They’re talking about me, I just know it. These big ol’ listen flaps can hear ‘em from a mile away. It’s not my fault I’ve got magic, or that it was so, well, wild when I was a child. Though I guess that’s not even what they’re talking about this time. Of course it’s the hoity-toities from the Courts. They’re on about how I’m a mongrel, and us Clocktoks don’t deserve to even live at the edges of the Courts. I’d show them a thing or two, but then Momster and Pops would just get more flak, and less business.

I guess I’ve got nothing to prove. I’m one of a handful of us that can go into the ‘Twixt. And! I can bring along a pal. Of course, the only pal I’ve really got is Littlebit, but she’s so great. I can’t imagine needing anyone else really. So yeah! Forget them and their snobby attitudes. I don’t care what they think about my gorgeous mottled skin. I’m happy in my skin, and that’s what really matters. Right?

Gazing down, I take myself in. The aquamarine runes glow just a bit, always. The shades of teal that make up my—whaddaya call it? Epidermis?—outsides are some of my favorite colors anyway. Sure I’m a shorty, but Gramps on Mom’s side was a Fey-Gobbo, and on Pop’s side, Gramps is a Fey-Hobgobbo. Of course I was gonna be short. Well, at least a fifty fifty chance. Gram and Grammy-two are somethin’ else though. I think that somethin’ else is what makes me able to enter the ‘Twixt. We never see Gram or Grammy anymore. Not since way back.

Littlebit doesn’t like to talk about it. I think maybe she’s afraid she might lose me like I lost them, with me spending years in the ‘Twixt every now and then. It’s just so fun to be in there though. I understand why Gram and Grammy haven’t come back. Or if they have, that they’ve only snuck in to spend time with Gramps and Gramps, and left again without saying a word.

I mean, imagine it. Right? A whole little world, made just for me. All the adventures I could dream up, thrown at me at random? Yes-please! Plus, I don’t gotta deal with these Court bozos in there. Nyeh, none of them can make it inside unless I invite ‘em, and I ain’t doin’ that. I only ever invite Littlebit. She’s my best bestie. Well, I guess she’s my only bestie. She hasn’t accepted my invite yet, but I think she’s warming up to the idea.

I wonder what she’s up to today. She’s so cute when she’s all soot-stained and oil-smeared, working on her clankers. Is it weird that I think she’s cute? She’s got more muscles than me, but she’s still soft all over. Wait. Should I be thinking about how my bestie feels? I like when she shows off her little muscles and lets me squeeze her biceps. But mostly I just like watching her while she rambles about her inventions. She’s really the best. Her bright smile painted across her cute clover face is always so wide and cheery. I feel all warm and fuzzy inside every time I see it. It’s the best feeling ever.

My prank starts in a couple of minutes, but when it’s done, I’m totes gonna check in on Bitty. Dunno how more metal stuff keeps showing up in that weird scrap heap at the edge of the Courts, but I’m sure she’ll be digging around in there for parts for her Clankers or other inventions. In fact, I’m positive. She heads there like clockwork, every morning, right after breakfast. I should know. My whole family is clockmakers after all. Well, except me. I’m an urban-bountyhunter extraordinaire! Or at least, that’s what I call myself.

To everyone else, I’m probably, “That bothersome sorceress,” or something. Even to Momster and Pops. I mean, they say they love me, but the long silent glances at each other when I gab to them just kinda hurt. They’ve never yelled at me for my magic, even when it caused us problems when I was tiny, before I got it under control. I can’t help feeling like they resent me somehow though. Or are disappointed in me. Maybe they wish they had Bitty for a daughter instead of me, since she’s more interested in machines and clockwork.

Huh, my face is wet. Sniffle. Um, right, anyway. Let’s just say that, um, oh wait, pranking time! Whee hehe! Just like clockwork as well, Artemis—my pet goose—comes streaking out into the square, leaping off the balcony, honking, startled by the whoopee cushion I set to be triggered by the lodestone when the candle burned through the string. Tehe, poor Artemis. I’ll make it up to him later.

Chasing after my buddy, I call out, “Look out, goose on the loose, and he’s in a fowl mood!”

I can’t help giggling maniacally in my head. I don’t care what anyone says. I love a good play on words. With just a little magic, a spritz of prestidigitation, and some good ol’ fashioned chutzpah, I get ol’ Artie here to zig and zag for maximum chaos across the square. Everyone knows what time my pranks are, so, y’know, they could be prepared for them. But no one’s prepared for the goose’ish exhibition. Or for my goose to go fishin’. Not even me in the case of that last part.

A bit dismayed, I call out, “Artie no, leave the koi alone! We’ve got food at home!”

Oh man. I’m gonna get in big trouble if Artemis actually manages to catch one of them. Running up close to snag my pal in a big hug, since he’s about as big as me, I wrap my arms around his torso and clasp my hands together to keep his wings furled. I’m hastily dragging him away from the pond, but I’m not as strong as Bitty. She’s, well, she’s so great. Oh wait, no time to get moony-eyed Tiktik, come on, get a grip gal! And by that, I mean get a better grip on Artie. He’s dragging us both into the pond.

As I skid and falter forward, I go tumbling into the pond at the edge of the square. It’s only a couple feet deep, but that’s all it takes to completely submerge a Fey-goblin shorty like me. Coughing and sputtering, I let loose my grip on Artemis so I can stand on my tiptoes to get my head above water. When my vision clears of the blur, I see Artemis floating nearby nibbling on the lily-pads, not the fish, thankfully.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

I also unfortunately see the attention I’ve gained, and all the snobs of the courts pointing at me and laughing at my limp mound of wild, wet, orange hair. Not to mention my soaked-through robes clinging to me and showing off a bit more of my form—its curves more specifically—than even I’m comfortable with. I’m happy with my looks—impish though they might be—but I really don’t want all the snooty dinks from the Courts knowing all of my measurements. Flustered, I clamber out of the pond, and magic up a little ol’ fireball. Well, firebolt. Holding it menacingly, I wear a mischievous grin.

That shuts up all of the non-mages in the square, and helps me dry off. I don’t throw it at anyone or anything. I’m not a menace, or a monster. I don’t wanna hurt anyone. My motto for pranking is, “Confuse, don’t abuse.” The few with magical prowess that hang about look down their noses at me, but they don’t deign to comment. Rescinding my magic back into the ether, the flame poofs harmlessly.

Despite wearing my smile proudly, I feel a bit lousy inside. My prank barely had an impact. It brought no smiles except for those sneers at my misfortune in the pond. All I really wanna do is make people chuckle or smile or brighten their day a little bit. I could zap ‘em with my smily-wand, but that’s not the same thing. A few seconds of forced smiling doesn’t really count.

I dunno if I should even go see Bitty when I feel down in the dumps like this. Maybe I’ll cheer up some if I read some stories to the kids in the library? They always like tales of swords and sorcery. I hear Gram used to read to them, but since she went missing, no one else bothered to, so it really is down to me. I can’t let my audience down now, can I? The show must go on!

Ah who am I kidding. I’ll be lucky if there’s even three kids wanting storytime right now. Unless… Glancing up, I see an illusion of our illustrious leaders, Ol’ Mabby, Oberon, Anubis, and Bastet, warning about some nonsense about that Celestial Imperium place outside the Fey’s Wilds. I mean, yeah I probably wouldn’t visit any place as stuffy as that sounds, if I ever left the Wilds.

Why would I ever leave though? Even if we are the lowest of the low in these stupid socio-political games they call The Courts, The Fey’s Wilds are my home. My fam is here. Artemis’s sudden honk, seemingly in agreement to my silent thoughts, nearly spooks the pants off me. Well, it would if I were wearing any. Artemis pads his way back towards home on his webbed feet. My home, our home. A home I can’t imagine leaving.

If I did have to leave, I’d probably go southwest, and head towards Aasimovia. I hear the humanfolk have some nice villages out that way. I know at least one is run by an old lady or two. Wouldn’t it be cool if it turned out that Grammy one or two was out there, masquerading as a human, mayoring some town? If nothing else, humans old enough to be grandparents might be kinder leaders than Fey old enough to be grandparents, what with our longevity and all. A human’s that much closer to their expiration date. So wouldn’t they get, y’know, nicer as they got older?

Though the only human I really know much about is that one weirdo that comes through pretty often. They don’t seem to ever get older. That’s pretty weird for a human, or so I hear. They stayed in the Wilds once. I think they were trying to learn magic, despite their claim that magic doesn’t exist. I mean, can you imagine? Not believing in magic, when a thousand magical beings are wandering around right around you? Let alone the fact that some of us literally have spells and enchanting abilities and stuff. And! And I can travel to a whole other realm that makes itself up as I journey in it!

Okay, I mean, sure, books do that for anyone, but I don’t mean books, I mean the ‘Twixt. You can’t tell me that’s not magical somehow. Plus, I mean, I literally cast spells. If I ever meet that goon, I’ll show ‘em magic is real. Not sure why so many of the other Fey don’t do something to prove it. I mean, who was teaching them magic without showing them actual magic? Oh wait, what if they have like—I dunno—an antimagic zone around them or something. I shudder, imagining it must feel awful to be around that person if so.

To be cut off from magic, and maybe even look or be almost human instead of some cute Fey? Brr. Still, I don’t think that’s the case either. It’d have been bigger news, fam and friends would warn each other to stay away from that wandering stranger. I think they’re an assassin from the Veil. Or is it the Vale? Hidden Behind the Veil within Vale Valley or something like that is their group name. What’s up with that anyway? We’ve got the Hidden At the Heart of the Fey’s Wilds, the Hidden Behind the Veil, and the Sisters Hidden In the Mists.

Oh that last one is unfortunate. Hehe. I’d better not say it as an acronym. Wait, I’m distracting myself from feeling mopey. Well, I mean, I guess that’s a good thing, probably. I mean, who wants to be mopey, y’know? That’d be dopey. I roll my eyes at my own internal rhyme. Still, I’m not up to my usual standard of cheerfulness, and I don’t wanna bring Bitty down, so I’ll go read to the rugrats for a while first.

Wringing out the last bit of water from my damp robes, I glance around at the Square Commons, between the uninhabited Elder Trees at this edge of The Courts. The firefly lanterns cast dancing little glows that illuminate our verdant realm in its lack of sunlight beneath the overly-dense canopy. That canopy protects us from the “stinging wet,” as some call it. There’s some kind of acid-like storm, always, over our whole world, and The Fey’s Wilds is the only safe place aboveground, thanks to our illustrious Archfey. I guess that bit is rather nice of them. I’d rather not have every path between homes—trees—be sticky stinging mud all the time.

As is, I have enough trouble getting around with my short li’l legs. Maybe I should ask Bitty to invent some sort of big-legs for me, or maybe just one of her clankers to ride around on. Or maybe I should just magic up a way to not have to walk everywhere. Well, that last one will have to wait til I’m a more powerful sorceress. I’m pretty new at even being able to control these spells at the lowest tier, the furthest, or closest, circle of magic, depending on which way you want to look at it. Oh hey, look, there’s someone outside the library. That’s a familiar face I wasn’t expecting to see today.