When you’re lost into the wild,
Do not trust a faerie’s child.
Do not eat the faerie fruits,
Or you’ll never leave the woods.
Do not eat the faerie fruits,
Or you’ll never leave the woods.
Bring your iron on your hip,
Salt and wort keep by your side.
Pay attention to this tip:
That a faerie cannot lie.
Try to never lose the path,
You can meet with someone’s wrath.
And beware what you ask for,
They’ll have something else in store.
Don’t reveal your heart’s desire,
It’ll only get you pain,
They will put your soul on fire,
Every energy they’ll drain.
Never join the faerie dance,
You won’t have another chance,
And remember this at last:
Not a faerie you can trust.
Edward Peveril, 1934
That day you put some old clothes, the small change you kept hidden in your socks, and a handful of energy bars in your backpack. You grabbed the knife with the wooden handle from the kitchen counter and left through the window, furious you don't even remember about what. While you climbed over the sill you smiled, thinking about the concern you would cause to your mother, and ran away. You walked, and jumped, and talked with the frogs on the riverbank until, in the rays of the dying sun, you came across the red brick wall. Through the gap in the door, you peeked at the uninhabited house, green fingers wrapped around the faded walls and the promise of adventure. You forced the lock and stepped in, the wail of the hinges a warning to not trespass the threshold. You didn't expect to find the oldster, sitting eyes closed with his back against the garden wall, cramped hands on his knees, and so still that he seemed dead.
Then you saw the mushrooms circle hidden in the grass, and you immediately knew what it was. There was a story in the library's book about it. You thought it was superstition, but there it was, right before your eyes, and it couldn't be anything else: a portal.
You approached it and observed the little crimson mushrooms covered with snow-white flakes.
- I wouldn't do it if I were you - the oldster's voice startled you.
- Why? Who are you? - even if the oldster didn't move, you shifted your hand to your back, closer to the knife's handle.
- A guardian, a friend, someone like you, or maybe someone wholly different. What's the matter? - there was something off-key in his voice, but you couldn't quite make out what it was. You took a swift step back and let yourself sink in the bare soil as if it was jam. The oldster sighed.
- Whatever happens, don't eat the faerie food. Or you'll never come back - Then the earth swallowed you up, and everything went dark.
The wet air smelled like musk and honey, and you felt like floating, cherished by silky ribbons. Then the light started to filter from above, making its way through thick roots, letting you see the colourful cortege who playfully advanced in the underground tunnel. Small fingers brushed you, prompting you to move forward. Gentle faces and petal dresses, faeries danced in complete silence. You began to make your way on all fours, the echo of your breath and scratches on the knees the only elements that anchored you to reality, till you reached the court core. She was waiting, lying on the heart of the tree, with the curious eye of who receives a new toy as a gift, candid flowers braided to auburn hair framed her face. Titania looked like a girl, but the eyes betrayed her nature. She approached you and delicately helped you get on your feet, enclosing you in the scent of berries and ripe fruit, and in a whirl of petals she laid her lips on yours, soft as a dandelion.
Astonishment made you wince, and you opened your mouth just enough to let the faeries pour in the sun nectar. The moment your tongue touched it, you were reached by the frantic sound of strings and woodwinds, becoming aware of the music that seemed to hold the dancer's soul. At that moment, you lost yourself. While a fire consumed you, you remember to have danced with Her, her smile an indelible mark on your irises. Then nothingness.
You awoke alone and dirty with soil in the middle of the ring, throat burned by thirst and muscles on fire. There was no trace of the oldster. You ran in the light of the first stars, following the road backwards, startling the frogs. Now you're in front of your house, and the bitterness you felt when you left is nothing more than guilt coiled to the bottom of your stomach. You go up the three steps and are about to open the door when a burst of laughter inside makes you hesitate. You walk, brushing the wall with your hand and peek through the kitchen window: your father is smiling, sitting at the table, your mother is turned away serving dinner. The scent of the meatloaf reaches your nostrils. Your favourite dish. You wonder why aren't they worried, why aren't they looking for you. And then you see it. The knife with the wooden handle, she's using it to cut the meat. You shift your hand toward your back, even though you know there's nothing there. When she walks to the sink, you notice someone is sitting in your place, someone like you. He laughs again, a tinkle that sweeps your parents in a cascade of joy. For a moment, time seems to slow down. He's watching you. He's challenging you. Then the string stretched between you snaps and nothing's left of who you were. You don't belong anywhere.
You go away, stripping off your life with every step, and slowly retrace the road to the faerie ring. You look at it for a moment, then you sit with your back against the red brick wall. Eyes closed, legs crossed, hands on your knees.
THE END
I hope you enjoyed this short story! Today this same story is being launched together with others from various authors in a short story collection here in Italy, and I wanted to celebrate this small milestone with you. The theme for the collection is "get-aways", and being the fantasy geek that I am I immediately pictured this.
I also want to thank my friends Daniela and Eleonora who helped me translate the text, you're awesome!
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