone firm but edged with agitation as he gestured toward the inviting shade of a grand oak tree, its branches sprawling like welcoming arms.
Iris's heart fluttered anxiously at the thought of approaching the vibrant tree, its lively rustle seeming to whisper secrets she wasn't ready to hear. “I’m quite alright just sitting here,” she replied with a faint smile, crouching down where she stood—as if trying to blend into the earth itself.
"If you insist," the spirit agreed, with a playful and welcoming tone in his voice rather than one that was demanding or insistent. With a graceful flick of his wrist, the fairy king glided toward the majestic oak tree, its sprawling branches casting playful shadows on the forest floor. His body illuminated a soft glow under the shaded spot where the tree provided protection from the harsh sun rays.
After settling into the cool embrace of the oak tree's shade, the fairy king cast a subtle nod toward the blue pixie trailing them at a distance, a silent signal to keep a watchful eye on the girl. Yzen seized this opportunity—her mischievous spirit igniting as she plotted to use her adorable appearance to charm Iris and uncover her secrets.
The fairy king's blue eyes flickered toward the crouching girl, absorbing the harsh sunlight that bathed her in an unforgiving glow.
She may remain calm, or she may lash out, he mused, his gaze steady yet cautious as he silently braced for any sudden shift in her demeanor.
As moments slipped by, the girl remained quiet and uncomplaining, sparking a flicker of intrigue within Argastal. Perhaps she truly is cursed? he pondered, his thoughts drifting through a labyrinth of uncertainty. Or maybe she’s more resilient than I initially believed. Yet that notion quickly faded, overshadowed by a rising tide of skepticism that clung to his mind like morning fog.
The fairy king watched with keen interest as the blue-flamed pixie flitted around Iris, her movements a whirlwind of mischief and grace. The scene was both captivating and tinged with a mean-spirited edge as Yzen danced through the air—her laughter ringing like chimes in the breeze. She showered herself with extravagant praise while playfully mocking Iris's apparent confusion, her voice a melodic taunt that sparkled with delight.
“Me? A flower?” The girl asked rhetorically, her tone a curious blend of puzzlement and intrigue. The blue-flamed pixie shook her head emphatically, her iridescent wings shimmering as she attempted to explain the floral origins of the young girl’s name.
“Iris, the name I’ve chosen for you is that of a flower,” Argastal interjected, his voice smooth and melodic as he sensed Yzen’s growing frustration with Iris’s obliviousness.
“Really?” the girl exclaimed softly, her interest piqued by Argastal's revelation. Her eyes flitted toward a vibrant wildflower still blooming defiantly in the shadow of her tainted energy. Pointing at it with a spark of hope, she asked, “Is this an Iris?”
“What? No!” came the indignant reply from the blue pixie, her voice laced with disbelief as if the very idea were an affront to her sensibilities. The thought of her king naming a mortal carelessly after a simple overgrown seemed to ignite her ire.
“Do you honestly think King Argastal would bless you with a name so utterly ridiculous?” Yzen huffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she crossed her arms, wings fluttering in exasperation. “You're lucky to even have a name from that of a flower. As if he’d waste such a beautiful title on someone who can’t even grasp its significance!” The pixie's eyes sparkled with a mixture of respect for the king’s wisdom and offense at Iris’s apparent ignorance, as if the very idea were an affront to the delicate artistry of names bestowed by royalty.
Yet, as Yzen’s words spilled forth, they morphed into an enchanting melody, a strange mix of chimes and bells that danced in the air—fading into inaudibility for the girl.
“Yzen.” Argastal called out, his voice resonating with authority and a stern warning, like the crack of thunder in a clear sky. It was a reminder to temper her exuberance and not to overstep her bounds. In response, the pixie merely pouted—her lips forming a delicate frown as her wings drooped slightly, the vibrant blue shimmering with a hint of defiance.
“O-oh? It’s not?” The girl asked, her voice quivering with a blend of confusion and trepidation as she sensed the subtle tension crackling in the air between the two. “Well, it’s fine! I’m sure an iris is beautiful if you’re explaining it so passionately.” She attempted to lighten the mood, her smile brightening her face as she clasped her hands together in earnest hope. Maybe iris is her favourite flower.
Yzen, feeling a flicker of guilt tugging at her heart, huffed softly and flitted away in a graceful swirl of sparkling light, leaving behind a shimmering trail of glittering dust that hung in the air like fleeting stars.
Argastal sighed, the weight of his responsibilities pressing heavily upon him. He was not one to reign over his subjects with an iron fist, especially given their shared history. It was a truth he had to confront: their open crudeness toward anything they deemed different was a reflection of his own shortcomings.
Yzen’s boundless energy and passion in her interactions with the girl could easily become problematic, especially with the language barrier looming between them. The fairy king pondered this, recognizing the pixie's haughty demeanor and childlike antics stemmed from her excitement at meeting Iris. Her rude remarks were merely the clumsy expressions of someone lacking social finesse.
His thoughts were confirmed when he recalled that it was Yzen herself who had requested his guidance in leading the young girl.
The pixie swiftly returned in a blink of an eye, her translucent wings fluttering and leaving behind a glimmering trail of silver dust from their flapping motion. In her hand was a plucked iris flower, the sight eliciting a faint smile and expression of interest from Iris who watched her approach.
Oh? It seems she’s trying a different approach to befriend her now, Argastal thought, feeling a spark of hope ignite within him at Yzen's unexpected initiative.
The blue pixie gracefully placed the plucked iris flower on the ground with a proud and self-satisfied smirk on her face, eliciting a delighted and cheerful reaction from the girl named Iris. The young girl clapped her hands in response, expressing her positive thoughts and feelings towards the blue pixie's quick search and effort in obtaining the flower and presenting it to her.
"Is that an iris? It's so pretty!" the girl exclaimed, a smile spreading across her face as a sense of warmth and satisfaction filled her heart. The gesture made her heart swell; it was such a simple, beautiful offering.
Without thinking, still wrapped in that moment of joyful warmth, Iris reached out. She wanted to feel it—to let her senses drink in the flower’s softness and experience the closeness she so deeply craved. Her hand moved almost of its own accord, her fingertips brushing against the tender stem. But in an instant—her joy shattered.
The petals darkened, their vibrant indigo fading as if they had been touched by frost. The stem twisted and shriveled beneath her fingers, crumbling inwards like a leaf too long exposed to winter’s chill. Iris watched in horror as the fragile beauty in her hand disintegrated, wilting into nothing more than dust.
It felt like the world had dropped out from under her. All the color drained from her face, leaving her skin pale, a stark, sickly contrast to the bright glow of happiness she’d felt just moments before. "Ah... Oh no..." she gasped, her voice trembling, barely a whisper as her breath hitched. "I... I killed it."
Her hands began to shake, and her eyes widened, purple irises shimmering with tears that welled up, ready to spill over. She felt a knot tighten painfully in her chest, her heart sinking as a crushing weight pressed down on her. The memory of the raccoon—its bright eyes turning dull, its small body going cold—rushed back to her, and a sense of deep, gnawing fear enveloped her.
Iris glanced at Yzen, her eyes searching the pixie's face for understanding, for forgiveness. Her voice was barely held together, cracking under the weight of her shame and desperation. "And y-you... were so kind enough to get the flower for me, and I just... I just touched it without thinking..." She choked on her words, her voice breaking, a sob caught in her throat.
Yzen had recoiled in horror the moment the flower began to wither, fear and shock etched across her delicate features as it disintegrated into nothingness before it even touched the forest floor. The vibrant petals crumbled like fragile dreams—leaving only a whisper of their beauty behind.
Argastal, too, was in disbelief, his heart heavy with the weight of the scene unfolding before him. He watched as the darkness consumed the iris with alarming swiftness—a mere brush of the girl’s fingertip enough to unleash its malevolence. Even after witnessing the shadows she left in her wake, he was unprepared for the ease with which life could be snuffed out by her presence.
As if sensing the weight of the fairy king's intense gaze, Iris turned to face him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I’m sorry... I really didn’t mean to,” she stammered, her voice quivering as panic surged within her heart like a rising tide. A storm of questions swirled in her mind: Do they resent me now? They must think I’m dangerous.
Each thought crashed against her like waves against a rocky shore, leaving her feeling increasingly adrift in a sea of fear and uncertainty.
Her fear became palpable as she locked onto the cold gaze of the fairy king, a chilling intensity that seemed to pierce through her very soul. There was something in his eyes—disgust, or at least that’s how she perceived it.
A wave of shame washed over Iris, heavy and suffocating. Sure, it wasn’t as catastrophic as the last time; no one had died this time. Yet even that thought twisted in her mind as it serve as a cruel reminder of her mistake.
A palpable shift rippled through the air, an unseen force stirring as the atmosphere thickened. Unbeknownst to Iris, the malevolent energy around her began to swirl and twist—responding to the surge of her intense emotions like a storm drawn to the heart of a tempest.
At that moment, a deep and familiar chuckle echoed softly behind her ear—a sound both soothing and warm, wrapping around her like a comforting embrace before everything faded to black.