"Xibalba?"

The ruler of the Land of the Forgotten snapped out of his memories, turning to see his wife of many centuries. "Muertita! Lo siento, I didn't notice you were there," he apologized quickly.

"Are you alright?" La Muerte asked him, walking over carefully. "You left looking rather upset back there."

Xibalba huffed. "It's nothing," he lied. A very horrible lie, because it was everything – all that had shaped him to where he was now. But he couldn't tell her that. How could he ever tell his current love that she wasn't the first? That there had been another, long ago? She knew he had past flings, but didn't know of …

And if she knew … what would she say? What would she do? He'd seen her anger many times, having been at the brunt and cause of it all, but to strike her in such a manner - he couldn't do it. He could only do what he'd been doing for centuries and centuries: lie.

"Chamuco loves to torment me, as hermanos will do." He shrugged, that awful frown tugging at his mouth. "He's always been the killjoy, even when we were angels back in Europe."

"You've been at each other's throats for that long?" La Muerte asked in disbelief. She put her hand to her forehead, feeling a pinch of exhaustion at the mere thought of having such a rivalry with her own hermanas hermana for even a fraction of that time. "Eso es horrible. Luna and I don't see eye to eye often, but we don't—"

"That's different," Xibalba cut her off, his teeth gritting. He didn't want to snap at her, but those years of pain always flashed in his head. He knew he was at fault for losing her, but a part of him blamed Chamuco still. The eldest of the three had been there. He had been the one to—not even Mictlán had gone as far as to—so it was technically his fault too that… "She didn't wrong you like that bastardo did with me."

La Muerte's jaw nearly dropped. "Xibalba! He's your brother, you can't—what is wrong with you?"

Xibalba looked away. "I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"You will be upset."

La Muerte's face hardened. "I will be even more upset if you don't tell me," she said firmly. "Please, I am your wife. The mother of your children. You can tell me anything."

Xibalba grew defensive, wings flapping out, mouth opening to object. He was ready to refuse, to say he couldn't tell her — that it would jeopardize the present — but then she grabbed his hand. And soon, her eyes met his.

In a flash, he recalled all the joyous moments they had, all the times they'd had playful wagers before he'd gone and cheated, and the day they reconciled after so long … the day she pulled him in for a kiss, and fireworks had sounded off. The day at the museum when she repeated those actions. And the many times after and in between, when she was affectionate, when she proved to him time and time again she was never going to leave — she was his, and he was hers.

They were bound to each other for eternity. Unlike the sprite, she was to stay. And in that second, the melancholy washed in and in a quick, brief second, he saw her.

"You shouldn't hold back, you know."

Esteban glanced at the Wood Sprite, a brow raised. "What makes you think I'm holding back?"

"You're not full of that same spark when you hesitate," she replied simply. Her hand grabbed his, squeezing it tight. "Per favore, Esteban. Don't hold back. Tell me what's wrong."

Their eyes met. He found himself uttering out a weak, "I can't…"

Her expression grew more concerned. "Why not?"

"Because …"

"Mi amor?"

The memory startled Xibalba enough to swallow back the doubt. The thought of repeating his mistakes with Muerte seemed unbearable.

"It's … something to do with what happened long ago, back before I came over here," he said slowly. "I will be frank, it's a long tale."

"I've told long tales before. I can handle this," La Muerte assured him.

"This one's different, mi amor." Xibalba's eyes looked down. "You see, back in Europe … no, Rome… I was once a young, dashing knight and — and there was someone."

Now La Muerte's brow raised in confusion, curiosity. "Who was this someone?"

Xibalba's own brows knitted together and his eyes shut tightly. "She was…"

They settled in a meadow. A fae with an angel's wings and eyes deeper than the night sky itself. Looking at her, Esteban felt he was getting lost in the face of pure light. The Wood Sprite didn't notice him staring, not when her eyes concentrated on the sky — on the stars above. His eyes traveled to where she looked, noticing the shooting stars.

"Working together, tiny stars light the universe," the Wood Sprite spoke, a light fondness in her tone. "The power of one seemingly so insignificant can make a difference." She looked at Esteban, smiling. "It is the same as how me and my sisters go about our duties every day and night, tending to thousands of children…"

Esteban huffed. "My hermanos and I hardly work together… they're stubborn." He crossed his arms. "Though … one of them, I'd made a wager with."

The Wood Sprite looked at him, raising a brow. "Oh, a wager? On what, exactly?"

"To see which one of us could—" he stopped, realizing this would make him look bad in her eyes. He didn't want to make the wrong impression, so he tried to come up with a lie. "To see which one of us could … get through the village first."

The Wood Sprite rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "You angels are horrible at lying," she tsked. "I suppose it was about whether one of you could upset the most children, hmm?"

Esteban faltered. She was good, he would admit. "… yes?" He flinched under her stare. "But I assure you, no harm was meant—!"

"You didn't answer me," she interrupted him, her tone teasing him. Her fingers 'walked' up his chin, poking beneath, almost tickling. "Do you usually do this?"

Esteban gulped. It felt — nice? He didn't know how to react to the sudden sensations that ran up his spine. "Señorita…"

"Answer me." The Wood Sprite's tone grew stern, her eyes set in a glare as she grabbed his chin roughly. "Do you and your sorellos always do this?"

"No," he responded, wincing. Her grip was tight. The way her wings flapped out, those eyes glaring at him — he felt like he was being interrogated by an angel. But she was a fae, which felt almost … embarrassing, given that fae were lower than angels. She was shorter than him, a lower position than him, yet she managed to do this and — a part of him was a bit impressed, actually. For someone of a species Constantino spoke as though they were … undesirable, she had a good fight in her. He liked it. "Just tonight. I didn't get that far, before you stopped me."

She seemed pleased by his answer, yet pressed on. "And your sorellos?"

"I don't know." Esteban didn't know where Constantino was, or even Zacarías. Had the latter joined in? How far had the former gone? Constantino could be as threatening as he wanted, and many would cower at him. A trouble for the higher ups, something he heard in whispers that they would try to solve… Esteban shuddered inwardly at the thought, wondering now if he should have set that bet in motion. The middle one — he would have caused too much havoc by now. "I left before they did."

The Wood Sprite let go, sighing and shaking her head. "My sorellas have probably found them. It depends on how far they've gone," she spoke, frowning. So much hard work — it wasn't an easy job as it was, and now it was harder with these mischievous little …

"If it makes you feel better, the eldest's a killjoy. He wouldn't have tried anything," Esteban tried to reassure the fae. "He's the … good one."

"And the middle?" she asked, scowling.

"… well, perhaps he didn't get too far?" Esteban smiled nervously. When she grunted and turned away, he moved closer, reaching out to stroke her back gently. "Lo siento, señorita sprite, if I had known that you and your hermanas were here … I wouldn't have started that wager, I swear."

She turned to him, looking at him as if trying to figure out something. "You are bizarre," she said slowly. "I heard you knights are supposed to be well-mannered, behaved and very gentlemen-like. You are not that - you are a troublemaking scoundrel." She pointed a finger at him. "You toy around with those you're supposed to help. You're making a mess of the balance and—" she stopped.

Esteban blinked, tilting his head. He wondered why she stopped in her speech, until he saw the look in her eyes change. Suddenly there was a flicker, then a light amusement, but not of the cheekiness she showed earlier. Rather, she seemed filled with some odd joy. Then she smiled and began … giggling. A little giggle, that turned into a loud fit and she stepped back, that noise from her throat turning into a sound his ears never heard before. A noise that jolted him, but then suddenly sounded so tempting, that he joined in and laughed as well.

Between her fit of giggles, the fae managed out, "And … and I'm part of the imbalance, now that I'm in your company."

Esteban raised a brow playfully. "So I'm not the only troublemaker then, am I?" he teased her, walking up to her. She almost shrunk beneath him, but that smile on her face only grew. "Little miss rulebreaker." He let out a 'tsk', recalling Zacarías' words. "Fae and angels don't interfere with one another. So really, do you fair any better in indulging me?"

She sat on the ground and paused, then grinned. "No, I suppose not," she muttered. Then she shrugged. "But you were the first to start this, so perhaps it's even." Though my father will have my wings clipped if he ever knew that I... the thought trailed off, but she shook it away. "You're an infectious thing, Esteban, you know that?"

The way his name sounded in her voice, so lovely... he felt himself shudder. "Can't help it," Esteban replied, trying to mask that sensation with a shrug, grinning cheekily. "It's a gift."

"Such a puzzling one," sighed the Wood Sprite. "It's a shame I will never be able to figure you out." She looked down, her tail and wings wrapping around her form. "Since fae and angels don't really… we aren't supposed to meet…" She looked up at him, a sad glint in her teal orbs. "This will be the first and last."

Of course, Esteban thought with a scowl. That absurd law… something about order and balance. Fae and angels could not live together, or hold meetings like this — it was unheard of. Simply not done. It should have been easy to accept this. Not everyone gets what they want, it's a part of life, such is the way things are — all of that should have sounded fine and dandy, but he found himself rather agitated. It didn't really add up as to how this was wrong. "You're not much different from an angel though," he pointed out, lightly touching the top of her wings. Gently running his hands over the feathers, careful to not poke the eyes.

She shivered, sensations running up her spine. "But I'm not angelic enough." Her tone was sad, though she tried to hide it to no avail. The stars above were her home, but often she found herself thinking of the heavens above - the place of paradise, so the other fae would say. But no matter the wings and nature of her, she could never be allowed there - all for something beyond her control. Something that wasn't her fault to begin with. "The fae side is too much for them. Fae in general are too mysterious for angels to comprehend." She looked at him, confusion settling in as it hit her. "Yet you don't … scorn me."

"Why should I?" Esteban snorted. "You've given me no reason to." He pulled her to stand up. "Sprite de Madera, you fascinate me. So much that I'd gladly break the law if it meant seeing you again, even if just once." Or twice. He would take the chances, if just to know her more - and to prove that he wasn't just some troublemaker. For her to know who he was...even if he didn't know much himself, beyond his knighthood.

The Wood Sprite's face flushed. "That's very flattering but I can't let you get in trouble for me," she argued. Even if I think you are unique. "You will be punished gravely."

"Not if no one finds out - and trust me, I've been good at not getting caught." Esteban winked at her, then squeezed her hand in reassurance. "We can come here to this meadow when the night is just right - like this - and if anybody grows suspicious, pretend we were doing our duties. It's easy." Zacarías will get off my back for once... though Constantino is a different story, he thought quietly. He will suspect, perhaps, but he's not smart enough to know that … no. He won't find out. His confidence didn't waver, not for a second. He was so sure of himself.

The Wood Sprite remained uncertain. "How can you be so certain?" she asked quietly, her voice wavering. "You are so confident. Don't you ever fear the consequences?"

"What good is fearing instead of taking action?" Esteban rolled his eyes. "To fear is to later regret. It's better to risk things than to do nothing at all." He leaned in to whisper, "And you said it yourself, you wanted to figure me out. Now's your chance." He pulled away, smirking.

She wanted to object but couldn't. She found herself beat by him at his little game of words - or was it an argument? Their first argument? She didn't know. But she knew one thing - it wouldn't be the last.

"Alright. Tomorrow night, meet me here after midnight."

"Yes!" Esteban felt triumphant, overjoyed beyond words. His wings flapped in excitement, arousing giggles from the fae beside him. He soared up for a second, before swooping down to grab her, take her hand and kiss it. "I promise you, mi hada, you won't regret this."

Her eyes glinted with delight. "We'll see if you can keep a promise."

Xibalba opened his eyes. His green orbs with red skull pupils traveled to the face of his wife, and he saw the expression on her face. A mixture of shock and sympathy, along with something unreadable. For the first time, she was almost completely silent.

"Mi amor…" he started, reaching to grab her hand. She looked like she wanted to speak, but no sound came. Her hand flinched away from his, and he assumed the worst instantly.

She's hurt. Of course she is. I never told her, and now she must think that –

"I love you," he told her. "That love doesn't waver – and it never has, even when we were distant. El Sprite de Madera was my first love, but you are my current love and the only one I would spend the rest of my days with. If I could repeat everything, I would, just to be here with you." And he meant it, every single word, yet it didn't feel like it was enough – not truly enough.

La Muerte shook her head. "It's not – I wasn't – it's not that," she said quickly. "I mean, I know you love me. I never doubted that. I just never thought...I never thought that you had a first love."

"I should have told you. I am so sorry... but you must know, it wasn't easy." Xibalba looked away. "Leaving her behind was a sore point. Even centuries later, it still pains me - and I didn't want you to think that you are some second choice. My love is genuine, but -"

"I know what you mean." She gave a reassuring, if a bit sad smile. It faltered for a moment as she recalled his earlier words. "But Chamuco - is he the reason why you two drifted apart?"

"Drifted apart is such a nice way of putting it," Xibalba scoffed. "Torn apart is more accurate. And while he's not a direct cause, he … he played his own part. Him and Mictlán." But Mictlán was long dead, and it's easier to scapegoat a living brother - even if at the end of the day, the ruler of the Land of the Forgotten had his own twisted role.

Love was such an unfair game back then. He was thankful that he didn't repeat his past errors, not to the horrific extent of before at least - though the present still brought pains of its own. Sartana, for one - that was a tale of something he often wondered, what could I have done to prevent this?

Yet he also wondered, if perhaps it was yet another punishment for his own errors with the sprite.

"I don't understand." La Muerte's face contorted into one of upset and frustration. "How could they—"

"Allow me to explain," her husband cut her off.

She frowned for a moment, then, "Explain."

Esteban returned to the rooftops from where he came, only to face a disappointed Constantino and a displeased Zacarías. "Oh! Hola," he chuckled nervously.

"You have some nerve," Zacarías hissed, grabbing him by the scruff of his armor and pulling him so that they were face to face. "¡Pequeño imbécil! I searched for you for hours! I feared that you'd come across a fae and—"

Esteban pried his elder brother's hands off him, rolling his eyes. "Cálmate, cabeza de ladrillo. You needn't worry — I was off at some kid's house, things didn't go well, now here I am."

"What a load of mierda!" Constantino snapped, thwacking the top of his brother's head. A cry of pain sounded from his younger brother, but he ignored it, yanking him by his wings so now he could interrogate him. "When you wager with someone, you do something about it, but after all the children I've scared, I went to see how you faired in the houses I didn't pick out. I beat you, and normally such victory would bring me joy — except you put in nada effort!"

Esteban felt a pain sear in his wings. He tried to pull away, yet Constantino kept yanking. "'Tino, Zac, I—" he tried to come up with a lie, but he wasn't allowed the chance.

"No, enano, spare me your pretty little words," growled the middle brother. "¿Dónde diablos estabas?"

This wasn't supposed to happen. They weren't supposed to react like this. Then again, Esteban didn't know what he really expected — he and his brothers, they weren't close. They didn't know the concept of teamwork, not like how fae seemingly did. Funny how that worked. Those that they considered lower had a better understanding of certain aspects than they did. "I was — I wasn't— AGH!" He winced as he felt the grip on his wings tighten, to the point where the bones started aching. "Not so tight! Those things aren't—!"

"Start talking, then," growled Zacarías, yanking his brother's face close. "Where. Were. You?"

Esteban swallowed heavily. It wasn't the first time they had done this, ganging up on him. The pain that exploded in his wings, his head — it was nothing new. His breathing grew hot, heavy as he recalled those past times. The belittling words, the disappointment — each time was just as degrading, especially now that something was added to the mix. He wondered in that moment, what was the sprite's family like? Were her sisters like this?

I can't tell them about her. If he did, they would —

Zacarías' grip grew tighter, a tsk escaping the eldest angel. "What a horrible hermanito. Why must you be so wasteful and careless? You can't even hold a wager properly…"

Esteban spits in his face. "You're one to talk," he snarls. But just as he was ready to bite back, there was a ruffling of feathers and something was yanked from him. Something he didn't even know he had until that moment.

Constantino let go of his younger brother's wings in surprise, in favor of picking up the fallen object. He twirled it around his rough and bruised fingers.

Esteban stifled a yelp when he recognized what it was and Constantino's eyes widened with realization. He stared at the younger angel.

"That isn't — it's not what it looks like," Esteban rushed to explain.

"It looks like a feather," Constantino said, voice a horrifying kind of calm. He looked at Zacarías. "A fae's feather."

Esteban began stammering backwards. "She's — she isn't — why do you care if I get a little sidetracked by one? I'm just a runt to you. It's just one night, one lousy wager lost."

"How dare you?" hissed Zacarías. "The laws — you know how important they are. We upset the balance even slightly, this knighthood gets stripped away. I'm not jeopardizing everything because of you and your little friend."

"It's not about the knighthood. It's because you want some high ground to rise on! Both of you — you don't know a thing!"

Between Constantino's fingers, the feather was torn to shreds. However often Esteban had seen him so violent, seeping with rage… he'd never seen that wild look in his hermano's eyes. He feared he had finally pushed too far.

"Espera, lo siento, no lo hagas—!"

He couldn't let out a full cry as a hand muffled his yelling.

"What will we say when we get back? Hmm. In the council's eyes, to go amongst the fae is an offense. How scandalous." Zacarías dragged him by the armor's 'neck' as they made their leave. "You're lucky we won't say a word, right Constantino? If you weren't our brother, though…"

Esteban's noise ceased. Fae are beneath us. We don't go to them, and they don't come to us — we live away from one another, as it should be. That was something he heard often. Tales of mischievous fae, stepping out to hinder angels … that was what he used to hear then.

Now he wasn't so sure, finding himself fearing for one. If they learned more of the sprite, what would happen?

"Don't you ever believe that sometimes, you're a little too … harsh on him?"

La Noche flinched as Chamuco whipped around to face her. His expression seemed rather agitated at first, though it soon calmed down. "Lo siento, Lunita," he apologized. "But you must understand something – he has always been a thorn in my side, even back in the days of Europe and our failed conquests there."

Conquests – well, it was more of Xibalba's conquest. Chasing after someone he damn well shouldn't have, dragging them all through that situation – forgive him for trying to get him out of it before things could have gotten ugly. Perhaps he and Mictlán reacted poorly at first, their physical actions being not the best – he would often wince, remembering how Mictlán nearly snapped those wings in that grip of this; a warning sign of a violent personality that wasn't calmed in time – but they had their reasons. Laws were broken, balance disrupted, and Xibalba was at the center alongside his little fairy.

"Oh? How so?" La Noche's brow raised, curiosity starting to take over. There were many things her husband told her of Europe, though this tale – it wasn't one she heard of. If she did, it was only fragments – small pieces easily forgotten. "Tell me."

Chamuco paused. If he did tell the tale, Xibalba would surely try to have his head – and fail miserably at that. But of course, by now, La Muerte would have asked a similar question. Xibalba was putty at the hands of his wife, and would of course tell his own version, so perhaps … it wouldn't be so grave of an error, now would it? "It is long, complicated, but for you, mi Luna, I will tell you."

La Noche began to grin as Chamuco cleared his throat, eager to hear the tale her husband was about to tell.

"They did what?!" La Muerte felt her blood boil. "That's – that's despicable! Those … those miserable, misbegotten, sons of—"

"I'll have you know, our mother was a dignified one," Xibalba said in fake hurt, trying to lighten the mood. To mask his own pain and resentment. "To compare her to them is an insult on Madre."

La Muerte calmed herself down slightly, though her breaths carried some resentment. "I didn't know that…" Her face hardened. "They didn't – how many times? And why didn't you…?"

"It wasn't any use in trying to prevent it," Xibalba cut his wife off. "The only thing I could do was try to get stronger. To show them, they don't cross me – and if they did, they'd pay for it." He smiled, not all happy. "That's why for a while, there was a … truce."

The truce – when Chamuco and La Noche's wedding was at the same time as theirs, it was part of that 'deal'. That was why they'd all been there to witness the cursed union of Mictlán and Micte. Why they didn't erase that bastard's name from memory whenever one of their children, whether it be Juan or Sartana, would ask about their other tío and tía, why they weren't around like Tío Chamu or Tia Luna.

It was why, for a while, Xibalba almost let things remain as water beneath the bridge. Years bled by though, and soon the injustice of it all began boiling over - more so than the lava in Chamuco's part of his realm.

"But then it kept coming back." His hands gripped his snake staff tightly. "And I kept remembering how they had…"

"That shouldn't have happened to you," La Muerte said firmly, anger in her eyes.

Xibalba shrugged. "It was nothing compared to what they did later on." A wistful smile appeared. "At least, I got to see her again, despite that…"

The next midnight, the Wood Sprite waited in the exact spot. She sat in the meadow, eyes focusing on the little glow bugs that flittered about. The smoothness of the grass. The fresh breeze. Simple things like this was what she found beautiful about the mortal's world – things that other beings, angels in particular, took for granted. Dismissed as lower.

She heard the flap of wings, followed by a voice she recognized instantly.

"I pray I'm not late…"

The Wood Sprite turned around, smiling at Esteban as he approached her. "Not at all," she said, rising up. But soon, she faltered upon seeing him wince. "Are you alright?"

The bruises had gone away, as per usual with angel's magic – but the phantom pains remained. A reminder of warning. A frustration arose inside him at the memory – the tugging of wings, the taunts, the prying of information. They knew she existed, they knew of … this, and they were using it as a bartering tool.

"We'll let you have her, but you must do something …"

"I'm alright." He made a gesture with his wing. "I bruised it last night, when I was heading back."

"Oh." She gently grabbed his hand. "Well then, tell me … why do you stray from your purpose?"

He tilted his head. "What do you mean by that?"

"Destiny. We all have one. Yours is knighthood." The Wood Sprite tilted her own head. "But you don't want it. Why?"

"It's been thrust on me since I was born. It's so restrictive." He turned up his nose. "I like a little bit of trouble – it gives me thrills that my training doesn't. Destiny be damned." And it's the reason they … the reason I …

"If you find out anything about this fae, you'll tell us, won't you?" Constantino sneered at him. "It could be useful information… besides, can't let you have all the fun, can we? So selfish."

He shuddered upon remembering those fingers gripping him tightly, the roughness of it all – it made his fist ball up. "Why shouldn't I try to see if I could change it?"

The Wood Sprite sighed. "Sometimes we can't change destiny," she said, sorrow in her eyes. "We are born with it, and we die with it. Mine has been written before I was born."

"That doesn't mean you have to accept it," Esteban told her, feeling a slight perplexity at this. He wondered why she spoke like this, so ready to accept defeat. "You should try and see if you can—"

"No." Her voice rose, eyes narrowing. "My kind – we are not as free as yours. Our magic has its restrictions – anything slightly out of line, and we're ruined."

She held her tongue, wanting to say how she had tried to see if her destiny could ever be changed. How she went to her father, un re dei Fae, telling him of her plight, and how he had slapped her across the face and scolded her.

'Ragazza ingrata! How dare you ask such things? Your fate was chosen since you were a mere seed. There is no rewriting what has been decided by the stars – and if you try, your wings will be clipped and your magic taken.'

She accepted the defeat, for she didn't want her wings clipped. Her powers taken. These wings were all she had left of her mother – someone her father's friends often said she resembled, all while her sisters seemed to resemble him more. 'A strange nymph with an angelic aura,' some said. She wondered if Mama would have liked the destiny chosen for her – to watch over children, but to be helpless if they failed in their journeys. Unable to help, unable to reverse the consequences of the desires she granted.

But she would never know, all because –

"That's not fair."

The Wood Sprite glanced at Esteban, noticing he seemed upset … for her. But why? "Life isn't fair."

"You should be able to choose your own fate. Rewrite history." Esteban's hands shook. It felt so wrong, all of this – it didn't sound right at all …

"They'd clip my wings."

"And my brothers would try to break mine! But that didn't stop me from coming here."

"What?"

The Wood Sprite's face shifted into that of horror. His brothers hurt him? Because of her? "Quindi i tuoi fratelli maggiori ti hanno fatto del male a causa mia?" He cast a look down, and she knew. "Esteban, I – I'm so sorry... this is my fault, if I hadn't—"

"No, it's mine," he cut her off. He gently pat her shoulder in reassurance. "I made a bet with one of them, and I didn't hold up to it – so that's why they…"

"They hurt you though." Her face hardened. "They can't –"

"It won't happen again. I'll make sure of it."

"How?"

"I'll find a way."

She hesitated, ran her hands over her face. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Better I get hurt than you. "I'll try to make sure it doesn't happen again," he assured her. "But don't let this dissuade you from our meetings. I want to know you more."

The fae raised a brow. "Such as?"

"Is 'Wood Sprite' really your name?" he asked, curious. "Or do fae not have names?"

"It's just my title," she said simply. "We only refer to each other outside of titles if necessary - but rarely does that necessity ever come."

"So you have one then," Esteban concluded. A grin rose and he started to guess. "Is it … Ilaria?" She shook her head. He chuckled. "Alright then, uh - Giuseppina?" Another shake of the head. "Simona? Stella?"

"Nicoletta," she told him, laughing. "My name is Nicoletta."

"Nicoletta … it means 'victory of the people'." He let the name roll of his tongue, smiling widely at her. "I like it. It suits you."

She blushed. "Thank you. Your name - crown or garland - suits you in a … certain way." A grin pulled at her mouth. "I like it, as much as I like you."

"How much is that?" Esteban asked, eager.

"You're growing on me," Nicoletta replied. "Quite a bit." She spread her wings. "But I wonder, can you keep up?"

The fae flapped her wings and flew off, soaring up. Growing heady with excitement, Esteban raced after her. To fly in the sky, it was exhilarating – a sensation of speed and freedom all at once. Especially with this company.

"Gotcha!" He caught up to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, making her let out a small laugh as she pushed him to the side, her expression growing playful.

"Someday, I'll fly far beyond your reach, Esteban!"

"Not tonight, Nicoletta!" he retorted, grabbing her again.

She laughed, eyes glinting with mirth. He was surprised to see how much she enjoyed it. This game of tag wasn't something his fellow angels enjoyed – too childish, they said. Too … close. "Would you like to go exploring with me?" Say yes!

They locked eyes for a moment.

No one ever asked her to do that, thought the fae. No one would give her the chance. No one but him.

Her face lit up with an ebullient grin. "Yes! Yes, Esteban, I will join you when I'm able to get away – tomorrow."

Esteban found a huge grin had stretched itself across his face. He felt deliriously lightheaded with happiness.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the night was almost done with. His joy dissipated as he remembered Zacarias and Constantino's words from earlier.

"Tell us about her, won't you?"

What would she think of him? he asked himself, when they would part ways later on. What would she think if she knew he was going to tell his hermanos about her? That he was …

"Esteban!"

The sound of his name being called by Zacarias resounded off the winds. Esteban winced, knowing the tone of impatience. Without a second thought, he darted off to where he'd been called. He prayed he could tell enough, but not too much to appease them…

"Xibalba fell for a fae?"

La Noche knew of her cuñado having past affairs before he'd married La Muerte, but this … this was something she hadn't expected. "Those creatures are too attached to humans though. Why would he…?"

El Chamuco snorted. "Your sister shows empathy towards humans too. It seems to be a theme of his." He scowled for a moment. That hada – she made him weak. More insufferable than he should be. It was her fault, just as it was his. "He grew fond of her. The otherworldliness fascinated him, so he said."

La Noche nodded silently, trying to process this. "And how exactly did this turn out?"

"Hell burnt over," Chamuco chortled.