Nyx
I once tried to get a normal job.
“And what are your skills?” asked the dryad in front of me, her lovingly long green wings fluttering behind her.
Nothing like mine, torn and grey.
“Um,” I said, “wielding the dagger?”
Turns out that wasn’t the correct answer for the job of a forest keeper. So that’s how I wound up here.
I look around myself.
Under me, bodies of other fae are piled up. I stand above them all, victorious, my dark cape flutters behind me, hiding my frail moth-like wings, ripped and fragile. My gray skin shines in the sunlight, barely withstanding it. Short red hair is nested atop my head, covering my little horns.
I am so much smaller than all of them, yet they are on the floor, and I stand victorious.
A pixie. They were beaten by a pixie.
Ten of competitors, one winner. Who will be the next personal guard of the Spring Lord?
It’s me.
“Show yourself,” the Lord commands me.
I smile and pull my hood down, then look at him.
There is a gasp between the gathered fey lord and ladies.
“A changeling!” someone screams.
“A member of the Unseelie Court!” Another shocked yell.
I laugh.
My name is Nyx.
Do not forget me.
Please.
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