"Nell! Nell! Come on! Aunt Cinth wants us!" Blonde hair flew out behind the young girl as she crashed through the woods, escaping from the kerchief it was so meticulously tucked into every morning. She ran as fast as she could amongst the trees, paying no heed to the branches that whipped her face and arms as she did so. Even though the strong winds of spring were somewhat tamer in the forest, she relished the feel of it blowing on her face and through her hair.

In between her loud footsteps and panting breath, the girl managed to hear a familiar bird whistle, and she stopped abruptly to look around, scanning the topmost branches of the trees with care. She thought she noticed a small, white form on one, trained her eyes on it, and addressed her speech in that general direction.

"I know you're up there, silly! Your mother wants us back before dark. Are you done enjoying the view yet?"

There was another short trill, and then a small nightingale leapt from the top of one of the taller oak trees and began to descend slowly, heading straight for the girl. But before the bird could perch on her outstretched finger, or on her shoulder, it morphed suddenly into another child, another girl.

"You didn't have to come get me you know, Linn," said the former bird. Her dark curls were as messy as Linn's were. "I could tell from the sun that it was getting late."

Linn ignored her. "You're getting good at that. Isn't it hard to change while flying?" She stared down at her friend. Even though Linn was only a few months older, she stood over a head higher than Nell. At only twelve years old, she was actually about the same height as her Aunt Cinth, and she still had much growing to do ahead of her.

"It is more difficult, yes. But I've been practicing." Nell's smile was quiet and satisfied, as it usually was whenever she mastered a new magical skill. "You looked like you had fun."

Looking down at herself, Linn began to laugh. There were several tears in the skirt of the black cotton dress, and despite its dark color, smears of dirt were visible. "I was climbing a tree. We can't all fly to the top of them."

"I'm sorry. I should have been there, because I would have been able to catch you before you hit the ground."

She made a face, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "You don't always have to use magic to help me out. Besides, the falling was half of the fun." Licking the palm of her hand, she started to work on rubbing out the dirt stains.

Nell bent over to peer at Linn's skirt. All it took was a brush of her fingertips and a whispered word, and the grime melted away, while the torn edges sewed themselves back together. "There, good as new."

"Thanks." Then, realizing what had just occurred, Linn frowned again and crossed her arms. "Just because I live with two fairies doesn't mean I need magic to solve my every problem. I'm a mortal, remember? I need to get used to it."

"Of course you don't!" Nell's eyes were even wider than usual, showing how appalled she was at this. "I'll always be here to help you with magic, or anything non-magical, if it comes to that."

Linn snorted and started walking back toward their cottage, purposefully avoiding the well-worn forest path, opting instead to edge through the brambles and thornbushes. Nell followed closely at her heels, having to walk faster to keep up with Linn's longer strides. "So why did you run—or fly, I should say—off earlier today?" Linn asked, making sure to keep her tone nonchalant and disinterested.

"I just needed some time to think. Being close to the sky helps."

"Aunt Cinth is right about you, you know. Fairies ought to be more human than bird, and your balance of the two is too off for our comfort."

Nell flushed and stayed silent. Myth held that fairies were descended from an ancient species of giant bird, one that was capable of magical feats, but that as their blood gradually intermingled with that of humans, the modern-day type of fairies were born. As little as two hundred years ago, fairies still had wings, but more breeding with humans had efficiently eliminated those, too. Other than her diminutive size, Nell's mother, Hyacinth, had the body of a full-blooded human on most occasions, as most fairies did. It always left Nell embarrassed of her own appearance, which was much more birdlike. Her eyes were large and wide set, although they were her mother's exact shade of gray, and her nose was small and pointed. In general, her body was too small and insubstantial to seem anything but frail, despite her good health, and Hyacinth told her it was the bird in her, because birds' bones needed to be so light in order for them to fly. In accordance with this, Nell's shoulder blades jutted out sharply from the rest of her back, giving the suggestion that wings should have been growing there. Of course, there were not wings, and there never were unless she had transformed. She was also always sure to keep her voice low and calm, because when excited, her voice was high and whistling, and when upset, it tended to be shrill.

Linn laid a hand on her friend's shoulder, all thoughts of trying to investigate what Nell needed to contemplate so much utterly forgotten. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I know how much you hate it."

Nell shrugged her hand off. "It's okay. I know you meant nothing by it." She continued walking at her hurried pace.

But Linn had stopped moving, biting the bottom of her lip in worry, feeling wretched. She knew it was Nell's odd looks that kept her out of the village near their cottage, only visiting the other children there when Linn was with her. And since Aunt Cinth preferred keeping Linn away from other people, Nell stayed away, too. At one time, Linn had liked this better, knowing that Nell would always be there to keep her company, but when Linn learned the reason why Nell insisted on remaining home with her, she had longed for nothing more than to rub the faces of the village children into the dirt. And if Aunt Cinth ever allowed her to see them, she most likely would have.

Now she was running to keep up with Nell, although not for very long. She was nimble, and it was a matter of moments before she was again at her side.

"At least you can fly, you know. Even many powerful fairies cannot transform into birds. And you were born with that power!"

"I know. So Mother has told me many times," Nell gently reminded her, chuckling, and Linn knew she had successfully cheered her up. All fairies, even the weakest ones, could transform into an animal, though the type of animal was out of their control, something that was in their blood. Birds were extremely rare though, Hyacinth continually told her daughter, and even strong fairies who dedicated their prowess to practicing and broadening their transformative skills found it difficult and exhausting to turn into a bird. Nell always prized her talent, particularly the flight that came with it, even if it caused her human appearance to be slightly strange.

Still, even though Nell seemed to have forgotten Linn's careless comment, Linn could tell there was more.

"Something else is bothering you, isn't it?"

Nell did not look at her, instead focusing her gaze on the rows of flowers that lined the path--Nell had led them back to the path when she hustled ahead, Linn realized--they walked. She had planted them not long ago, and, under a fairy's care, the tulips, lilies, and daffodils were thriving. "There is something," Nell said, careful not to lie to her closest friend, "But it is nothing I wish to concern you with at this time."

Leave me alone about it, and maybe I'll tell you if I feel like it, Linn took that to mean, although Nell of course would never state anything so coarsely. "Fine," she sighed, although moments later her face brightened as a mixed smell of cinnamon and fresh fruit wafted towards them. "Do you smell that?"

A matching smile crossed Nell's face. "Yes. Mother's apple pie is my favorite."

"Race you the rest of the way?"

Nell nodded, and then took off as fast as she could without another word. It was how they always raced: Nell with a head start, which Linn perfectly timed so that they would arrive at the same time. Before Linn's growth spurt, they were able to tie without Nell needing the head start, but now that seemed like a very long time ago.

.....

The sun set, and the apple pie was nothing but crumbs in its dented iron dish. Both girls sat on the wooden floor in front of the hearth, where a small fire was warming the room. The straw-thatched cottage had three rooms: the kitchen and living area, where the cooking, sewing, and primary time-spending was done, and two rooms for sleeping, bare except for the beds. The fireplace was in the kitchen, and it doubled as a stove whenever Hyacinth cooked. Her rocking chair was eternally in front of it, and here she spent her evenings, both summer and winter. One of Linn's dresses was in her hands; for what seemed like the hundredth time, she was letting out the hem to make it longer for her ever-expanding height. The girls watched her attentively, although each of them was supposed to be doing sewing of her own. Despite having known her from birth, neither of them ever failed to be awed by her. Everything about her strove to be quiet and unnoticed, and Nell took after her in this regard, but her very efficiency and modesty gave her a sort of presence all her own in the tiny cottage. Her gowns were simple, but there was never a wrinkle, and no hair was ever out of place from her severely pulled back style.

"Why don't you ever use magic to lengthen my dresses?" Linn asked Hyacinth, breaking the silence of the room.

Hyacinth did not even need to stop her sewing as she spoke. "I have always enjoyed the peacefulness of sewing, embroidering, and the like. The mundanity of it is much different from the unpredictability of magic, and I like the contrast in the way it makes my mind concentrate. And yet, one is good practice for the other." Now she focused most of her attention on her daughter. "As you weave a spell, imagine it as a series of stitches. Magic is rarely anything out of thin air. You must use something given to you, something rough and useless, and transform it into something helpful. Just as yarn is woven into fabric, and fabric into clothing, or a blanket."

Nell nodded seriously and resumed her knitting of a sock, while Linn just yawned and said, "Maybe I would like sewing more if I was a fairy."

"But you're so skilled at it," said Nell.

It was true. Even when Aunt Cinth was just teaching her the simplest of stitches, she had never made any mistakes, or had to wear a thimble to make sure she did not prick her finger. From her very first, every turn of the needle was perfect. "But it's boring. I'd much rather be doing something outside." She stared longingly out of the window.

"Not after dark," said Aunt Cinth, in clipped tones.

"Is it true that once Dalthian was able to make its own string? That we didn't have to buy it from all the way across the sea?" Nell asked suddenly, eyes unnaturally bright with curiosity.

Hyacinth eyed her daughter with suspicion. She rarely asked questions; that was Linn's duty. In particular, she never asked questions of such a sensitive nature.

"We were once able to, many years ago."

"Did we stop because of--"

"Yes." Hyacinth's lips were pursed, a sure sign of displeasure, but Nell pressed forward.

"Oh, Mother, will you please tell the story? You know it's my favorite," Nell pleaded.

Hyacinth looked between the two girls and relaxed. On Nell's face, there was her usual restrained excitement. She loved the tales of princesses and royalty, especially this one so close to home. However, Linn was frowning, as she would rather hear a story of valor and knights and dragons. Hyacinth was calmed by her lack of interest, but not enough so to tell the story she knew so well.

"Not tonight. Besides, it is late, and we must rise early tomorrow to go to town."

Now the girls had traded expressions, and it was Linn who was excited and Nell frowning.

"Do we really get to go as well?" Linn asked.

"Yes, although you must stay close to my side at all times." Hyacinth fought back a pleased smile at how happy this made the girl, for she knew how much it hurt her daughter. Though it seemed she had little to worry about on this front.

Linn threw her arm around Nell's shoulder and pulled her close. "Don't look so sad, please. It will be fun, and I'll be there, and there won't be anything to worry about."

Nell's face was still drawn, but at least she was less pale now.

"Let's go to bed now." Linn stood up and dragged her friend to her feet with her. "Good night, Aunt Cinth!" she called behind them as she pulled Nell off to bed. "Make sure you don't forget to wake us!"

"Sweet dreams girls," Hyacinth murmured to them quietly, and Nell's face again paled.

.....

Nell waited until she heard Linn's soft snores beside her before she crept out of the bed they shared and snuck into the kitchen. As she expected, her mother was still there in her rocking chair, glowing from the light of the dying fire. She was sure she had never actually witnessed her mother sleeping.

"What's troubling you dear?" Hyacinth asked, recognizing her daughter's presence even though the chair did not face the bedroom door.

Nell walked around the chair to sit at her mother's feet, settling her nightgown around her legs with care. "Recently I've been having these strange dreams..." she began hesitantly.

"How recently?"

"Every night for the past fortnight." Nell knew what her mother was getting at.

"And does it keep within the bounds of reality? Does it involve something or someone important to you?"

"...Yes."

"Then it is indeed a vision. I knew it would come out in you sooner or later." Hyacinth set her sewing down in her lap and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Describe it to me."

"I--I don't think you'll believe it, once I tell you."

"With how desolate you look right now, Niele, I can do naught but take you seriously," she said, using her daughter's full name. Nell was just what Linn had christened her, long ago when they were first learning to speak. Linn had just always gone by Linn.

Nell closed her eyes then, to better envision it in her mind, although it was unlikely she would forget any detail of it as long as she lived. "There's a beautiful woman. Tall, slender, blonde..."

"Linn."

"Y--yes. She is in a round stone room, and there is nothing else. I've followed her there, screaming her name, but she can't hear me. Then, suddenly, there is another woman there, although Linn doesn't see her. Linn doesn't seem to see anything at all. The new woman is beautiful and terrifying all at once, surrounded by dark magic. She disappears, but she's left a--I believe it is a spinning wheel, although I've never seen one, because it is round like a wheel on a carriage. Linn walks toward it, hand outstretched, and I try to run in front of her but it's too late. Linn pricks her finger on the spindle, but instead of just pricking her finger and bleeding, she falls to the ground and dies." Nell's voice was choked up by the end of her speech. She opened her eyes to look at her mother. "What is this?" she whispered, no longer a seer but a young girl.

"You know what it is. You have known for the past fortnight."

"Then that means that..."

"Linn is short for Linnaea, yes. You know the story. Everyone in the kingdom knows the story. And you will tell her nothing of it. I will brew you a potion tomorrow morning before she wakes. It will keep you from becoming hysterical now that you know the truth."

"There were so many clues. I should have guessed it earlier," Nell said in wonder. "But why the vision? She must be safe here, right? That's why she's here, for safety. How did you get her anyway?" Her mind was full of more questions than she could express.

"It is a long story, much longer than the version you know, and I am not up to telling it tonight. Hearing your vision alone is more than my old bones can take." Hyacinth shifted in the chair, and it creaked uncomfortably. She touched her forehead as if it was in extreme pain. "This changes everything," she muttered.

"What?" Nell was fearful of what her mother meant.

"I have not taught you enough about visions, it seems, or you would know. A fairy's vision is something that is fated to happen and cannot be stopped."

"But they can be prevented," Nell said slowly, and in some confusion. Focusing on the lesson at hand helped to lessen the shock of what she had just learned.

"Visions are fated to happen if one continues on the course they are on. If plans are changed, and with abruptness, the destiny can be averted. Can you work it out? Magic is more than spells and potions."

"If we keep hiding Linn, but we do nothing else to avoid the curse then..." Nell knew what came next; it just hurt too much to say.

"The curse will come to fruition," Hyacinth finished grimly. "Your vision has helped us, believe it or not. We now know that we must do more. What I have done simply will not suffice."

Hyacinth's words, tough and businesslike, meant nothing to Nell now. She started to cry pitifully at the thought of losing her best friend, and whether she was a princess or not didn't matter at the moment. She rubbed the tears away from her eyes, trying to be as dry-eyed and strong as her mother seemed. Bu Hyacinth knew better. She tugged her daughter onto her lap and let her sit there and cry onto her shoulder just as she did when she was a baby. They both needed the comfort now.

In the next room over, the Princess Linnaea snored on, oblivious to her fate and those who fretted themselves over it.