She peeked out at the little town of Greenborough from behind a leaf, and immediately wished she hadn't. Fairies fluttered merrily about in the dusky streets; swishing in and out of the main square, skipping away to the meadows to restore every living thing to perfection. It's enough to make you sick, she whispered viciously as she angrily fluttered away to her Dark Place in the forest.
Her Dark Place was a small patch of earth, clear of all vegetation except the mushroom spores, which she had urged to grow until they created a roof. She retreated to the corner, where a small mushroom served as a very nice chair. She reached into a leather pouch, made of mouseskin and tanned to perfection, and pulled out a thick book bound in dark leather. It had the symbol for dark magic stamped on the cover. Whipping through the pages, she finally found the spell she wanted… the spell that would give her a wand capable of doing dark magic. She memorized the spell and fluttered off, dragging the pouch behind her.
She returned with a pouch much heavier than she left with; it was filled with poisonous mushrooms and plants. In her left hand, she clutched a twig which she had whittled straight.
Pulling a cauldron out from behind her Dark Place, she filled it with water and set it to boil. She mixed the ingredients in, one by one, until the potion was a deep black and simmering nicely. By this time, it was nearly midnight. The witching hour, she thought with a grin. Following the instructions, she submerged the twig while chanting in the Ancient Language: "Sigare, adere afer ju al wiaten du magequen deporo [Twig, become for me a wielder of Dark Magic." She left her cauldron and paced, anxious to complete what she had set out to do.
In the distance, Greenborough's chimes rang out, announcing that midnight had arrived.
"Finally," she whispered, a quiver of excitement entering her voice. She reached into the cauldron with her bare hands (the potion, although boiling, was as cold as a rushing stream) and pulled out the wand. It had turned black with the dark magic it held, and its tip was an emerald green that glowed from within.
She tapped her adorable dress, made of soft leaves, and it instantly turned a deep black. It lengthened until it touched the floor, and it was edged with green embroidery. Next, she tapped her hair. It, too, became black. The leather ties holding it in a bun on top of her head dissolved, and her hair fell softly down her back. A final tap, and her wings became a deep emerald, rather than the sickly iridescent blue they had once been.
Now, she thought greedily, for the last part in my transformation. She looked at a sheaf of paper, with names she had stolen from the Book Of Names. She scanned them closely until one caught her eye.
A few choice words in the Ancient Language, and a black cyclone surrounded her, lifting her high above her Dark Place. She screamed, "Nin languis mai ju noandan ad TinkerBell! Jua namena ell Morwenna! [No longer am I known as TinkerBell! My name is Morwenna!" The whirlwind evaporated, and she slowly fluttered to the ground.
She examined her hands, her dress, her hair. She looked the same as she had before the Ceremony of Naming, but for her eyes. They had changed from the brightest blue to a deep black, and, if one were to stare into them, that brave soul would see a smoldering fire in their depths.
She let a smile grace her lips. It was not a kind smile, rather, a smile at the deeds she hoped to accomplish, a smile that illustrated her euphoria. As Morwenna, she could finally live.
A/N: It's so fun to write in this angst-y, dark style, because it's so different from who I really am. I expect, that if I were to write in my own persona, there would be a pretty pink pony in there somewhere, as well as singing flowers. :-D
Reviews, plz! should I continue, or should I leave it as a oneshot???