Dust

by winlark

In old myths, it was said that fairies were forever attracted to what shone the brightest, believing it to hold the greatest worth. In that moment Killian Jones was a beacon, and I couldn't exactly say no to the siren song he sang.

1. Prologue

My ancestors are the dust particles this island was built upon. They gave their bones to the structure of the mountains, their very souls to the beaches, so that our kind might escape the prophecy of curses to be set upon our land. This place was built as the perfect refugee, the exact balance a fairy needs for survival. Under the right circumstances, we can live for thousands of years, never aging until the day we are reduced to a pile of dust. Under the wrong ones, we will die in a matter of days. Once upon a time, that was our greatest defense, but that defense is gone now. The Dark One learned to turn our magic against us, to sustain our life long enough to harvest the dust that leaks from our veins.

One month ago, I was the last free fairy in existence.

Today I lay on my deathbed.