The night passed slowly. Very slowly. Then came the day, illuminated by a faint sun, fog hanging over the frozen lake and the dense forest surrounding Inamora, which looked as if it were covered in thick cobwebs. Tiyan felt the throbbing pain of fear in his heart all night, a fear he had tamed enough to keep from his family.

But they knew, of course they knew. They always knew. He would have been naive to think otherwise. But he was glad they had allowed him to keep it hidden, buried in the shallow earth of their feelings.

Alina Markon would never have given her son to the faeries. It was unthinkable, after what she had endured and how much she hated them. His father would sooner have offered himself. Mina… a girl who knew and saw too much - Tiyan would have defended her until his last breath. And Korr, Tiyan’s dog, slept in a dreamless sleep. Tiyan didn’t want to leave the safety of his shelter - but that would mean an encounter with the sculptures, which would surely be…painful. Not only for his fingers.

Tyan finally put on warm clothes, shawls, and heavy boots and slowly, like a funeral procession, set out to carry the remains of the meat to old Mer’s house. Mer had died in the war, as had his sons. His elderly wife and daughter now lived in the once-important house. They couldn’t hunt; they’d never learned the craft. An unpleasant thought flashed through Tiyan’s mind: if he were sent into the forest to die, these women wouldn’t be able to rely on him. Others could help them, of course, and probably would, but the village lived in its own quiet nightmare. The current world brought forth harsh, ruthless people. And he liked to feel needed. By his family and by others. It helped him accept his current life more.

The snow muffled his footsteps as he passed people. Most greeted him almost warmly - if not for the sadness that emanated from every human being he knew. He exchanged a few words with Bert the hunter, who had managed to snare two almost healthy hares - only a touch of fungi. A true delicacy, one he intended to bring to tomorrow’s storytelling gathering.

“Such healthy meat should be enjoyed by children.”

Certainly. The children endured the dark winter more difficultly, even though they seemed more courageous.

One of the women walking in the group stopped as he passed them and looked at him with a smile.

“Tiyan?”

He stood in the middle of the path, as if paralyzed.

“Noyd.”

Not so long ago, they had tried to fill the void that was draining the life out of the village. Desperately seeking warmth, understanding; and also pleasure, swift and painful in its bitter truth. They clung to each other like snow to trees. They drank in a sweetness that seemed forbidden as everything crumbled. She wished it could last. Tiyan… he couldn’t. Even if he wanted it more than anything else.

You’re cursed.

Now he was so happy he didn’t allow it to last. If they were still together, the faeries would know. And they would do something he couldn’t unsee.

Their eyes met - hers, green as a spring that would never come, and his, the brown of a tree. And old blood. Unspoken things hung between them, heavy as a block of stone, ready to carve lost opportunities from it. Tiyan shook his head.

“I think I should go,” he said. He really wanted to run away, so typical of him. Maybe his mind was no longer open to the faeries, but who knew what they read in his thoughts. Perhaps a finished, unrequited love… or perhaps something more… delicious.

What a terrible word. Terrible and evil.

He saw the disappointment in her green eyes. “Maybe we could…”

“Maybe,” he stared at the package of meat clutched tightly to his chest.

“So…”

“Yes.”

“Go. Don’t keep them waiting. They’re waiting, right?”

“They-?” He quickly realized she meant the Mer family. Of course they were. Not creatures with dark appetites.

She walked away, the legs of her thick trousers damp with snow, her woolen hat pulled tight over her long, reddish hair. Tiyan slowly inhaled and exhaled, the air forming a cloud of steam.

These are my decisions. And each one is wrong.

Mer’s wife greeted him with a faint smile, an old woman from a good home, unused to country life. What was happening now was sucking the blood from her like a leech. Her hair was still brown, not white like his mother’s. She had never seen war with her own eyes. She had never fought against Unseelie spells. She had never been captured. But she looked weaker and more frightened than Alina, as if not experiencing all this had made her even less prepared for such a life.

“Where is Soira?”

“She’s still asleep. She’s still fighting the illness from last month.”

“Tell her I asked how she feels.”

“I will.”

“The meat is salted. It will last longer.”

“Thank you.”

He handed her the package and allowed her to invite him in for a herbal tea. No one made and mixed herbs like Dolsa Mer.

She poured him a full glass, took another, and slowly began to drink the snowwater tea. Tiyan took a sip too. It was truly delicious.

“So… Anglor,” she smiled gently at him.

“Yes,” she smiled back, meekly. “Everyone seems to know what I bring them. Am I that predictable?”

“Yes. But that’s nothing bad. It keeps you coming back.”

Tiyan had never been good at accepting compliments. Maybe because he had low self-esteem. Or because he believed he always did something wrong, especially when he tried hard. And that’s why he had to try harder than others, because good things weren’t his due - and he had to fight for them all the harder.

“I know. You don’t like it,” Dolsa laughed. A kind, motherly laugh. “But it’s true. You have a good heart, Tiyan Markon.”

“I…” he was completely speechless. 

“You know it deep down. You judge yourself too harshly. Maybe it would be good if you gave that girl another chance. I see how you look at her. Or rather, how you don’t.”

Tiyan suddenly felt that sinking into the ground would be better than listening to praise. He almost stood up, but Dolsa placed her old hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t go.”

Tiyan sighed heavily. His heart sank. Don’t go. A word that appeared too often in his nightmares.

“Talk to me. I see something is troubling you, something heavy. Will you tell me?”

But Tiyan couldn’t reveal his secret. He couldn’t, and he wouldn’t. Compliments warmed him and gave him hope, even if he wasn’t used to them, even if he refused to accept them. But they would cease to caress his sensitive heart, replaced by the acid of disappointment and contempt if she heard him endanger his family and village. But he stayed.

And he talked.

About everything, but not himself.

*

Tiyan’s fingers moved over the wooden figurine, an almost tender gesture. Almost. His own craft always began as something into which he wanted to pour his soul, his fear, his love, his doubt. But somehow… somehow, it ended like a horror he preferred to leave behind.

His hands created beauty. And ugliness. He never knew how it was that his sculptures were always cold and boiling at the same time, and when someone looked at them, shivers ran down their spine.

Perverse.

Cruel even.

His current work depicted a couple entwined in a loving embrace. Their legs severed at the knees, they kissed insatiably. His fingers throbbed with pain; he carved as if in a trance, as if driven by an inner force.

He was afraid of his own mind. But he couldn’t stop.

It was a relief, and somehow he felt like he was escaping what he was carving, creating these… things.

He stood up, his legs stiff from sitting in one position for too long. His room was filled with small sculptures. Some painted, some as raw as new wood. And among them… fairies dominated. Strange eyes stared at him from wooden faces. Sharp teeth and long claws. Beautiful, yet cruel, features. And wings, always colorful, a testament to Tiyan’s immense talent. Thin, yet wooden, beautifully crafted… yet these tiny wonders always terrified him.

They were with him when he slept.

They were with him when he ate and when he tried to put the pieces of his life together.

They were always watching him.

His silent beasts, a threat as distant as it was certain.

He knew they would come one day.

He knew it. They always loomed over him, no matter what he did. And his work today… that was what they had created within him. They were fairies. And he was human. The darkness he wanted to tear out, but he felt it was too deep inside. That night… they came again to haunt his life, just as they had haunted him from above the shelves. 

And he wasn’t ready.

His last faerie sculpture was looking at him from the highest shelf. A fae with pale eyes and black raven wings. Unnatural among the butterfly beauties. Her face showed no cruelty, like others. Only disinterested  scorn.

She burned fiercest.

Surrounded - in his dream memory - by thick shadows that devoured her alive.