I lost my position at the institute. They were kind about it: my director herself gave me a jingle the day after and calmly explained the situation. She deliberated nervously on how she thought I was a top-notch scientist until I was so sick with dread I nearly vomited. When she finally summoned the courage to say that I was relieved of my duty, I bade her adiou as collectedly as a man who's just had his soul crushed could, and then rushed to the toilet to puke.

I can't say I lost my job, because my station at the lab was purely on a volunteer basis of qualified applicants. There was no pay involved, and I had scrupulously saved my money from Fuck You, Ms. Man to pay for the essentials: rent and cigarettes.

Yet I would've been happier if I had lost my job at the record store—at least there I only wasted my time between ridiculing and occasionally selling an LP. The institute had been my sanctuary—granted, not everybody liked me (which was half of the reason why I was given the boot), but there I found friends among my research. Everything clicked there, both with my morale and my mind; I found joy in mixing different combinations, where I got blasted or not—but this was a rare occurrence, as often the correct combination of chemicals came naturally to me on paper beforehand or even directly in the lab. I had reveled in all the new things to discover—had reveled in the misfit nature of science in Faerieland, so like my existence—had reveled in all that I learned with hands-on experience. Now, it had slipped through my hands, and my primary source of joy was obliterated—a cloud of deep depression loomed over me, and I laid in bed, neglecting to go to work or band practices.

Life seemed pointless without the access to the activity I loved, and I began calling around and asking for a dimebag of skag in code, but none of my friends would deliver. Hoshi checked in on me periodically when she wasn't at work, sitting on the side of the bed quietly and stroking my forehead. I was kind to her every time except when she asked about how I got kicked out. At those times, I burst into a flurry of swears about the god-damn Feepit that she took out, and sent her reeling out of the room, and probably out of the house. For these reasons and others (namely, that I refused to shower), she kept her distance from me, sleeping on the living room couch.

She began to drift, it seemed. I knew it was partially my fault, as I refused to rise from bed, or let her in beside me. She still brought me my meals (or else I went without them) and sat on the side of the bed to watch me until I fell asleep, but there seemed to be a woodenness to her actions. Perhaps she had fallen into a rut that was over-comfortable to her, or maybe her job was placing too much stress on her. My greatest fear was that she had found another, and only still visited my room to make her free room and board legitimate. Whatever the reason, though, our relationship a dismal shade of what it used to be, sucking more life out of us than in.

Meep was my only real company in those days, going without food days on end to stay under my armpit loyally. Whenever I looked in those saucer eyes, a sea of calm washed over me—but it only lasted so long, and then I was back in the desert, wandering alone and scored by the sands of reality.

The real world called approximately two weeks later. I dared to turn on the television, an appliance that had been a glaring specter at the end of my bed. The screen crackled to life, as if static had overcome it in the months it lay unused. (I was not a huge fan of television—all of my information came from news papers and science magazines, though I hadn't been sifting through those lately either.) Meep lifted his ears at my side, having been sleeping for hours. The news began to appearing on the screen, with faeries in business suits and stern faces reporting murders and other curiosities.

But today's story wasn't about an anonymous murder with a line-up of suspects. It was a three-day-old story, about the death of the Faerie Queen. I sat up in bed, suddenly intrigued. While I was a little bit concerned that Hoshi hadn't indulged me with this critical bit of information, my mind was mostly concerned with another bit of information:

If the Faerie Queen was three days dead, there was only two days left until Princess Fyora's coronation. It was mandated that only five days could pass between a ruler's death and the crowning of her successor, and I knew in those five days there was a great deal of merrymaking. Granted, it meant a lot of work for the Faerie Queen's court, what with the funeral occurring on the third day and another huge ceremony in two more days regarding the former princess. In general, though, this was the days that there was the most proliferating of drugs, making them more accessible as the police didn't crack down as hard—except at the coronation parade, of course.

After watching my fill of television, I turned it off. I thought for a minute, staring into Meep's eyes for motivation. He nibbled on my finger with his buckteeth, and I smiled a little. I petted him on the head. "I think you might want some food, little buddy," I whispered, and pulled back my sheets and threw my feet over the bed in one motion, forcing myself to stand up. It was difficult at first—my feet weren't used to all the blood rushing to them, and they nearly sent me crashing into the door. Eventually, my equilibrium returned, and I took a few baby steps towards the door, Meep encouraging me at my heels.

Once I had some coffee in me and had burned through a whole pack of cigarettes (I was down to one-a-day while bedridden), I pulled on some slippers and dared to walk outside. The sun was shining brightly as it always did in Faerieland--we had only a dull concept of bad weather, and with the 99 chance of sunshine daily, meteorologists were unnecessary. Although the sun made my sink tingle slightly with a far away sensation of burning, it was good to taste the fresh air of outside, rather than the stale air I had suffered with in my bedroom.

I saw Hoshi approaching in the distance, and didn't acknowledge her immediately. I turned to the Moltenore, parked outside and undisturbed from the way I left it. I went back inside to retrieve the key, and turned it on—the gas needle, as I suspected, lingered towards empty, and I cursed at it under my breath. Hoshi was at my side by then, acting as if it wasn't a miracle that I had risen from my bed, staring over my shoulder.

"Whatcha doing?" she asked, rocking back and forth between her toes and the ball of her foot.

"Well, I was checking my gas tank … now I gotta fill this fucker up." Sighing, I turned off the Moltenore and screwed open the gas tank. I motioned towards a hose coiled in the wall with a screw-on pipe beneath. "Turn that on and bring that over here."

Hoshi followed my orders, untangling the hose and then turning it on. With the water dribbling from the unclosed end, she brought it over, leaving a trail behind her which quickly turned to cloud. I instructed her to hold the water so that it was not pouring into the gas tank but perpendicular to it. I pursed my lips, watching the gas tank through the water and taking aim.

"Alright. Keep it steady like that. Here we go."

I held my fingertips inches from the water and focused. I centered my attention on the warmth inside of me—the warmth that indicated life, a soul, and an unrestricted will. Then, I focused on channeling that warmth down my arm, leaving the rest of my body cold but allow a stream of light to trickle through my fingers, refracting through the water to form rainbows that poured into the gas tank. Hoshi watched in amazement, her jaw slack in shock.

Once I could see rainbows while standing where I was, I led the warmth redistribute to my body, feeling colder than before. Quickly, I scooped up clouds from the ground and jammed them into the gas tank, quickly screwing it behind the fuel so it couldn't escape.

I straightened up and wiped my hands with a faux-sense of accomplishment, as I actually felt exhausted inside. Hoshi stared at me as if I were developing a second head.

"Frank … you know magic?" Her voice was quiet, as if it were a secret.

"Of course I know magic. I'm a fucking faerie, aren't I?"

"Yeah, but … you're always so adamant against magic."

"Doesn't mean I can't do it." I focused for a moment, and poured the glow into my brain, making it seem as if my head were alight. Hoshi stifled a chuckle beneath her hand.

"If I wasn't a faerie, I might think you were a savior."

I snorted, releasing the flow of warm, and hopped onto the Moltenore, starting it up. I had no intention to go anywhere, but flying sounded like something that would properly acclimatize me to being outside again. Something stopped me, though, and I turned back to Hoshi. "Do you know what's going on with Fyora's coronation?"

"Princess Fyora," corrected Hoshi, but didn't bother to wait for me to repeat it. "Well, it's happening in two days. I'm scheduled to be one of the carriers of the princess' carriage."

"Sounds exhilarating," I replied, masking my sarcasm. "Is Fyora as hot as she is in the tabloids as she is in person?"

Hoshi stared at me as if one of my eyes had fallen loose and was dangling from its socket. I calmly stared back at her, a light smile on my lips. I waited for a response until she managed to stutter out something, clearing her throat excessively. "Well, yeah … I mean, I've only caught glimpses of her, as we've got to bow with our heads down when she's around, but … I always catch snippets of the bits of her hair, and even just the ends of it is gorgeous … and once I saw her eyes, looking sideways, but they still seemed to bore into me, like she was focusing on only me …"

"You think she'll be a good queen?"

"Oh, absolutely. She has the strongest sense of justice I've ever known."

I paused, chewing on this. I reached into my back pocket for my cigarettes and a lighter, placing one in my mouth. Once I had it lit, I blew out a portion of smoke in Hoshi's direction, beginning to speak with the cigarette still bobbing up and down. "You know what I think, Hoshi?"

"What's up?"

"I think our monarchy's bullshit."

Hoshi looked at me with wide-eyes. I knew then that she was slowly becoming a warrior slave to the Faerie Monarchy. Before, folks like her—crack-addled, pseudo-bohemian folks who danced like banshees at wedding receptions—were always holding up the front of democracy, desperate to overthrow the monarchy. I had read their doctrine, and though some parts were half-baked (I wasn't a huge fan of 'equality of all people'), I supported their system called capitalism and the idea of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Occasionally, I attended underground meetings for the movement, where they shouted out support for a violent revolution. While I wasn't this extremist politically, when I envisioned the revolt a cold chill ran through my body—not one for fear of death, but rather a shot of adrenaline, making the hairs rise on my arms. It was not in terror but excitement, in seeing the blood mingle with the water in the gutters; in seeing the heads rolling into coconut heaps; in seeing the newly orphaned children in the street, dirty and crying for their mother, until their heads exploded like ripe oranges.

As soon as I got these strange urges, I identified it as that same voice that urged me to steal—urged me to, in some ways, sink that yellow-eyed Feepit to its doom. Soon as I heard it, I smashed it into the deepest well of my mind, where its sinister calls echoed chilling things to the surface.

"How can you say the monarchy is bullshit? Faerieland has been stable and safe under Princess Fyora's line's rule! Not only do they have impeccable judgment, but princesses are trained and taught by the—"

"Spare me your nationalist diatribe, Hoshi," I said, rolling my eyes. "Just because someone pops out of someone else who happens to have veins that everyone assumes run with gold doesn't mean they're the supreme leader. Have you ever heard of the concept of 'free elections?'" Hoshi looked at me with that same doubtful, quizzical look. I sighed, and rubbed my hand over my face. "Never fucking mind. You royal schmucks are hopeless."

I was about to take off on the Moltenore without further comment, but in the blink of an eye Hoshi was in front of me, holding her arms out to block my exit. Her face was almost as red as her eyes; whether it was bloody with rage or flushed with an embarrassed was still undetermined. I put on my brake again and leaned back on the Moltenore with crossed arms, a mild look on my face. I flicked my cigarette with my mouth in her direction.

"Look here, Frank Sloth," growled Hoshi, a certain spite in her that I had never seen before. The fact that she neglected adding doctor as my prefix only underlined her anger. "Just because you have some fucked-up radical idea of a utopian society, doesn't mean it's fucking practical. The Faerie Family has been ruling over Faerieland since the beginning of time, and so far, Faerieland hasn't fallen into an enormous depression or had any major wars. We are a peaceful society in the clouds, and are at the peak of civilization. And some stupid revolutionaries want to tear down our society, for what? For their petty little ideas, for something that's unproven! Fuck no!"

I turned off the Moltenore with a jerk of my key. Rage had been boiling up inside of me during her speech, but now it had come to a comfortable simmer, and there was no need to express anger on my exterior. I swung my leg over the Moltenore and approached Hoshi, who tried to gain an advantage in height over me by hovering in the air. Smirking, I grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to earth, nearly smacking her into the ground. She groaned, trying to sit up, my hand still practically strangling her wrist. The voice in my head was about to speak, and it wasn't about to let her run away.

"No, you look here, you nitwit," I said quietly, a silent threat in my voice. "Have you seen the paupers in the street, rattling their cups for change? A change that will never come—physically or governmentally—unless we do something. Do you see the working class? You might've seen them at some of your shows, but you don't see them. As soon as you're out of that venue, they disappear. They're smoke—the smoke that fuels your economy. And when they die, there's no funeral procession—there's no flowers laced into their hair. They live in the gutters, and they die in the gutters. They were born equal, but throughout life they were forced to tread a path downwards where they could boost others up. When a crime is committed, it's put on their shoulders automatically, without thought for higher influences. And do you blame them for their crime? For trying to steal some money for food? For getting into drugs because it's the only thing that relieves the pain of their proletariat suffering? We're not asking to bring you down—we're asking for a chance. A chance for elevation. A chance among all faeries, born equal and able to die equal."

Throughout this speech, I had been pushing Hoshi downwards by way of her fist, aggressively gripping it so I felt the bones shift beneath my hand. She was looking up at me not as if I was righteous, but as if I was something to fear—a dictator that forced her to her knees. That voice—that god damned uncontrollable voice—was reveling in it, soaking and breathing in the absolute power I seized over her. Inside, I screamed and squirmed against it, until I finally regained control, dropping Hoshi's fist like it was on fire.

I opened my mouth to apologize, but Hoshi was already gone. She fled so quickly I had first thought she had mastered teleporting—a rare and difficult skill—but then I barely caught a glimpse of her wings retreating in the distance.

I collapsed after that—fell down like my skin had been filled with heavy things and was weighing me to the ground. I smelled the sweet scent of gas dripping from the Moltenore, but instead of trying to find the source of the leak, I lay paralyzed on the ground. The realization of what I had just done came rushing forward like a pack of dogs suddenly let loose, ripping mercilessly at my well-being. My morale had seemed to peak when I went outside and then quickly slip as soon as I spotted Hoshi.

Ah, Hoshi—the thought of her agonized me with two dual perspectives. On one hand, I was pissed at her ignorance and absolute submission to the system just for the sake of a job. On the other hand, I still loved her, though I had not admitted that openly to her since that first night we fucked. (She had never reciprocated, much to my dismay.) These two mixed together to make red-hot claws run down my back every time I saw her working for the Faerie Family—which would become frequently, as she was to join the police force for the royal family. Perhaps it was merely childish feelings of jealousy—which was likely why I asked about whether Fyora was attractive or not—but it burned so hot and undeniably in my heart that I couldn't help but vocalize it.

Hoshi didn't return home that night, and I refused to return to my bed. Instead I slept on the couch, watching the red, digital numbers of the clock haunt me from the mantle. Sleep was limited for me, as my mind kept drifting to Hoshi and where she could be (probably establishing room in board at the castle, one possibility I lingered on with distaste), but the few periods of rest I received came from the sleepy eyes of Meep, watching guard on my chest.

The next morning came slowly, as I didn't awaken officially until one o' clock. But even that was instigated by the outside world—a harsh knock came on my door, and when it refused to cease, I was obliged to rise from the couch and stumble to the door to open it.

"Invitation for Dr. Frank Sloth."

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and had them adjust to the bleary afternoon sun to see who stood at my door. The frame was obviously a faerie, but as I began to view their light purple-and-blue uniform of the Royal Faerie Delivery Service, I cocked an eyebrow. I had never been delivered a package by merely the People's Faerie Delivery Service, or even a letter—it seemed suspect that I should receive something now from the RFDS so close to Fyora's coronation.

"What is it?" I held out my hand for the deliver. Without batting an eyelash, the primly-dressed faerie dropped. It was printed on cardstock, and had, from what I could see, real gilding for the letters. I looked up at the mail faerie for explanation.

"The Honorary Princess Fyora, future queen of Faerieland and all below, requests your presence at the castle."

I looked dumbly at the mail faerie, searching her face for some kind of a joke. Perhaps this was Hoshi pulling my leg, trying to, in a round-about way, indicate that everything was forgiven between us. Still, I couldn't resist bursting into gut-wrenching laughter, tears budding at my eyes. The mail faerie stayed stony face.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Sloth, but I don't quite see what is so funny. This is an official invitation, from the future Faerie Queen herself."

"I know, I know," I wheezed, wiping tears from my eyes, "but it's just so absurd. If I had a nickel—just a fucking nickel—for every time the Faerie Council, her fucking advisors, called me an abomination when I had to go before them, or paid my taxes, I could buy Faerie City."

"Well, let's thank higher powers you aren't paid," snorted the mail faerie, obviously having heard of my reputation. "Just be sure to follow the directions outlined explicitly in that card. If you don't, the consequences may be dire. Good afternoon, Dr. Sloth."

The mail faerie took off without further comment, her mail satchel thumping against her hip. Still chuckling, I closed the door and went to the kitchen table, opening the invitation gingerly.

I could hardly believe what I was reading. Inside, the card invited me to a private meeting with 'The Honorary Future Faerie Queen, Princess Fyora.' As soon as I had opened the envelope, an amulet had fallen out, and the card instructed me to wear the amulet around my neck to get inside the building. From there, I would be escorted by Royal Fire Faerie Warriors to the Princess' chambers where we would discuss developments in faerie science and their relevance to her coming term.

It made absolute no sense to me. If Fyora was seeking the premiere mind on faerie science, why hadn't she gone to my director? Perhaps her hesitance to turn directly to her indicated that, indeed, the director was a close relative of the royal family. Yet plenty of my colleagues ranked above me, and though an official statement had not been released about my estrangement from the institute, I would assume that I was pretty far down on the science social ladder. Still, I couldn't deny the reality and legitimacy of the letter (at least, until I tried to enter Faerie Castle), so I got dressed into semi-acceptable clothing (I didn't want to be fancy, as I wanted to display some amount of rebellion towards the status quo of meeting royalty) and mounted the Moltenore, taking off for Faerie City.

Once I landed and found a place to park the Moltenore, I remembered why I had always insisted on staying in the outskirts of Faerie City, or far away from it, period. The place's population density was ridiculous, and at any moment a clear sidewalk could transform into one bustling with faeries landing to get into a building's lower floors, or, on the off chance, walking. Above, faeries just barely missed slamming into each other as they flew by at high, careless speeds, and though wings, independently, gave a somewhat silent and soothing sound, a whole cluster of wings were like a flock of bumblebees partying in your ear. This is omitting the fact that with every step I took, a nasty look was shot down at me hatefully for my defect in appearance. There, I could even send nasty looks to myself in the mirror, as I saw many male faeries there (comparatively to where I lived) that I could negatively set myself against.

With self-esteem just barely below negative levels, I managed to drag myself to the Faerie Castle, which wasn't that long of a walk but constituted dodging many spiteful dark faerie spells and the occasional other element. (Only dark faeries, saving Jhudora, were outright spiteful about my difference.) Arriving at the gates, I was faced with an intimidating sight: Faerie Castle in all its phallic glory, shooting up into the heavens. The gate before me looked to be made of solid gold, and it was flanked on both sides by two aggressive-looking Fire Faeries, dressed in full warrior garb. When I approached, they threw their spears in a cross in front of me, giving me a particularly suspicious look.

"You may not pass unauthorized," one of them uttered, but they were so identical in appearance it seemed to come from either. Even though I felt like my bladder might betray my pseudo-confidence at any second, I pushed back my shoulders and held out the invitation.

"Well, I got this in the mail today … it just might count as authorization …"

One of the faeries took it roughly out of my hands, and as the two inspected it, I contemplated how much I hated butch faeries. Finally, they glanced at each other, and then one of them turned back to me. "We're going to have to check this with security." Thereafter proceeded a whole bunch of unnecessary measures, wherein I idled outside for ridiculously long periods of time until I was finally let in to the gate. There I had to go through more security, more paperwork, and receive an ID badge with a candid picture of me looking baffled before I was let in the doors of the castle. My mind was spinning by the time I was actually being led down a marble chamber, and I could hardly be excited, nervous or aggravated that I was going to see Fyora. I thought of asking the intimidating fire faerie warrior that led me if that procedure was used to kill the spirit of any would-be assassin, but thought better of it glancing at the curved weapon at her side.

We finally came to a door, and the fire faerie had to do all sorts of intricate, elaborate magic spells at the lock until wooden-looking folds in the door began to illuminate. The mahogany seemed to quiver, and then an invisible hand pulled on just the knocker, which bore the face of a snarling dark faerie. The knocker gave a resounding pound on the door, and then we waited for an answer. In the mean time, I tried to make small talk.

"So," I said clearing my voice, "you a music fan?" The fire faerie didn't reply, and didn't even bother giving me the attention of her eyes. Foolishly, I continued speaking. "Don't want to talk about it? It's ok, I'm kind of snobby about that anyway, and I don't want to hurt your feelings. I can do that sometimes. I mean, I'm a clerk at a record store, and you guys probably listen to something like, ugh, techno, to, you know, get you—"

"Consider this, Dr. Sloth," growled the fire faerie, her voice dropping to a tenor. "I've been trained to break your neck in twenty different ways, eleven of which involve a slow, painful death. I could merely say that you looked like a threat to Princess Fyora's well-being, and that would be justification enough to kill you. Would you like to talk about music now?"

"Actually, I'd like to pee myself."

We stopped talking after that. It took about ten minutes longer before an ancient fire faerie came to the door, weak but powerful in magic judging by her outfit. Her gray hair was pulled up in a bun that strained her cheeks slightly, reducing the amount of wrinkles she may have had. Her eyes were stricken orange as most fire faeries, and she was robed elaborately, complete with golden tassels and fine material. Unlike my accompanier, her face was much kinder, and split into a genuine smile upon seeing me.

"Ahh, Dr. Sloth. It's a pleasure to see you."

She took my hand, sending a wave of warmth up my body. I wasn't sure I had ever met her (unless she was on the Faerie Council, damning me to the darkest regions on each tax day), but I smiled dumbly back hopelessly reeling for her name. She seemed to understand my plight, and laughed gently.

"I am Pandora. No, you've never met me before. But I've met you."

I wanted to roll my eyes, especially if she started mentioning things about former lives and prophecy. But she said no more on the matter, shooing my companion away with a flick of her wrist, an obvious gesture of authority. With a sweep of her hand, she invited me inside.

The interior of the room was more jaw-dropping than the castle itself. Even though it was only a princess' chambers, I had no imagination enough to conjure a more majestic vision. The floor was tiled with silver and black, and luxurious furniture lay around the room, decked in deep purple linens. A staircase lay in the middle of the room with a bronze banister, leading up to a room obscured behind a velvet drape. Pictures with gnarled frames hung on the wall, displaying the stern images of former monarchs. They seemed to judge me through former ages with their never-blinking eyes, sending death sentences to the modern world.

Pandora gazed up the stairs, almost with a sense of nostalgia, and then turned back to me. She raised one hand up the stairs, gesturing subtly yet grandly. "Behind that drape waits Fyora. She has been expecting you." I looked at Pandora suspiciously. There seemed to be a distinct lack of guards in the area, and I wondered if I was walking into an extermination trap. Pandora laughed again, a laugh like champagne bubbling into my ears.

"Do not fear, Dr. Sloth. We do not desire to harm you. There may be no visible guards, but they are all around. Besides, I am more formidable than I appear." A mysterious smile danced across her lips. "So don't do anything foolish, hmmm?"

"Thanks for the advice," I said shakily, almost more anxious now than before. Swallowing, I mustered all the bravery I had hidden behind a mask of cowardice throughout life and stepped up the stairs, wishing I had brought some sliver of science to defend myself.

Once I had scaled the staircase, I gingerly peeked past the drape. The room was dark within, and I looked back at Pandora questioningly. She gave me an encouraging nod, and I entered the room cautiously. For my own safety, I emitted light from my hands to see my way around.