Fairy Reylo because have you seen the amazing Kylo with wings art out there? And Rey? It's *chefs kiss*
Prompt: Rey belongs to a race of fae known as the Niima. For centuries the Niima were considered too beautiful, powerful, and fast. Jealousy is a terrible thing. Now, all Niima have their wings clipped at birth, making it impossible for them to fly. They are forced into servitude, equally desired and looked down upon by the upper class.
Rey's useless wings catch the wind.
They billow out behind her - and for a sliver of a second it feels possible - it feels like she can push off from the wet, mossy ground and fly. On impulse, she dances through the trees and sprints towards the embankment. It beckons to her, it draws out her natural instinct. The instinct to fly.
The last few rays of the setting sun illuminate the soft golden hue of her wings. As Rey gathers speed she remembers the stories about her people. The stories her mother whispered to her in the dead of night. She prays for them to give her strength.
"The Niima were the fastest of the fae. The swiftest. We were strong. Not even a Wren could catch us. We delivered life saving medicines to the healers, and brought war-stopping treaties to neighboring lands."
Heart pumping, Rey leaps into the air.
"The Niima could summon powerful magic. They were wielders of the force of life. Able to dip into the web that connects us all, sensitive enough to feel it in every being. Our great mother, Csenia, was said to use it to bring the dead to life. Fae, elves, even the water creatures would seek her out."
Magic. Rey could use a little of that magic right about now, as her eyes flicker towards the ground below.
"The Kaarians and Tuanne were so jealous, so filled with envy that they hunted Csenia down and clipped her wings. Rendered them useless. It broke her spirit, and the secrets of magic were lost to the Niima. Csenia's beauty is the only thing that saved her. They dragged her back to the palace to become the King's consort."
Rey is suspended in midair, tethered to a desperate dream as she frantically flutters her wings.
"Is Csenia still alive mama?"
Rey's mother smoothes back her daughter's hair and smiles sadly. She sighs.
"No, child. That was long ago."
"Is that why our wings don't work - why the Niima are broken?"
"We aren't broken, Rey. Every Niima has her wings clipped at birth for her own protection. Csenia is a cautionary tale. It does not bode well to try and cheat death, to master the power of life. It leads to unnatural things. We've been paying for it ever since."
"But I want to fly!"
Rey closes her eyes and imagines she is soaring. She is weightless, the wind brushing through her hair, wings beating hard and fast. She is powerful like her ancestors before her. She is Csenia reincarnated, on her way to liberate the Niima from exploitation.
She is -
Falling.
"No, no, no," Rey panics as she hurls towards the ground, spiraling out of control. She tucks her wings in as tight as she can, trying to protect them from further injury, and hits the forest floor with a hard thud.
A stitch of pain tears through her side like a bolt of lightning. The pain ebbs and she sits up with a groan, gasping for breath.
"Foolish fae," she winces, "you've done it now."
Rey carefully wiggles her fingers and rotates her wrists. Nothing broken, that's good. The most important feast of the season is tonight; she will be carrying endless trays of food, mead, and elixirs to the guests of honor.
To very drunk, loud, and lecherous guests of honor. In the past men with less than honorable intentions have chased her through the great halls and kitchens. No one tries to stop it. Why should they? She's just a Niima.
To her relief, they have always been too sloshed to avoid the cast-iron skillet she bashes them over the head with.
It's her favorite weapon.
Niima are disproportionately smaller in stature compared to most fae. Easy to toss over a shoulder and even easier to pin down. What was once an asset in helping them fly swiftly is now a weakness.
Rey runs her hands over her nose, her cheekbones, and lips. She cringes. Her bottom lip is split open and bleeding. That won't do. Mother is going to be angry.
Rey doesn't think her beauty is exceptional, but there are certain expectations to be met.
Niima do not exist merely to serve the upper class food and drink, to tend to their children and tidy their estates. Niima are sought after as adornments for parties, as entertainment for those who wish to indulge themselves with a fae who, legally, can never turn them down. It is why, when she runs screaming through the servants halls, no one ever comes to her aid.
Rey's stomach lurches. The pressure to appear tempting for creatures that view her as nothing more than dirt on the bottom of their shoe is vile. It awakens her righteous fury, her rage. If she could get her hands on a sword, on a crossbow - she'd avenge every Niima since Csenia was assaulted.
Rey clambers to her feet, her breath coming out in hot puffs in contrast to the cool night air. How ironic, she thinks, that Niima are simultaneously considered inferior scum yet deeply desired to keep beds warm. Rey and her mother were purchased for an exorbitant price, but the punishment for killing a Niima is practically non-existent.
It's sick.
At least they are together. At least they are confined to the kitchens, to cooking and serving at luxurious feasts and parties. They are merely eye candy, and her mother's talent for sewing keeps them safe and surrounded by women during the day. For now.
Rey wraps her wings around her body for comfort, and limps in the direction of the palace.
"By the light, look at the state of you," her mother cries, huddled against the ancient palace wall.
It is not the most impressive palace, it is no fortress. The same fae clan has occupied it for thousands of years, passing it down from generation to generation. They command the respect of the valley with their ruthless tenacity, money, and political savvy.
Meanwhile, Rey's mother is in a state of mounting distress.
"And tonight of all nights - when the Wren are coming. Tell me you weren't visiting the grove. I told you to stop going there, Rey!"
"The Wren?" Rey repeats, ignoring her mother's question, "What business do they have here?"
"Hush and get inside," her mother ties an apron around her waist, fussing and fretting over Rey's tangled hair, the dirt on her dress. She steers Rey through the narrow slit of a door and slams it shut.
Thankfully, she doesn't mention the cut lip.
Maybe she thinks her daughter is beyond help when it comes to self grooming.
It is chilly inside, and Rey wishes the servant entryways were not so bare, dusty, and filled with cobwebs. She furrows her brow in concentration as she follows her chattering mother down a steep staircase.
The Wren are the dark fae from the east - the fae whose kingdoms lie deep beneath the earth. They aren't devils, nor are they demons. They are powerful beyond comprehension, conquering and collecting kingdoms on a whim. She has heard terrible things about their leader, who goes by one name: Kylo.
The bards weave tales and sing songs about his legendary temper, his insatiable lust for violence. Rey tries to brush off her nerves with a smirk and an eye roll as her mother digs into her pocket, shoving a small bottle into Rey's hand. She points a wobbly finger at her daughter's face.
"Drink it. All of it. It cost me more than we can afford."
"What -"
"Drink it," her mother chokes back tears, "One of the Wren might take an interest in you. You can't..." her mother's face contorts into an expression of grief, "...you can't refuse them this time, Rey. No skillets. Keep your head down, and hopefully they will go for the more experienced girls."
Experienced girls. Niima who try to gain freedom through sex, through alliances and marriage to wealthy fae. It is rare, but it does happen.
It is not something Rey judges them for - maybe if she were braver, she would do the same. Her mother is right to worry. Rey is too fresh-faced, too ripe for the picking. Wren are predators, they will sense her innocence. She is of standard age for any man, woman, or being to bed her according to fae law - she can't call upon the flimsy defense of being underage for protection.
She snorts. Protections do not exist for Niima.
Rey has never seen a Wren in person before, but she has heard descriptions of them. The thought of being bedded by one of those foul, leather winged beasts sets her heart racing. She's never been kissed, let alone touched like that. A shudder starts at the base of her spine and works its way up until her entire body is quaking.
She tilts her head back and swallows the potion in one gulp. Her stomach cramps in response, but at least no conception will take place if she is unlucky enough to be chosen as entertainment. As an exotic plaything.
Rey smacks her lips together at the unpleasant aftertaste. She hopes her mother wasn't swindled, she hopes the potion works. There are too many charlatans in the marketplace preying on desperate customers.
When her mother turns away, Rey makes a mess of her hair and scowls. She plans on presenting herself as unattractive, and unappealing as possible. No man, Wren, or creature will want to put his hands on her.
Skillet or not - she will fight back if one of them tries to have his way.
Rey might not be able to fly, but she still has her damn dignity.