Blue

I turned to Herman who held up his hands in reply. Not the enchanted pen at work. The sky spotted not a single speck of pixie dust which meant no pixies zooming in with scrolls on our next charge.

So why did a Main-like boy materialize suddenly in front of us like this?

Bright red hair the colour of sunset curled wildly atop his head, a few strands strayed out of place and framed his angular face, giving him the look of an adult fae of about eighteen summers. Two oddly-shaped wands of dimmed black and blue peeked out from the front pocket of the black satchel slung across his chest. 

A fae dad in training? Couldn’t be. Unlike other male faes, his ears weren’t pointed, nor did he have wings. Also, I couldn’t sense any enchanted lockets for his wands on him. But something about him didn’t feel like the mortals we would normally encounter. 

Cursed then? I sniffed the air. Doesn’t smell like it. Usually those cursed would carry a faint scent of burnt onions soaked in swamp water. This boy only smelled like sweat and…paint?

The boy glanced back and forth between Herman and me, blinking in confusion—as if we had just sprouted claws and leather wings (mine are decidedly prettier than those filthy things, mind you). 

I rubbed some fae dust between two fingers and approached him, another hand held out to calm the frightened lamb. “I am not going to hurt you, just want to make sure of something…”

Either he was overwhelmed or he was obedient by nature, the boy went perfectly still. A part of me wondered if he was still breathing at all before I was near enough to feel his breath prickling against my fingers.

I have to go up on my tiptoes just to reach his eyes. Clearly, he wasn’t one of us. Faes were never this tall. Even Peter’s only half a head taller than me and he’s the tallest among us.

“This might sting a little,” I said before blowing the dust into his face. Some found their way into his eyes and some through his nose. His eyes watered as he coughed and choked indiscernible words. We didn’t have time for that. I cupped his face, forced him to still and locked our eyes.

Fragments of his memories flowed into my mind. Illustrated pages in vivid colours drifted across my eyes as they would through a gazing mirror. 

Tall, rectangular castles made of glass reached high into the sky with their turretless, smooth towers. The lands were barren and covered in sandy-grey soil. Strange enough, there were scarcely any trees in sight. Only little bushes sporting identical red flowers grew in an oddly tamed straight line. 

People come and go in monotonous stiff clothing, many of which were staring straight at a little box of light in hand while they walked, as if entranced by it. Some held it against their ears, speaking to themselves aloud. 

Dogs were tortured, their freedom restrained by leashes tied to scarcely dressed humans that ran with oddly-shaped earpieces stuffed into their ears. Some of the town folks were even walking around in their night garments! 

No wonder the boy looked haggard, he clearly originated from a cursed land. None of these people were sane. 

The scene wavered and shifted to another, now dozens of books were strewn all around me. They were all…Tales? 

Each seemed to originate from different hands with a different set of illustrations and handwritings. Yet, there was no doubt all of them were variations of the Tales we worked on; Snow White, The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast and even… Cinderella.

But how? We weren’t even done with Ella’s Tale. Herman is still waiting for orders to fill in the last few pages. There wasn’t any kingdom that could transcend time and bring forth an incomplete Tale. Not even the Dark Ones could do that. 

Unless he wasn’t from Taledom.

I staggered a few steps backwards, eyes unblinking and stared wide at the stranger of impossibility in front of me. The impossible-of-impossibleness shook his head, presumably trying to clear it, just as Herman caught me by the arms. I didn’t realize my knees had buckled under me.

“What’s wrong? What did you see? Is he a warlock? Cursed prince?” Herman asked, worries layered with the urgency to know. Warlocks and cursed princes may be bad news but the one standing in front of us was worse. So. Much. Worse. 

“He’s…” I swallowed the lump forming at the back of my throat. The Tunnel of Memories never lies. “…a Reader.”

“But he can’t be…” Herman shook his head in fervent denial. “No, no. He can’t. I mean, look at him! He’s clearly standing here. In flesh! He couldn’t…he shouldn’t…!” he groaned, his hands trembled behind my back as he pulled me up to my feet and stayed there protectively. 

The only time we had a Reader was when she stumbled in by chance in her dreams. She wasn’t here physically and despite being a phantom, the girl had brought half of Wonderland to ruins. Only Star knew how much of the land the one in flesh right here could take down with him.

“Blue…” Herman called in a dry, clipped voice and forced me to return from the abyss of denial. “…I think you wished him here.”

He’s the last thing I’d wish here, I wanted to protest but bit down on my lips instead. My complaints (pure, harmless complaints) were heard and miraculously granted. Since when did the Star actually pay attention to us?

But again, I had the slightest idea what a Reader has got to do with a fae mom’s happily ever after other than bringing chaos and troubles to both himself and the whole damn land. 

Damn the sick Star and His whims.

“Can anyone tell me what’s going on? What just happened? What’s with the damn glitter dust?” the boy fretted, flustered and bewildered. And mostly annoyed with me, I think. 

Herman smoothed the front of his never-crumpled tunic and approached the Reader with a diplomatic look. Hints of disbelief still clung to his hooded eyes as they travelled the length of the embodiment of a timed curse. 

“It helps to clarify… things…” Herman explained slowly, working his way around time while arranging his thoughts. 

The Author had never been this nervous, it’s usually my job to panic. But at this point, my panic level had overshot panic itself to actually panic. “…and you are in the Blue Forest of Cendrillon, the fourth largest kingdom in Taledom.” 

The boy took three seconds before he opened his mouth again, a slight quiver in his voice. “And where is Taledom again?”

“Taledom is where Tales are born,” Herman tried in his tutor-soothing voice, careful not to send the boy running in the opposite direction. “Fairy Tales are all made here before they are send over to Pandora…where we believe is the place you came from.”

Five full seconds of silence.

“This is unreal,” the Reader breathed, shaking his head. He slapped his cheeks, its thunderous clap echoed around us. He winced as his cheeks reddened. Immediately after, he was laughing. Actually laughing. “You guys are nuts.”

Oh no. No no no. The White Rabbit said Readers were curious ones but he had never told me they could be outright bonkers!

I caught his hands while watching him with careful eyes. Will he grow into a giant all of a sudden? Will he drown us with his tears right here and now? Just the thought of it was driving me bonkers too. 

To my relief, his laughter died down as he looked at me, a hint of newfound curiosity surfaced in his eyes. 

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. I know it’s strange and all but—” I tried but he cut me off with a shake of head, laughing again at a joke only he could hear. 

“It’s not that, it’s just…” he trailed off, drew some circles in the air and sighed. “I am not making any sense now am I?” he said with an awkward chuckle before extending his hand to me. “Jayden Forst. Sorry for losing it like that.”

I didn’t know what to do with his hand until he slowly withdrew it. Herman shared a look with me. The Reader is undeniably a strange creature.

I inhaled deeply and (tried) calmed down. Having his name was a progress, though there was no stopping me from proposing to HQ for a crash course on dealing with young humans with mood swings of pixies. Could it be Readers are actually changelings in disguise?

“Well then, Jayden Forst,” Herman began, trying (and failing) to put on his usual calm facade. “Do you remember how you get here?”

“You tell me.” A smile bordering on insanity grew across his face as he whispered, “I think it was the Star.”