The castle was a pile of tulips stacked upon each other. The food sparkled the way she thought the sky was supposed to. The water tasted like candy and the service was luxurious. If she had a mother, she’d spend all day telling her about the crazy new world she discovered. If she’d had a father, she’d make him write stories about this place and tell them to her every night before sleep. Instead, she had Mr. Moore, a man with a hunchback, but a kind and lonely heart. Sometimes she thought she felt—guilty about how he knew about this place before—why would he try to hide it?

“What is that?” She asked Xathier, pointing at a colorful bird strutting by. It had a fan of blue feathers behind it, like a dozen eyes watching her pass by.

“That is a peacock,” he said, “and you have that back where you come from as well.”

“We do?” Her eyes widened at the thought. “I never knew something so beautiful could exist what a junkyard my place is.”

“That’s because, outside your junkyard, there are palaces.”

“On the mainlands, so I hear. If I ever get there. It just so happens I managed to be dropped off in the lamest place.”

He looked at her curiously, “Whatever happened to your parents, can I ask?”

She squeezed her shoulders together and sucked one side of her cheek. “I don’t always like to talk about them because I wonder how much they talk about me and think it isn’t fair they get a word from me. But, in short, they didn’t want me after I turned thirteen and dropped me off the docks. In the darkest corner of the world.”

He gave her a mischievous smile. “Come. I want to show you something.”

…….

“Why are you doing that with your feet?” He laughed.

“Doing what with my feet?”

“That! That right there. Just walk normally!”

He had told her to close her eyes and flew her for a few minutes before dropping her down on a soft, squishy floor, covering her eyes with his hands. “Well, it’s an uneven floor! And you’ve taken away my sight! What if I trip and fall?”

“I wouldn’t let you fall!”

She shrugged. “I don’t know that!” 

They came to a stop. Xavier’s voice took on a funny tone, one dressed in laughter. “Do you not trust me?” He asked, and that made her giggle. “Oh my goodness, she does not trust me.”

“Of course not.”

He gasped and then muttered. “Maybe I should have let you fall.” 

“You wouldn’t.”

“Unfortunately, you’re right. Oh well, it seems I have no choice but to give you your sight back.”

He removed his hands and Jemma squeezed her eyes shut and opened them to adjust to the light. She blinked. They stood inside a flower, though she knew that when he put her down and she sunk into the plush of the pollen bed. But one of these things was not like the other. In the center was a tall, brass and glass cylinder that reminded her of one of those oil lamps that lined the streets in the fog in blurry orbs. Only, she was the bulb and it was the cage.

“What is it?” asked Jemma finally.

“This is the Feytham Lantern,” he took two steps forward and spun around so he was standing before it. He put his hands behind his back and relaxed his shoulders. A proud smile spread across his face. 

It was awkward for a moment with neither of them speaking. Jemma broke from his gaze and studied the lantern. “Why are you showing me this? What’s so important about a giant lamp?”

“Lantern,” he corrected with the point of his finger in the air. “This has been here since the very first visitor came. Before, there was only darkness. There was no sun—there was never a need for it since fairies flowed and filled the void with stars. The Lantern wasn’t always here. It was made by man and forged from the blood of my ancestors. Those who agreed to it after they died, that is.” He rolled up his sleeve to reveal his sparkly skin. “We don’t glow anymore like we used to. Not as brightly at least. Over time, the more we used the Lantern, the less we glowed on our own. We became dependent. We needed the Lantern to give us light and make us glow again. Then, one day, someone found himself in our world and built us one. If we stood in the Lantern, it was enough for us to flow again and it worked. For many years. And then one day, he upped and left and took the key, plunging us into darkness once again. He left no trace behind. Never came back.”

“Mr. Moore,” Jemma said, filling in the blank. Ice cream.

“Mr. Moore,” he confirmed. “He plunged us into darkness and we’ve been like that ever since. That is until you came and your lightbow lit our world again.”

Jemma smiled and then shook her head. “But how have you survived without any light in the world?”
He shrugged. “We make our own way. But it’s not permanent. What was permanent was the Lantern. But we need a key. We searched every square inch of Feytham, but there was nothing. The old man took it with him.”

“Well, it might be in the library,” she suggested.

“Do you think?” His pointed ears perked, “Do you think you could look for it?”

“Of course.”

“That’d be wonderful.” He took. Step forward, “Oh, thank you, Miss Jemma! My people would appreciate that very much.”

“No promises though.”

“Of course,”

“What does it look like anyways? The key.”

“That’s what we’re not sure about. We can’t remember, but it goes here.”

He pointed to a circular base of the Lantern in the keyhole.

Jemma poked around. “Perfect!”

She smiled. Now, I know why he’s so afraid of that fireplace.